From a place of rest

Papers. Tests. Projects.

Emails. Conference Calls. Travel Schedules.

I don’t know about you, but it has been an incredibly busy summer for me. Several weeks ago I was in a meeting with some co-workers and one of them mentioned, “Just gotta’ keep swimming!” I chuckled and said “Or floating…face down…in the water.”

And there were points this summer that that’s how I felt. I recently moved to a new city, nine hours from my previous life, new responsibilities, new job, grad school, travel schedules. If you know me well (and even if you don’t) you have likely heard me talk about how much I love my job. I really do. But as much as I love what I get to call work, it is still tiring as I find myself in the middle of a full Summer. In the spring as things began to pick up with work my co-workers would warn me about the summer and how busy things would get. Summer is our busiest time of year; an exciting time and fruitful time for ministry and new adventures around every corner, but busy nonetheless.

Checking my email is a daunting task on some days because I simply don’t know where to begin with the replies. Other days, my phone rings multiple times before I can get my thoughts together enough to simply say hello. I have racked up some fairly impressive credit card reward points from my work travels this summer, met some great people, been encouraged by strangers and co-workers alike, and have been frustrated in feeling like I am not succeeding at the job I love.

And then, there is grad school. Precious, precious grad school. I`m truly thankful for the gift of education. I love to learn, I really do. But at the end of a day filled with interaction and brain overload, the last thing I want to do is read a chapter in a text book and then write about it. At the end of the work day, I want to take my pants off and eat a gallon of ice cream while making my way through every TV series on Netflix. Discussion boards aren’t my priority, tests seem like a waste of time, and projects seem like they are more trouble than they are worth.

It feels like it all never stops.

Do you ever feel this way? Are there times in life that it seems you are on life’s never-ending escalade?

I was reading in Genesis today. Creation is neat.

God creates the plants, birds of the air, beasts of the sea, and all land animals. The sky, the lights in the expanse—he creates it all. Then, as the story goes, in his image he creates Adam—he creates man. And after all this work, he rests.

I’ve heard many sermons about rest and how God rested on the seventh day, but I never thought about Adam. On Adam’s FIRST day on Earth, he rested. Isn’t that great news? He was created in God’s image, had a brand new land to keep, and yet he is created and he rested. Everything Adam is then charged to do comes from a place of rest. Rest becomes the foundation for everything else in his life. He works, multiplies, plays, and cultivates relationships from a place of rest. If Adam had a computer and the animals could send emails, his emails, phone conversations, discussion board posts, tests, and projects would be coming from a place of deep rest—shown to Adam at the beginning of his existence.

I`m not very good at resting. If I were the first created human, God would have had his hands full earlier on than he did with Adam and Eve I’m sure.

I don’t know how to rest well. But I am going to try to start by slurping down my iced caramel macchiato on this hot day, while listening to my guilty pleasures Spotify station and reflecting on how thankful I am for rest, and how God created rest to be a foundation of everything else I do in life. By doing my daily activities, whether school or work or play, those things then become an act of worship because I can do them from a place of rest, not of running.

And a rested Lindsey, is the best Lindsey—and the best Lindsey is the kind that I was created to be.

No Sweat...

There isn't any denying it: it's hot.

And I dont mean the kind of hot that warms your skin, and makes you glad it is Summer.

It's the kind of hot that makes every pore sweat through your only clean shirt. The kind of sticky hot that makes your forehead bead with sweat the second you step out of the shower. The kind of hot that exhausts your body and makes you wish you could nap in an ice chest all day.

There is no pool. There is no air conditioning. There is no relief.

It's hot.

Recently I have found myself caught in prayers and in more words have said "It's hot. Make it cooler. I`m not comfortable. Change that. I'm tired, make it cooler and make me more comfortable so I can sleep."

Have you ever been in a similiar position, praying for your circumstances to change? Perhaps your circumstances surrounding your career, your relationships, your family, your health, your finances, your whatevers?

As I sit dripping with sweat every day I find myself often times wishing circumstances were different. Let it be known: I. hate. hot. weather.

If only these circumstances were different I would be in a better place to share the gospel. If I were more rested I could do more, if I were cooler I could play longer, if I were more comfortable I would be happier.

I was reading Ephesians 6 today. A chapter you and I both know well; the armour of God. But this time as I read something jumped off the page.

The Apostle Paul writes in verses 19-20

 "Pray also for me, that whenever I speak, words may be given me so that I will fearlessly make known the mystery of the gospel, for which I am an ambassador in chains. Pray that I may declare it fearlessly, as I should."

Did you catch what Paul is praying there? Paul is asking that God use him in any circumstance to fearlessly make known the name of Christ. Paul isn't writing from his hotel room with a view, or over a well balanced meal, or after a restful, cool, comfortable nights sleep. Far from it.

Paul is writing from a Roman prison where he is chained to the wall for boldy declaring the gospel. So the hand that he is writing with is literally bound in chains, yet that is what he asks for.

Paul could have prayed for the magistrates to release him, an earthquake to rattle the chains like in Phillipi, or a spec ops mission for rescuing. But Paul doesn't do any of those things. Instead, he focuses on the message of the gospel. Paul doesn't ask God to change his circumstances or give him a way out. Rather, Paul askes God to give him the boldness to get the message out!

What would happen if I prayed, if you prayed, with the same fervent enthusiasm to proclaim the gospel as Paul, the ambassador in chains?

What if I spent as much energy praying for fearlessness to spread the gospel as I did for my circumstances to change?

Paul looks around at the mess he is in and embraces what he can do in the middle ot if.
I am a sticky, sweaty, tired, achy mess the majority of the time. But when I embrace that God has placed me here to fearlessly proclaim the news of the gospel, my sweat becomes... no sweat.
I`m done waiting for my circumstances to change before I jump headlong into the purposes of God. I`m done letting the enemy tell me that my brokenness disqualifies me from fearlessly proclaiming the gospel throughout the world.

Are you done? My prayer for you, beloved, is that "whenever you speak, words may be given to you so that you will fearlessly make known the mystery of the gospel, for which you are an ambassador in chains. I pray that you may declare it fearlessly."

The picture on the wall

I was in a hurry rushing back to my room before loading the truck to teach english school. I was already running late and everyone was waiting. As I walked by part of the house I heard "Indy!", a name I had started to lovingly respond to. I recognized the voice. I turned and saw one of my host brothers standing with a rock used as chalk in his hand. At the turn of my head he proudly pointed to a drawing on the side of the house. He had used that chalk rock to draw a picture of a person. Sprouts of hair out the top of the head, a big body, legs, one arm, and finished with a smile. I nodded acknowledging the drawing but not much more. I was in a hurry, after all.

Plus, why did this child draw on the side of the house? Surely he would get in trouble. Had I drawn a Picture on the side of my house growing up I would have gotten in some serious trouble. What was he thinking?

The day passed and the next morning came. Over our breakfast of Haitian spaghetti (which I have started to appreciate...) my teammate said "did you see the picture drawn of you on the side of the house?" "No." I lied. "The kids pointed to it and said 'Lindsey' so I figured it was of you."

Had I been too busy to notice the sentiment? Was I too caught up in what I thought was right and wrong to thank him for the thought? And it hit me. Don't we all do this all the time except on a much larger scale? We come into contact with "the least of these" and we see them as a project, something that needs fixed. So we rush past them as a person and prepare an agenda as to how to fix their ailments. We don't take time to see them as people because we are rushing past them in search of doing our next good deed. Or perhaps we do see them. Perhaps we see their picture drawn on the house and quickly shut them out thinking "that's not how we would do things back home!" We don't give them a second thought because we are too preoccupied placing our own thoughts and culture in a place of superiority.

I had a wake up call that morning. Too often I see "work" instead of people. I see the differences instead of likeness. I place my own prejudices in the foresight and others on a distant horizon. I want to stop and see the picture in front of me. I want to appreciate the sprouts of hair, the body, the arms and legs. I want to take in all things that make a person, a person whether in aligns with my way of doing things or not.

Monotony

GK Chesterson wrote of a God who is strong enough to exult in monotony. He said "It is possible that God says every morning "Do it again" to the sun; and every evening, "Do it again" to the moon. It may not be automatic monotony that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes ever daisy seperately, but has never tired of making them."

And every morning I watched the beautiful sun stretch it's rays down the mountain and into the valleys below. And every evening I watched that same sun hide its face behind the mountain. God never tired of telling it to rise or to fall, to warm the surface and nourish the fields, or hide behind a cloud as a shield. 

And every morning as I watched the sun appear once more, my soul was warmed. If God cares so much to tell the sun "Do it again!" every morning since the dawn of creation, and he still hasn't tired of making it beautiful, unique, and breathtaking how much more does he care about me?

I am still being molded and changed. I am being transformed and renewed. Sometimes I don't rise when God tells me to rise, or set when he tells me to be still. Sometimes the sky I paint around me isn't beautiful and full of color; sometimes its grey and gloomy. But yet God hasn't tired of transforming me to HIS likeness. He hasn't wearied of providing grace in abundance. He hasn't stopped telling me "Do it again!" My God is strong enough to exult in the monotony of a sinner's life like mine. 

Beautiful in the village

I watched her come out beaming from ear to ear. Her new skirt swayed back and forth in the brisk morning air. My eyes met hers, my Basotho mother who graciously accepted me into her family and treated me as one of her own.

"Lumela Ausi!"
"Lumela Me'! U phela joang?
"Ke phela hantle! Ouna?"
"Ke phela hantle!"

Our usual greeting. She was desperate for me to learn the local language and I took every opportunity to practice.

Through my broken Sesotho I said "your skirt is beautiful!" She smiled as bright as the sun and said "Me' Masipatti is beautiful!"

And she was right. She was beautiful. It wasn't just her flowing skirt swaying in the breeze that was beautiful. It was her personhood. It was the way she rose early in the morning to put the water over the fire for warm baths. It was the way she cared for my 2 year old little sister and dotted her with love and giggles and songs and the way she shined Ntate Ramabante's shoes before he would go into town for the day. Everything about her screamed beautiful. The children she raised, the two room house she tended to, the way she worked tirelessly to prepare a meal for the village after church.

And the way she loved me. She loved me as if I were one of her own-with the same tender care and compassion my own mother has adorned me with my entire life. The Friday before Easter came and she helped us prepare for church that morning. She approved our appearance and sent us up the hill for a Good Friday celebration. But she stayed behind. Because I always wanted to be with her I asked if she was joining that morning. She briskly shook her head no and in her limited English replied "I prepare birthday party." She had remembered that it was my birthday on that Good Friday and she was going to make it memorable.

While we were at church she called in favors from the entire neighborhood. I came home to a birthday party I will never forget. Cake, chips, soda, sweets, and decorations lined the borrowed table, and the whole village was there to celebrate my 25th year of life.

Mei embraced me in a tight hug and whispered in my ear "ke rata Ausi Puleng Mochela" (I love sister Puleng Mochela-my Basotho name.) I squeezed her back and replied "ke rata Mei Masipatti, kea leboha!" And I meant it. I thought back to her beautiful swaying skirt in the mountain breeze the week before and remembered how truly beautiful she was, and how much more beautiful my life had become because of her loving presence in a tiny village in the mountains of Lesotho.

When the church bell rings

"Make a joyful noise to The Lord, all the Earth! Serve The Lord with gladness! Come into his presence with singing! Know that The Lord, he is God! It is he who made us, and we are his, we are his people, and the sheep of his pasture. Enter his gates with thanksgiving, and his courts with praise! Give thanks to him; bless his name! For The Lord is good; his steadfast love endures forever, and his faithfulness to all generations." Psalm 100

It's 11 o clock. The church bell rings. It echoes off the rock walls of the church and into the tiny mountain village. One by one they come. From around the side of the primary school and from the sides of the church. Rising from the valleys they pour into their holy meeting place. Women dressed in their finest garments, hand sewn and beautiful. Their head coverings matching their flowing skirts and completed with a smile. The men come dressed in their finest suits, each looking sharp and well put together prepared to worship.

At the right time the sturdy rock church erupts in praise. The singing of the congregation bellows out the stained glass windows and into the village houses whose occupants are dancing in between church pews. One strong voice begins the song and soon the whole church is singing and dancing and praising. I can't help but smile and dance even though I don't understand Sesotho praise songs.

Groups of women dance their way to the front and drop their coins in the plate. Five, six more women join in dance while dropping their money joyfully at the front. I can almost smell the dirt and sweat off the coins knowing these people worked the field or made bread or sewed garments to earn it. But yet the joy on their faces and the thankfulness in song and dance show how happy they are to present their finest to God. Forty-five minutes later offering is still going. Men and women haven't ceased to stop singing or dancing and the joy is still overflowing into my own heart.

And I think, "this is church!" And all of a sudden I have a tangible picture of what it means to "serve The Lord with gladness!" And I wait in anticipation to here the church bell ring once more.

Don't forget to remove your sandals

"Remove the sandals from your feet, for the place where you are standing is holy." And Joshua did so. Joshua 5:15 

God promises to always be with us, but every now and then He reveals his presence a little more vividly than we were expecting. Walking into the Disability Center in Olivenhoutbosh, South Africa I didn't expect to step into a holy moment. Had I only had a clue about the presence of God, the commander of the LORD's army, in that place I would have removed the sandals from my feet. My eyes and my heart were opened through every child and adult I came into contact with in that special place. At the end of three weeks I looked back and realized that each person I met pointed me to the image of a divine God. Each personality was a characteristic of Christ that I was able to experience in a real and tangible way.

Meet "Cookie"

Cookie is an adventurer. He doesn't walk but scoots faster than anyone in the Southern Hemisphere. Cookie wants to see, and climb, and do, and move. He often would climb me (rather impressively) just to see out the window and stick his fingers through it. He tells big stories that I don't understand because of language barriers, but they were my favorite to listen to anyway. Cookie is made in the image of God. God himself is an adventurer, beckoning us all on a wild journey with him. He wants us to look out the window and see his creation and feel the wind in our hair. I see God in Cookie.

Meet Dinah

Dinah is the founder of the Disability Center. In fact, her story is rather incredible and I wouldn't do it justice typing it here. But one thing I can tell you about Dinah is that she is a fierce protector.  She saw a need in her community to provide a safe place for children (and adults) with disabilities to go to know they are loved and cared for. She sacrificed everything she had to open up the center. She walks by faith day in and day out to ensure that the children have food to eat, a place to rest, and that everyone who walks through those gates are loved and cherished no matter their disability or past. Dinah is made in the image of God. God is the ultimate protector. I see God in Dinah.

Meet Mama Maureen

Maureen cooks the meals for everyone at the Disability Center. She is one of those people who is this strong pillar in the middle of the storm. She stirs the pot of pup and sits down again to crochet until the meal is complete. I never once heard anything negative come from Mama. She doesn't say much, but when she does you listen. She is full of wisdom and compassion. Maureen is made in the image of God. He provides food to his children and wisdom to those who ask.  I see God in Mama Maureen.

Meet "Iron Grip"

Iron Grip lovingly throws his arm around your neck in one of the tightest embraces possible for a friendly hug (hence the nickname Iron Grip). He is 18 and strong. He doesn't speak or interact in what the rest of the world might consider a normal fashion. But he communicates through points, and grunts, and hugs, and laughter. He has the playfulness of a child. Grab a ball and kick it in his general direction and he becomes South Africa's next big soccer star. He laughs deep, and loud and makes you feel joyful and playful and fun. Iron Grip is made in the image of God. God is so incredibly playful which is one of the best ways that I am able to connect with him. I see God in Iron Grip.

Meet Cecilia

Cecilia is one of the most loving and understanding people I have ever met. Her tiny frame envelopes you in a hug that makes you feel loved, and cherished, and adored. Her kisses on the cheek make you feel as though nothing is wrong in the world. She has a zeal to learn and understand. She asks questions and seeks answers. She doesn't care what your past is but accepts you where you are at. She is gentle and patient. When she first taught me how to sew, she practically had to hand over hand my entire project with me. However, she never grew weary or impatient with me. She continued to push me on towards excellence. Cecilia is made in the image of God. God is more patient than I can even imagine being. I see God in Cecilia.

And the list goes on and on. I could list every adult and child I came into contact with and tell you how aspects of their character clearly pointed to the character of Christ. I am so thankful that the Lord allowed me to experience more of him, through the beautiful people at a disability center in a squatter camp in South Africa. Just like with Joshua, God revealed himself to me way more vividly and expressively than I ever imagined.

The Disability Center became my holy ground to experience the presence of the Lord in a very real and tangible way.. What is your holy ground? Don't forget to remove your sandals.