Miracles of heart-change

"God isn't there any part of this job that I can do? Why am I here again?"

Yesterday's classes hadn't put me in the best frame of mind for my morning walk-and-yell-at-God (um...did I say that? I meant walk and pray...).

"...I know that you say that I can do all things through You...but do you have to teach me that lesson by making me fail at everything? Seriously, God, can't I just have one part of this job--one area!--that I can feel competent in? Please?...I just want...something to hold onto."

I don't generally "hear" God, but I have to say that a response came back pretty clearly and immediately: Child, why don't you try holding onto My hand?

Stubborn silence from the still-angry child. Then, "God, can't I learn this lesson a different way? You're not the most gentle teacher, you know..."

Any chance you remember Me trying to teach a stubborn Pharoah? My lessons don't have to be harsh...

"Yeah. We just studied that part yesterday. Okay, okay, God, I get the point."

There are several minutes of silence, and even with my fists clenched I can feel the waiting of this almighty, kingly Father who somehow has enough love to also listen to yells from my stubborn heart.

"God...I can't find Your hand right now. Could you...just pick up mine and put it in Yours? Help me hold on."

There's no answer.

But in a breathless moment of taste-able grace, I recognize that the formerly angry, frightened, frustrated beating of my heart has calmed to a beat of peace. The sun, formerly blocked by a cloak of despair, actually is warming my face with its rays. And the words of praise that had simply been background music take root in my own mind and heart, take shape on my lips, and I join in.

This is why I believe in a living, grace-filled God.

For moments when one is stuck in traffic...or on a train...or anywhere

Casting Crown's Life of Praise has been my "train song" ever since my first few months in Japan. My roommates and I would get up and hustle towards the Kawasaki train station, joining the sleepy business suits in jammed train cars as we rode to language school. One roommate and I would each put a headphone of her ipod in one of our ears, and it would sometimes feel like we were the only happy people on the entire train, smiling at each other and drinking in the reminders of God's character:

You are awesome, God of the nations

Lion of Judah, Rock of the ages,

Alpha, Omega, Worthy of all praise...

On particularly-packed days, we would try not to twitch to the music and almost inevitably end up stifling giggles at our failed attempts to model the somber looks of our exhausted fellow travelers.

I don't ride trains so much anymore, but found myself on one heading to Koriyama this past Thursday morning and put on the familiar song as the train wound its way up the mountains. The scenery was breath-taking--glistening snow on chiseled peaks, expanses of open plains--and I found myself swaying back and forth, my whole heart wanting to sing along with the words of praise.

Then I found myself thinking of those days on the trains from Kawasaki...precious moments of praise in the middle of the heavy burdens carried around us. A lot of "track" has been traveled in the five years since we started praising God on the trains...

And it struck me Thursday morning again (how quickly I forget!) that the location is anywhere. The time is always. The people around us don't have to join in.

You are awesome, God of the nations

Lion of Judah, Rock of the ages,

Alpha, Omega, Worthy of all praise...

Speaking...

"Hey, sensei, why were you at Izumi Lutheran Church? I see you there sometimes..."

The first-grade boy from the after-school program had stopped mid-throw, sweating, smiling, and holding tightly to the rubber ball in case I decided to disregard the respite and continue the ball-stealing game by knocking it out of his hand.

I had no intention of passing up the opportunity for conversation, and having just come from an English school board meeting, I answered by saying, "I work there. I teach English there."

...Now I sit, coffee in hand and Bible open to Colossians, thinking of all "my kids" at the after-school program and how much they are loved, created special by the Father. And I'm wondering why I didn't say something like, "I work at the church. I talk about Jesus there. Do you know Jesus?"

Sigh. Is it because it wasn't the right time? Because I'm so focused on my "practical" job that I forget the actual purpose of my English teaching? Because I'm scared to offend? Because I'm influenced by those around me who worry about money and student numbers and logical living concerns? Because I'm more interested in raising numbers in my classroom than sharing meaningful words of which I may never see the fruit?

I scan Colossians, searching for wisdom and asking for the right words for today. I pray for the kids, thinking of the new gentleman who came to English class last night and abruptly told me that he liked to read the Bible, even though he isn't Christian. I pray that God draws my kids just as he drew that man. I think of Exodus, our reading in English Bible study, and the many times God states, "I do this so that Egypt will know that I am God..."

He wants to be known, works to be known. And this is comforting, even in times of regret or when I need words and guidance for today.

Asking

Mark 5 documents an interaction between Jesus and others that has always struck me: "Then the people began to plead with Jesus to leave their region." An evil spirit has left, pigs have died but a man has been saved...and the Bible hints that the surrounding people's fear motivated them to plead for this distance between their Savior and themselves.

We talked through the whole section in English Bible study a few days ago, and everyone had a comment on the verse. One in particular struck me: "If they'd known and believed in who Jesus was, they wouldn't have asked Him to leave."

Lips that do not yet admit to a profession of faith still profess, in many ways, the Holy Spirit's tugging of hearts.

Because Cindy has been traveling for the last week or so, I've had a quiet apartment at night and found myself devouring several missionaries' bibliographies we have on hand--missionaries such as James Fraser (China), David Wilkerson (New York), and Brother Andrew (he gets around...). Besides these men, a Bible study I'm working through has recently looked at the lives of Dwight Moody (Chicago, USA), William Carey (India), George Muller (England), and more... The thread that runs through each of the stories--no matter what country or time period--seems to be prayer, poured out from people who know that they are weak, but their LORD is strong. Their stories have much pain, much asking...and many miracles.

I thought of them--of these many weak, strange men of prayer--when I heard the Bible study student's comment.

"If they'd known and believed in who Jesus was, they wouldn't have asked Him to leave."

These men--not superheroes--knew Him. And they asked for their daily bread, for the lives of their families, for the Holy Spirit's power, for God's direction, for release from the bondage of addictions, for hope for children, for truth's freeing light...and so much more. In Bible study, we didn't talk about what the fearfully-gathered ones in Mark 5 would have asked Jesus, had they known Him.

But this all reminds me...that I know Him.

God, I know you as our peace (Eph. 2:14) and as the Head of the Church (Col. 1:18)...and I ask that you would bring peace in our divisions, fighting, pride, and bitterness.

I know you as our Creator, and the Creator of families (Gen. 2, 5:1-2)...and I ask that you would redeem and save the families of our church members who do not yet believe.

I know you as the Lord who has done great things, and fills your people with joy (Ps. 126)...and I ask that you would give us hearts of joy and thanksgiving.

I know you as the God of hope (Rom. 15:13)...and I ask that you would bring your hope and life to so many here who suffer depression and hopelessness.

I know you as one who chooses the weak (1 Cor. 1:27)...so I ask that you would work through me with your power, not my attempts at power.

If you know Him and believe, please join me in asking...

Wooing, Part II

It feels a little like I've been composing this blog in my head for the last week or so, but each composition has come out wordy and still incomplete. I hope you'll allow me to take a stab at it now, and maybe get it out of my system. :)

If you have read the previous "Wooing" post, you know that I decided to take Ann Voskamp's How to Make a Marriage Bed blog into the advanced classes for some practice with abstract reading and discussion. Students' responses have been fascinating...and painful.

I forgot that Japan is the country where the responses (that I've heard) to hardworking Martha and listening Mary are something along the lines of, "Why wasn't Martha respected above her sister?!" and "What was Jesus thinking?!" I forgot that grace (which I might define, right now, as an undeserved gift of love) is truly so large that it's maybe incomprehensible.

The discussions we've had in classes have been good. They have been real conversations about real, broken relationships in a yet-broken world. Some of the blog-readers have decided the Farmer is cheating on his wife. Others have decided the wife is cheating on her overly-forceful husband. Only one conversation made it to the realization that sometimes love worked-for and earned might somehow disregard the gift of the lover.

I could not convince the students--could not help them entertain the thought--that there was a Lover willing to simply give them His love.

I am reminded, through all of this, of how important it is to pray. Pray for...God's persistent wooing. His persistent grace...a revelation that goes beyond the painful experiences of brokenness that we all share...to bring freedom, healing, and love.

Praises

I was on my fourth kid's praise song, really laughing and spinning and swinging more than I was singing, when I heard the small one-year-old's voice joining in, lisping the words:

"Hallelujah...hallelujah...hallelujah..."

Praises from the lips of infants...

Children blessed by Jesus...

Our God who is very worthy of all praise...

All this flashed through my mind, and I paused mid-swing with the child in my arms, in awe of the very real truth that "Salvation and glory and power belong to our God..." (Rev. 19).

Hallelujah!