Church doesn't save anything.

Today as I was driving to work I was behind a series of Michigan's slowest drivers. It usually doesn't bother me all that much, but they were making me late, so I was, of course, becoming frustrated. After a light I had the chance to pass the last of the slow-pokes, but as I went to pass, the lanes merged together. I quickly slowed down and zoomed behind the vehicle again. I muttered some things under my breath, upset that I almost killed these people and didn't make it past them.
I could see the driver and passenger turn around to look at me, so I gave my usual response of talking to them thinking that they can hear me. "What? I didn't do anything. You didn't die. Calm down already! Geeze!"
They stopped glancing at me, maybe they saw my lips moving and thought that I was casting a spell on them or something because when we passed a church on the left they stuck their hand out the window and pointed at me and then the church. My mouth dropped. I guess I can't expect anything less from the Bible Belt of America, but I was still shocked and appalled.
What if the person driving behind them wasn't me? Granted, they'd probably be a better driver and wouldn't have set the other driver off. But all I could think was, "What's that church going to do for me or anyone else who walks in its doors?" I have no idea the values of that church or who/what they center everything they do on. What if I were someone else and I took their well-meaning but rude advice and I went to that church? Those people in that building can't do anything for me just by themselves. The church can't help or save me and my bad driving skills in anyway.
I yelled out at the car still driving slower than my dead grandmother, "Only Christ can save or help me!" then with a really mature "Duh!" I ended our argument as I turned left on to the main street of Rockford.
Let's be honest here. How many times do we think to ourselves or out loud or through gestures that "if that person would only go talk to this person or go to church or have something hard happen in their life, then they would change." No. Maybe those things would help steer people in the right direction, but I will adamantly scream at the tops of my lungs until my face turns blue, that those things won't change the being of a person. Won't in any way make them feel less like crap. Won't in any way take away the pain that they feel as they rock back and forth in their bed at night. Won't in any way give them the peace that they wish they could feel as they go throughout their daily activities.
Only Christ. Only the man who gave up absolutely everything to show the people who constantly feel like crap that they are worthy because they are his. Because they exist. Only in him can any church or counselor or situation make a person feel like they deserve life.
Stop pointing to a distant church, get off of your butt and be the hand that you are refusing to be. Stop shifting the responsibility. You love Christ first, then maybe people won't want to ram their cars into yours.

even on his best of days.

Why do I hate it when my past mixes with my present, or when I think about it mixing with my future? I was just on facebook and saw that my dad had posted a video of the "firehouse shuffle." He used to be on our town's fire department and they would sing songs together. I have so many memories from when I was 10 and younger of those guys, they were all like family to me. When I saw this video, I thought, "Oh my word, how in the world did he get this?" And then come to find out they just performed together tonight in my hometown. I don't know why but it killed my heart to hear that. To know that I wasn't invited to partake in some of my favorite memories of childhood. That, again, I'm just an afterthought to my dad because he has a new and better life. One that doesn't include children or the responsibility that they bring with their existence. I know that this sounds absolutely harsh, and I'm completely exaggerating everything...but does it ever hurt. Right now, this feels like truth to me, even if I know it's not. Right now I believe that my dad doesn't really give a lick for me and that he never really did or will. And that if my own flesh and blood can't stand to care for me, then no one else really will, either. I know that's not true. But right now I don't want to believe the truth. I don't want to believe that he loves me. That, in reality, I'm his pride and joy. That he cares for me more than I could ever know. That no matter how much he loves me, it doesn't matter. His love doesn't count. Is that true? Does it count? In reality, in all truthfulness, life sucks. I know that my life isn't all that bad, but it still sucks. You can only compare your pain to other things which you have felt (no matter how empathetic you are), so to you, it's agonizing. All you want to do is lay in your bed and cry, because you know it will never be the same.
I need to be able to hear the truth LOUDER than the lies.
God, you are my father. You far exceed my father, which sometimes feels like it's not too difficult, but I know that even on my dad's best of days, you are so much more loving and caring of me than he could ever be. You provide everything for me. You protect me. You empower me. You search and know me. You judge me. You discipline me. You prune me. You water me. You give me peace. You give me hope. You give me wisdom. You give me eyes to peel back the front layer of this world to see into your world, the way things really are. You give me joy. You give me passion. You give me my ability to love. You give me a future. You give me a home. You give me the blood of your son...every day.

check it off.

It seems that what keeps pushing each of us through life, the driving force, if you will, are goals. You’ve probably heard this before, and I can’t speak for men and maybe some of you women disagree with me, but I have heard time and time again how women are planning for the next thing. It doesn’t even have to be a big goal, like marriage, family, a job, moving out of your parents’ house, but even the small goals. By the time your head slumps onto your pillow, you have already judged the success of that day by the goals you have accomplished. “Oh, dang, I forgot to wash the car.” “I finished sorting through that huge pile on my desk!” “I finally found an apartment!” “The kids were late to school…again.”

Why do we do that?

Every time I’m sitting in a car and I glance over at the people rushing past the window, I wonder about their lives. What are the goals that they are chasing right now? What’s motivating them to finish that goal? Why did they even choose that to be their goal in the first place? Do they have the right perspective? Do they know who’s chasing them as they are running around checking things off?

I’m not saying that goals are in any way bad. Shoot, I am a planner, I’m a checker-offer, I love to achieve. But it’s easy to lose focus. As we are standing in the check out line at our grocery store that seems to always move slower than the time before, we put our shoulders back and suck in a little as we glance down at the magazines that taunt us. Acting uninterested as we read the cover that says how so-in-so just lost 1,500 pounds and they want you to know how. Then the candy bars glare at the magazines and then at us. So, naturally, feeling bad for the candy, you pick one up; pretending that it’s for your youngster tugging at your fingers to get them the Butterfinger, not the peanut butter M&M’s you just grabbed. Again, another goal thrown out the window. I wonder, as you stand there in that line waiting “patiently” on the older woman with blue tinted hair to put her items on the conveyer belt, if you feel that tap? Not really even a tap. More of a light stroke on your heart. “Oh, my daughter.” You hear the whisper.

“Not now, please. It’s been such a long day.” There are tugs on your fingers again, still wondering why you haven’t heard their Butterfinger request.

Then, even more gently than before, you feel your heart submerge into something familiar as you give into that voice. “You, my beloved, are so precious. Have you heard me today? When you stretched over to turn off your alarm? When you rubbed your temples at work? When you drove home? When you stroked your child’s stomach? When you kissed your husband passionately? When you read my promises? I was whispering. Telling you how dear you are to me and how your value is far greater than the stars. I wish you could fathom my greatness, fathom the love I have for you, fathom the love I have for the beggar you just walked by, fathom my power, fathom my hope, fathom my peace. Oh, my peace. You can have it; it’s all yours, my valued child. Know my rest.”

Walking through your front door and sitting on the end of the couch, you curl up next to your husband, remembering fondly that dear voice, which is always whispering to your heart. Telling you again to remember who is pursuing you as you pursue these goals.

“Remember me and keep me, always, as your first love.”

In exactly a week I leave for Grand Rapids, Michigan for an internship with Women at Risk International. To be honest, at first I was excited, but now I'm barely thrilled at all and mostly scared. Why do I find that most of the time my life is governed by fear? Why do I let it reign over my heart when I know that the only fear that is good is fear of the Lord. The fear that humbles me into the realization of God's true power and might and my smallness.
Ever since I got home from living in the middle east a shadow had formed over my heart. The shadow of religiosity. But it isn't just in Israel where this religiosity rules. It's here in my hometown, too. In good ole, C-ville, Ohio where Baptists reign and farmers are just there bein' haters, with good reason to be, too. I look around at my beloved town and I wonder why we ignore what God told us is good, "to do justice and to love kindness and to walk humbly with your God." It's become more of a game, and not just to the religions I was surrounded by this past semester and in Cedarville, but also to me. I have forgotten that all last year I prayed to be more filled with God's joy than anything else. That when people looked at me and talked to me that they couldn't help but walk away encouraged because Christ's joy and hope so exzuded from me. But God has become a pastime, not my whole being. He has become something that I talk to but don't listen to. He has become a simple diversion to me and I am so ashamed to say that is true.
My prayer now is that God will protect my friends who are still studying in Israel, that he will show them the danger of the religiosity that encircles them. I pray that he will open the eyes of the people in my town to see that God is more than a recreation. I pray that I will be more than a fairweather friend.

rejection from a stranger.

About a week ago I got bored and curious, kind of a dangerous combination, and I became a member of e-Harmony with a month's subscription. Now I'm wondering why I spent money (money that I don't have) on something like an online dating site.

I felt silly being on the site, but maybe even more, I felt hopeful. I know that I am capable of meeting guys in real life and I'm not desperate and I really don't care to have a boyfriend right now. I mean, it'd be nice, but I'm content going into the unknown by myself. Or really, just with God.

They matched me with a bunch of different guys who sounded quality and a few of them stuck out. But there was this one guy, Matthew, who really stuck out. He wasn't overly attractive or anything, but he just seemed great and really loved the Lord whole-heartedly. I felt completely ridiculous when my heart kind of skipped a beat when he asked to communicate with me. So I responded and it was a whirlwind romance. I mean, technically, we never talked, which seems strange that I'd become so attached to him. But I guess that's just something that we girls do, huh? I have heard rumors that guys do it, too, but girls are definitely guilty. We know the surface of a guy and we create a complete personality and life for them before we ever actually know them or their heart.

Well, I started to get anxious because Matty and I had gotten pretty far in the communication process on e-Harmony...We were on step three of four. Yeah, I know. HUGE. I sent him some pretty thought provoking, awesome questions, but it took him three days to respond. On that dreaded third day I received communication from my loved one. "Matthew has 'closed' communication." Why, you ask? Good question, I asked the same thing. His reason, chosen out of a list prewritten for him was, "I didn't feel the chemistry was there."

Really, Matthew, really? Ya big jerk. No chemistry? Seriously? I'm loaded with chemistry and I'm about with shove it up your.... Yes, this was my reaction. I kind of felt like he had kneed me in the gut. Ouch, Matt, ya cut me deep, man.

I found it quite peculiar that I felt like this guy, who I never actually talked to, had just broken up with me. Come on, Teresa, it's not like you were dating him or anything...But I kind of felt like I was.
I did think that there was chemistry (what chemistry is, I'm not completely sure, but believe me, it was there), and I had already begun to imagine our future in Staten Island with a few Italian looking kids who had their dad's same New york accent (yeah, I'm not sure if he even had an accent).
Poor, Matthew. The guy didn't even know what he did to me. Silly me, letting my boundaries go again.

I do have to say, though, that I'm very thankful that his reason for dumping me wasn't "other." That's the default, "You're ugly, but it's not an option on this list." So thanks, Matt, for giving me that, at least. And sorry, Matt, for assuming I knew you. But even more, sorry, self, for being a spaz.

floating on (selections from my homework)

On the third day of the Galilee field study we started out by floating out onto the Sea of Galilee. It was remarkable. It was rainy and chilly, but just to try to imagine myself in the position of the disciples was overwhelming. Unfortunately, I had to make sure I was sitting most of the time because I get motion sick so easily, but it was still enjoyable to watch my classmates taking pictures and to feel the waves slide so effortlessly under the boat. I can’t even fathom the fear that the disciples felt in the midst of the storm, even though the lake is not extremely huge and you wouldn’t think to look at the lake that it would be dangerous, I’m sure that their breath was swept from them as they look around frantically for ways to get the water from out of their small boat.
In my Children’s Ministry class last semester we had to teach a Bible lesson to third and fourth graders on the passage of Jesus calming the sea. We set up a couple of tables in the shape of a very bad looking boat and sprinkled water on the kids and made storm noises to get the greatest effect of the storm. Yeah, it wasn’t all that effective. But now that I’ve been in that body of water and swam in it and felt it and actually experienced it in some small way, thinking about my measly table set up made me feel quite pathetic. How do you illustrate to a bunch of eight year olds the importance of trusting in the almighty power of God when times get rough through two tables leaned up against each other? To demonstrate the fear that penetrated the hearts of the men with Jesus; the fear that this sea, which was personified in the Canaanite god “Chaos,” was most surely going to take their lives?
The job description of Jesus’ disciples: 1-He wants you and 2-To be with him. How powerful is that? So many times I am concentrating so hard on how to work out my salvation with awe and reverence, that I forget completely who I am supposed to be in awe of and who I am to be revering. Not myself. But the being that has the ability to show himself in any way that he wants, and he chose to come to earth in our form. He chose to gather up a group of men so unlike himself and dysfunctional. I feel like I’m so much better than them sometimes. How arrogant can I become? I feel like from day to day my love for myself grows slowly inside my without me knowing it until I hear the words that come from my mouth or realize the thoughts that flash across my head. It brings me back to my childhood when I would just spout out whatever ran across my head, no filtering system involved, and every time my mother would tell me to go read James. I never did. Oh, how I wish I would have, so that the truth of God’s breath would spread out across my heart instead of my own desires. When will I realize that Jesus wants me? That he just wants me to be with him? Those are the only details to my job.

when i feel his pleasure.

I know that it's been a while, but since I've been here in Jerusalem, I have felt my ability to write is squelched. I'll sit down on my bed when everyone else is off in class or exploring the city or doing homework in the library, and i'll try to squeeze my thoughts onto the lined pages that lay in front of me. I've been trying to write a story for the past month and a half about a fatal disease that takes over my body and mind, I have all the words and images in my head and I can say it out loud, but for some reason my pencil stops after two short, unexciting or inspiring sentences. It's been amazing and so sad to me to feel my emotions and hear my thoughts run about inside of me, but not be able to splat them onto a page.
But then today I was shown (or reminded, really) of something that I have learned these past few years of college.
Some of the girls here at JUC were sitting in the living room of the Hereford's drinking chai that Abbey had made us. It was warming our stomachs and minds and relaxing our emotions as we began to talk of body image and the struggles that every woman in some way or form faces. Then Abbey made a reference to that scene in Chariots of Fire where Eric Little exclaims that when he runs he feels God's pleasure. As a Christian Education major at Cedarville University I have heard about this scene over and over again. It seems to be the Youth Ministry professors' favorite illustration to inspire students to find that thing that when they do it they feel God's pleasure. Honestly, I've gotten quite sick of it over the past two years and think, "Seriously, you can't think of anything better than that?" Well, when Abbey made reference to it this morning the question finally hit me. "What is that thing that I feel as if I am filled with God's glory and delight when I am participating in it?" Then without another effort of a thought it popped into my heart. Writing and Speaking. I was made to tell a story. To be a comfort to those who are going through afflictions that I have once gone through and the Holy Spirit helped comfort and heal me (2 Corinthians 1:4), and I can help explain the pain that little girl is feeling when she tries to scream out "Abba! Father!"
This morning I was reminded of the gifts that my Abba gave me and that the best way for me to use them is when I'm surrounded by these beautiful creatures that he made who help cultivate these thoughts in my head. I was trying so hard to write and say things that I knew needed to be said, but since I am removed from my family of people who daily challenge and inspire me, I am not able to say anything of worth. But now I am building a new family, even if it is just for two more months until I have to start it all over again. I need it. It reminds me of some of my favorite verses in Psalm 63, and just like my soul longs and thirsts for God as in a dry and weary land, my soul longs for community, as well. It's what I was created for.