reset.

“We all, with unveiled faces, are looking as in a mirror at the glory of the Lord and are being transformed into the same image from glory to glory.” 2 Cor 3:18a, HCSB

So much has changed since my last blog post. It’s been almost 3 years (THREE) since my experiment in following the Holy Spirit across the globe, and in so many ways I am a completely different person, with an under-graduate degree, a full-time job, and a rent to pay. I now live with 2 roommates in Greensboro, attend a different church, and I have learned to see the world through the eyes of someone who does not look, think, or act like me.

I am not the same person that I once was. Yet another bowl of beans for breakfast has taught me what it means not to have access to basic goods at my merest whim. The bruises on my knees have taught me what it means to fall on my knees before a healing God and beg Him for the impossible—and have Him come through in unfathomable ways. The tearstains on my cheeks have taught me that it is possible to be joyful and broken at the same time. I am not the same girl who began this blog, but I think that she would be ok with that.

So much has changed. And as I sit here, with my coffee in my hand and a book in my lap, I can see clearly how far God has brought me since last we met. But you know what?

So much has not changed at all.

The question, “What are your plans after graduation?” has changed into, “Is this what you want to do for the rest of life?” My answer still remains the same: “I have no idea where God is leading me. All I know is that I’m following.” I have poured over testimonies of disciples living radical lives at high
personal cost, and my heart cries out in response. I am so impatient to follow Katie Davis to Uganda to mother orphaned children, or to live on the streets of an intentional community with Shane Claiborne, or to fly to California and sit at the feet of the leaders of the organic church movement. My soul longs to go join the Holy Spirit in what He is doing, but I know without any hesitation that He is first teaching me to love where it is most difficult—right here at home.

For two years, I have wrestled with impatience (and do I mean wrestled), loneliness, recognizing God’s calling to singleness for me right now, laziness, despair, cynicism …Looking for a church home unfortunately means that one’s need for community  is not met very well, and that only helped to amplify my frustration. I was not alone by any means, but I felt like the first missionary in the history of Christianity who was completely unworthy of her calling (feel free to laugh here). I was experiencing what Tulian Tchividjan calls “morbid introspection,” because once again, I was so caught up in what my plans were and what I wanted to do that I lost sight of the knowledge that I am not in charge. I know it’s incomprehensible, but once again I was caught up in that human condition of desperately grasping for control.

I told you, some things haven’t changed at all.

And then I listened to a sermon that put me right back where I needed to be. The concept was this: Anybody who has ever been around little kids knows that they have no idea that the world does not revolve around them. If you’ve ever been to a birthday party with a three-year-old, you know that the child wants to blow out candles on the cake, get the first slice, and open the presents, no matter whose birthday it is. It never fails that at some point, a parent is going to have to pull the child aside and explain in no uncertain terms that “It’s not your party.”

It’s not my party.

At that moment, I felt this overwhelming sense of relief steal over my soul. I’m not in control, I’m exhausting myself trying to steal God’s glory, and frankly, believing that I could possibly run my life better than God can is a bit like trusting my teenage self behind the wheel of a car. A fancy sports car. My first time driving. In a blizzard.

If I have truly committed to being a doulos of the Resurrected King, then why does my life look more like a master than a slave? I’m tired of living on my own terms, living by my own definition of what it looks like to agape my neighbor. I’m tired of letting the world convince me that I am justified in wrath because I have been mistreated or I’m under a lot of pressure. I’m tired of the immediate sense of despair and hatred I get when hearing about Al Qaeda attacks taking place in my beautiful Burkina. So I need to unlearn my glory, and continue to learn how to love in humility—how to love my aggravating coworker, how to love the person ahead of me on the highway, how to love the homeless guy I bump into on my lunch break, how to love the radical Muslim who gunned down in cold blood a man in my missions agency. And I mean love—messy, uncomfortable, sweaty, tearstained, breathless, I’m-already-running-late-but-why-not love. Servanthood means getting someone else’s dirt on my hands.

So that’s why I’m here, writing this now. The journey of love is tough. As Langston Hughes wrote, it “ain’t been no crystal stair.” It is occasionally back-tracking, and always longer than we expect—it took Jesus thirty-three years to make it to the cross. Sometimes I realize that I’ve been holding the map upside down (those of you who know me would not be surprised) and I have to confess that I was wrong, and turn around. But this journey is so very worth it, and I can’t do it alone.  

Discipleship was never meant to be cold theology learned in a spiritual vacuum (Look how Jesus taught His disciples!). We are meant to journey together, to build each other up, and so I invite you on this journey with me as I explore the height and depth and length and breadth of Jesus’ love. Sometimes I will be dead wrong, sometimes I will have no idea what I’m talking about, but if you are interested in digging into spiritual truths with me, I think Jesus is ready to do big things in our hearts.

I know this has been a loooonnnng post, so if you’ve made it this far you have my thanks.

May the Lord bless you and keep you.

Sarah