Ready to be crucified?

I had a staggering thought the other day: am I ready to die a death like Jesus for the sake of defending the gospel, to acknowledge that he alone is God, and there is no other way to heaven--no matter the consequence?

We have comfortably been raised in America with the concept of Christianity as a "take it or leave it" religious option, as if it were a benign choice like giving your money away to a certain organization. No consequence if you choose one organization or the other. Sure, some may disagree, or even challenge the idea that it is excluding another, more important cause, but overall, it's your choice.

In reality, how many true followers of Jesus are there in America? Am I a true follower?

If someone held a gun to my head asking me to denounce my faith, to be honest, I wouldn't fear too much simply because of the kind of quick death that would come from a bullet. It may be painful for a moment, but it would soon pass.

But to die a death like Jesus and even some Christians past-a prolonged, wrenching, excruciating execution where even time feels like muscle fibers slowly tearing--where a second feels like a minute, and a minute becomes three hours--would I have the strength, the deep knowledge of my own conviction to be able to withstand such a horror?

This thought aroused in me such a piercing feeling of gratefulness that I live in this country and not in an area where my faith in Jesus Christ is reason for slaughter.

Jesus came into the world to save me--a continual sinner--so that I can have hope beyond a bullet to the head, beyond alienation and criticism from the world, beyond poverty and riches, beyond mediocrity and hopelessness. I We have been saved from a world that does not accept us into an everlasting family that has no end.

Dying year

I had just sat down to an opening paragraph of a new chapter when I noticed out of the corner of my eye something red falling just outside the window.

At this point in the year I typically love all of the familiar elements of a Minnesota autumn--the smell of drying leaves, the plethora of pumpkin spice-flavored products, and the reappearing of bright orange jack-o-lanterns on doorsteps.

I sometimes am even disappointed with a 70-degree forecast because it's too warm to wrap a billowy, woven scarf around my neck. I am inspired by the student "models" at the University of Minnesota West Bank "runway." Everywhere I see oversized sweaters hanging heavily atop a pair of twig-like legs, supported by tiny little boots. I wonder if anyone else notices the imbalance of proportions. Seems like a strong, fall wind could knock these models over like a big sack of flour.

The reality is that my summer has died, along with its memories and creations. Although it saddens me every year to see leaf upon leaf fall to the ground and the grass loses its pigment, this death brings comfort to me in several ways. I cannot say that 2016 was a great year. I do not feel proud necessarily of any remarkable traits I have strengthened, work I have completed, habits I have ceased, or relationships I have improved.

With winter coming, I can almost rejoice at the fact that whatever dissatisfaction I have with myself, I can let it die, along with the leaves, plants, grass, and flowers.

I can embrace the dying of summer--of mediocre living, of minimal participation, of self-serving activities, whatever it might be--and look forward to the newness of life that death allows. This is a time for reflecting, of preparation, of examining.

Let me not forget this motivating thought when it is ten degrees outside and all I want to do it walk outside barefoot in a sundress, wiping sweat from my brow.

An Autumn Haiku

leaves stain the pavement
but what they're really saying
is we were here first

Fresh cut grass in September

fresh cut grass smells different
in September
that bleak reality
when schedules resume
time slots are filled
and silence is noisy

fresh cut grass smells different
when your mind runs
instead of your legs

fresh cut grass smells different
as an interruption
rather than
a grace

Numb

Lately I have become numb to the gospel.

We have been in the season of Lent for almost forty days now and I can't say that I've reflected much on the very concept of my savior's precious and terrible journey to death.

Sadly, it is too easy for me to be mostly satisfied by the things of this world: Food. Family. Friends. A job. Money. Car. Activities. Fun. Good deeds. Fulfilling tasks. In fact, I am the worst example of a Christian you might find these days. I am a white female who grew up in an affluent part of America; facing true hardship is rare. The sad fact is, I have no need to trust God. I find my fulfillment in lots of different things. In fact, my life lately would look no different if I was an atheist.  And that's a hard thing to admit, but it's true.

American Christians, I believe, have difficulty in a completely different way than any other Christians on the planet. We are that man who, when Jesus told him to go and sell everything he had, he walked away sad. (Matthew 19:21-22)

Why would he walk away sad? Because it was the worldly things he put so much trust in and so much of his joy came from those things instead of simply being with Jesus and the joy he gives.

I admittedly am that man.

Oh how I long to walk closer with my savior, but alas, I flock to the things that are more attractive, more appealing, more tangible and right in front of me. Things that I can touch, see, smell, taste--these are the things that pull my attention and affection away from Christ.

I have become so unaware of his Spirit that is inside of me that I may as well be a zombie.

Oh, how my heart weeps for myself and others who do not realize that we have this precious, precious God who lives inside of us, waiting to have intimacy with us, to change us into godlike people who become doers of good and be completely filled with ever-increasing peace and joy.

Oh how I want to be changed from the inside out and stop living this grey-toned life.
Oh how I want my heart to be shocked back into a rhythm that beats "Thank you, Lord, you are my life, I give you all, there is nothing on this earth that can satisfy, for all I need is you!"

Oh how I want to discover once again the wonder of his face, the splendor of his majesty, the power of his grace, and the vastness of his love.

He gave his life so he could live in me.
How can I ever look to anything else to fill my soul?

Finding my voice

As I wandered back and forth today between my bedroom--where my homework sat glaring at me--and my piano room, calling my name, I decided to sing out a few high Gs and A-flats from sections in a favorite piece of mine, "M'appari Tutt'amor" by Flotow. You know, for some midmorning kicks and giggles.

I have always struggled as a vocalist for several reasons. I have TMJ, which produces an abnormal amount of tension in my jaw and limits how far I can open my mouth, in addition to being an insecure, tense singer (and person, let's face it) at times. I have come to realize in this short segment of rehearsal that throughout my entire undergraduate studies, I never truly believed in myself.

I have grown too accustomed to my identity as a petite person, much like a person identifies themselves with being a particular race, citizen, or possessing a certain level of IQ. This idea of being limited in physical stature has somehow transferred itself into the belief that I myself am limited in my personal stature--my self-worth, my ability, and my potential. I believe that same line of thinking has spanned across multiple areas of my life and has infected my confidence, decision-making, and view of myself in a most negative and crippling way. And in these short moments of rehearsal, I have begun a journey to debunk that negative line of thinking.

Not to say that I am anywhere near an expertly-trained vocalist, because I am still very much an amateur, but I have discovered a very, very, important truth. I have discovered something akin to buried treasure; buried treasure that, along with the assistance and influence of others, I have discovered only because I had to allow myself to trust.

As I sang through some phrases, I actually was applying some teaching methods I am currently teaching to middle school singers. Strange, isn't it? That when you actually apply what you have learned and are teaching to others, you improve? What a discovery. As I opened my mouth to its fullest extent without pain or tension, by shaping my "ah" vowel as tall as I can, pursing my lips forward and making sure I opened my throat--out came a free, rich sound, full of vibrato and most importantly--with ease. I realized in these few short moments that this beauty, ease, and richness can only come out of a singer who is confident and free, a concept which I've hardly ever grasped.

Singing is actually controlled freedom, which sounds paradoxical, but it truly isn't. Similar to being a disciple of Jesus--where I am completely free from the punishment of sin yet I must control my freedom in order to fully experience his presence and blessing--I must first discover this tremendous freedom I can have as a singer and yet control it using the wealth of knowledge I possess. The furthest distance, however, between knowing and applying has been in the trusting of myself; trust is the most difficult hurdle to overcome.

You can't imagine what this experience is truly like unless you have been the kind of person I have been my whole life--always struggling with comparing myself to others, wishing I had traits that others have. For example, with my voice, I've told myself I will never be able to produce a Verdi type of sound; it will never come from my tiny body. "You have a voice for church solos, weddings, and art songs. That's what you're good at. Do that." That's what I've told myself for years.

But after this morning, I discovered the simple act of trusting myself, to truly "let it go," and what resulted was the unveiling of abilities I didn't know I had. I still may not be a Verdi-type of vocalist, but the important lesson learned is this: instead of focusing on where I am lacking, I have decided to trust what I know, to engage in what I know, and to enjoy the freedom it brings.

I am so excited that this truth was unlocked for me this morning and I look forward to see how it will benefit myself and others as I will become a future educator, friend, and maybe someday a wife and mother. The journey to finding "one's voice," is actually never complete; but in my quest to discover this, I need to remember this always: that I am petite in stature, not in ability.