Daring to be Restless

It’s been my theory for a number of years now that everyone “has” a country, one nation at least that God lays on their heart, one place that if they were really honest, they would fly to in a heartbeat if the opportunity arose.  I mean it.  Look yourself in the eye (with a mirror of course), and ask yourself, “Where would you go if money were no option and you could leave right this instant?”  You heard it, didn’t you?  The whisper of another land, of a purpose beyond yourself … I hear it … I long for it.  My heart belongs there in another world … So much of what I’ve gone through in my life has prepared me to be a part of this nation, to pray for them, to do battle for the people of that nation in a realm we cannot see … A few years ago I was reading in Psalms and discovered a promise I’ve never forgotten.  Psalm 2:8, in the Contemporary English Version says, “Ask me for the nations, and every nation on earth will belong to you.”  And, as I’ve quit trying to overanalyze the Scriptur

This week, at a Bible Study hosted in my home, we began discussing what the Word “radical” means in our society, especially in regards to our Christian faith.   We wrestled and rebelled against the idea that giving more than 10% is radical, the idea that more than half an hour of Bible reading per day is radical, that praying in tongues ( at all ) is radical.   We found ourselves looking to the Jesus of our Bibles and simply being dissatisfied with the “little” lives we lead for Christ in this country, wanting more.   Whatever happened to the Christian’s ability to see unlimited possibilities in Christ?   Whatever happened to our ability to see boldness, adventure, and other great things in our future in Him?   What has limited us? Thus sensitized to this subject, as I was studying in Mark this week, I began to find my answer.   In Mark 7:8-9, in the Message, Jesus explains what limits our vision of God’s ability in our lives.   He says, “‘They just use me as a cover for teaching w

            “A good woman is hard to find, and worth far more than diamonds … She’s like a trading ship that sails away to faraway places and brings back exotic surprises.” [1]   That’s right; a good woman is, in a manner of speaking, rather like a pirate, and thus I have always felt.   With a longing for the sea that transcends logic and a rough tomboyish quality to all I do, I seem destined for such a role in history.   Even the innate beauty I do possess appears in weathered hues and the salty sting of the wind off the sea … and yet, in such an environment, I am comfortable, at home, and pleased to survey my domain.               Standing on the bow of the unknown, clinging to the lines of determination and hope, my beauty hidden, as gems in a leather pouch near my heart, I am a formidable warrior in my own right.   As all pirates must, I am wary in giving my trust or my allegiance to anyone besides the crew I serve alongside.   Among outsiders, I am vastly disliked, feared even,

I have a thing about kitchens.   There’s something about the time cooking together as a family, about gathering around the table together to eat and talk about the day, and even cleaning up together afterwards, that is so uniquely special and indescribable.   Even through my job at a local juvenile detention center, I see it.   The kids respond differently around the dinner table than anywhere else – whether we’re setting the table, eating, or cleaning up; they open up in ways that they don’t otherwise.   They trust; they receive provision not only for their bodies but for the child within them that needs stability, safety, and someone to talk to.   Perhaps it sounds nerdy – but there’s something in my heart that longs for that time in the kitchen with people I care about, that longs to cook and fellowship and provide for more than myself, that aches to see a full table instead of one lonely chair awaiting me.    Especially as we draw near to Thanksgiving with its memories of famil

Today has not been a peaceful day.  In fact, it's been the quite opposite - full of frustration, strife, rudeness, and ... I am weary of it.  I am drained.  I am still battling off grouchiness, to be honest.  And yet, in the back of my mind all day long, I've had two verses: Romans 12:18 (Do your best to live at peace with everyone - my paraphrase) and Philippians 4:7 (which is preceded by the verse about "Do not be anxious for anything" and basically says that God's peace which surpasses all understanding will keep our hearts and minds in Christ Jesus).  I didn't feel either of those verses really working out for me today, but I decided to look into them when I got home ... and I am astonished.  Whenever I've thought of peace in the past, I've thought of it as a passive, submitted, not arguing.  You keep the peace in a household by compromising, cooling down, and letting the other person think they're right ... right?  That's not the kind of p