9 Years of Septembers

2004- Dad's cancer is discovered just in time and the surgery saves his life.  My entire concept of God as "He owes me for my good behavior" is destroyed.

2005- After a year of wrestling with Him, my eyes are opened to the truth of the Gospel!  Made alive in Christ!  Love motivated is a vastly different way to live.

2006- Working at Chicfila and going to school at the same time gives me new, humbling opportunities to share Christ and trust Him with every day.

2007- Starting out my senior year excited to cherish every minute...but still ready to be done.  

2008-  As a freshman at Northland, God puts me on a ministry team teaching English to Hmong kids. I love it so much that I begin to wonder if I've been ignoring some obvious options.  For the first time, I doubt whether my plans are also God's plans.  

2009- Now an English Ed major, I've started to wonder what in the world God is doing.  But I've also started enjoying it a ton!  Plans for study abroad take shape.  Life is good. 

2010- Junior year...I'm rooming with this crazy, red-head.  We become kind of like sisters.  We laugh and cry and make cinnamon apples.  I didn't know that God would use all of this later in some big ways.

2011- Super sick! I'm packing to go home and figure out if I can get rid of Lyme disease.   

2012- Return visit to Brazil to encourage the Frays and get some closure after we lost Lydia.  God's gentle love is evident as He teaches me to cling to Him and accept sorrow.  

2013- Finally done with college.  Excited about whatever God has next!  Loving Him more every day.  More and more thankful for His grace!  

Rawan

In the helpless aching that followed my reading of this story http://arabnews.com/news/464272, this poem came to me.  Her name means "Raindrop."


If you must mention it
then speak of rain.
Collect it as an "issue" and be done
Avoid the frigid sting of one
"the pang of the particular"
and let them pool in puddles at your feet,
then walk around them
don't let mud touch your toes
(it happens every day
what can you do?)
The Raindrop after all to you
is nameless, faceless
"...that child bride in Yemen..."
Let it rain.
Put up your black umbrella and move on
It's much too late
for tears
to save Rawan.

The Towel

Growing up is weird.  That's not just my opinion either.  I've surveyed a few friends who are also engaging in this activity, and the results are unanimous. As with any experience after which you find that your staunchly-held ideas are really complete misconceptions, growing up is a humbling and difficult endeavor that I think doesn't actually stop.  It has peaks and plateaus, but it doesn't ever end until you die.
Of course, I've been growing up for a long time now.  I should be really good at it.  But I'm not.  I just graduated from college, and I'm now looking for jobs and pinching pennies and trying to figure out this strange thing called "life." It's overwhelming.  Exhilarating.  Nerve wracking.  And God is good.
Maybe this season is harder for some of us than it is for others.  Though the economy isn't doing all that great, there are still some people who step right out of college into a job that supports them enough to move away and set up on their own.  My mom works with dozens of these types in the engineering world.  And I say, good for them.  They worked hard to get marketable degrees from prestigious schools and now they can pay their school debt off quickly.
Then there's me.  I have a nationally-accredited English Education degree from a tiny Bible college in the Northwoods of Wisconsin.  Don't get me wrong.  I got an amazing education.  I was pushed to think critically.  The student-teacher ratio was incredibly low. And I actually formed close relationships with many of my teachers so that I was personally mentored in my field by more than one expert on more than one occasion.  I had to work hard for my good grades.  It was no joke.  I'm not ashamed of my school or of my degree.

But since graduation, I've found that it does have some limitations.  There are some jobs that won't even consider me because my resume includes a Bible college degree.  There are lots of grad programs that won't accept me because of accreditation issues.  And for those reasons (to say nothing of some recent controversy within the evangelical circle), some people have asked whether I regret my decision to go to Northland.
To those who ask, I have a hard time explaining my "No."  I guess it doesn't make a lot of sense on the surface.  Why am I so thankful for a degree that seems to delay (I do not say prevent) grad school or state teaching certifications?

Because Northland gave me something that I couldn't get anywhere else.

Northland gave me a towel.

When I arrived on campus in the fall of 2008, I had one goal in mind.  It was a self-ambitious plan that had everything to do with my glory.  That's why I was only going to "do my time" with a year at Bible college and then transfer somewhere and go into medicine. Thankfully, God's grace is bigger than my selfishness.  I ended up staying.  I met people who challenged the way I viewed God.  I sat in classes where teachers reminded me constantly to make the gospel my life-orientation.  My heart was watered with the Word and refreshed with fellowship on a daily basis. I made friends that are still pushing me to Christ-likeness.  That's what made my experience different.  (Though, I admit that God could have done that anywhere, I think it is important to recognize that it was essential to my sanctification.  Or else He wouldn't have allowed it.)

What made my degree different was an emphasis on the reason I was alive in the first place.  I knew and was reminded often that I was not getting a degree so that I could go make a lot of money and be successful in a material sense.  This piece of paper that I now have on my bookshelf in my room to prove that I finished my studies does not qualify me to be something.  I was studying because by studying I was going to be equipped to serve. To make myself nothing.  To be ready to die to myself.  To make a name for Jesus.  And though you don't necessarily need a degree to learn that, I know that it was part of what God had for me.  I was also reminded often that no matter what happened, I could trust Him to provide for me as I followed Him.  Even if it didn't look like it was going to make sense.  Even if I didn't get the highest paying job.
 
The first time I ever witnessed a graduation ceremony at Northland was at the end of my freshman year.  At that time, I was still in the maelstrom of wrestling with God.  Trying to let go of my dreams in exchange for His. Learning that my life is all about worshiping Him and not about achieving my goals.  I remember watching the graduates cross the platform to get their diplomas, and then they were handed a towel. Embroidered on the fabric were the words, "Be Great, Serve," which is a quotation from Matthew 20 where Jesus short circuits the prideful ambition of the disciples by explaining to them the radically different values of the kingdom of God:

"Whoever desires to become great among you, let him be your servant. And whoever desires to be first among you, let him be your slave- Just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give His life a ransom for many."  Jesus then demonstrates this lifestyle during the Last Supper when the God of All removes his outer garment and washes the feet of humans.

Last May, I received a towel with the same words on it. It is a visible reminder of why I got an education.  I am not in the world to be served and make a name for myself, but to serve and to give my life to reconcile people to God.    
The kind of thinking that would make me regret a degree from Northland is the kind of thinking that is contrary to the Word of God. There's nothing wrong with accreditation.  There's nothing wrong with material success.  I wish I had both of those things from time to time, and God can use those things.  He puts many Christians in positions where they have degrees and success to glorify Him.  But I know that when God looks at what He is doing in me and what He wants to do in me, He doesn't see my degree as an asset or a liability.  He doesn't bemoan the limitations or applaud the benefits.  He rejoices at the work of Christ, and He is strong in my weaknesses.  He is a God who loves to do the impossible. From an eternal perspective (and that's the only one that really matters), the gospel in me is worth far more than a marketable resume.

Former Northland Chancellor Doc. O. once said, "Degrees make you hireable, but brokenness makes you useable."  Those words have stuck with me along with these verses from Psalm 33:

"The LORD brings the counsel of the nations to nothing; He makes the plans of the people of no effect.  The counsel of the LORD stands forever, the plans of His heart to all generations."

God will do what He will do no matter my perceived strengths and weaknesses.  His plans are much greater than my job search and my educational background. It might take me a little longer to find a job.  I might have to go back to school.
But I don't regret my Northland degree.
Because it was there that God decimated me and handed me a towel.  

Seascapes and Scanzons: A Link with Lewis

Some people don't like the ocean.  This has always been difficult for me to understand since it has been a part of my DNA since I was born.  My mom had me under an umbrella at the beach when I was only 8 weeks old. I can't remember a time when the smell of cedar and sand and saltwater didn't make my hands tingle with excitement and something as substantial as joy.  

There are times when I sit down and try to explain this affinity in writing.  What is it about this collection of water molecules that stirs me?  Why do I dream about it and long to be near it?  It's not even safe.  Waves give the illusion of predictability, but in reality we know more about the depths of space than we do about the ocean. Every time a human being sticks a toe in ocean water, it's a triumph of faith over reason. That alone is something to consider.

I thought of Lewis's poetry while I was at the beach this past week.  This was our first family vacation in six years.  The togetherness was delightfully palpable.  I finally ousted my brother in Scrabble one night, breaking his championship status.  We paddle surfed on the sound and watched the sunset and ate charcoal-grilled dinners.  Mom and I noted the colors of the sea grass and the thousand shades of green and blue inherent to sky and sea and shrubbery.  We walked barefoot on scalding sand and laughed when our freckles appeared after a day in the sun. I spent ridiculous amounts of time just watching foamy ocean punish the shore, and I flew an ill-fated kite with a picture of a butterfly on it.  A kite which no longer exists as any recognizable object.  (The wind was rather strong that day...) And I was especially thrilled to engage in an activity that my brothers and I have enjoyed since we were little...running from the top of the dunes and throwing myself recklessly into the water to feel the powerful currents blast over my head.  Seconds of deceptive peace before the next wave.  Again and again.  Contented exhaustion always follows.

With all this flagrant life surging around me, maybe it seems strange that a Lewis poem about death kept running through my head.  Not death, exactly, but humanness and the "pang of the particular."  This was the sense I knew the entire week.  It's a tangled little thought wrapped up in my recent musings on Beauty and Image bearing and the character of God and the mundane extravagance He has infused into this hopefully dying planet.  I can't let go of the paradox of it.

Scanzons by C. S. Lewis

Passing to-day by a cottage, I shed tears
When I remembered how once I had dwelled there
With my mortal friends who are dead. Years
Little had healed the wound that was laid bare.

Out, little spear that stabs, I, fool, believed
I had outgrown the local, unique sting,
I had transmuted away (I was deceived)
Into love universal the lov'd thing.

But Thou, Lord, surely knewest Thine own plan
When the angelic indifferences with no bar
Universally loved but Thou gav'st man
The tether and pang of the particular.

Which, like a chemic drop, infinitesimal,
Plashed into pure water, changing the whole,
Embodies and embitters and turns all
Spirit's sweet water to astringent soul.

That we, though small, may quiver with fire's same
Substantial form as Thou — not reflect merely,
As lunar angel, back to thee, cold flame.
Gods we are, Thou hast said: and we pay dearly.