Will you find me? (In which I'm a guest blogger!)

My life, these past two weeks, has consisted of a "perpetual" to-do list, in which I add/remove but never seem to find the end to striving.  (exhales)  In the midst of this whirlwind I found the time to prepare a guest post for another blogger!  I know!  Exciting!  These series involves choosing a biblical character and then with both empathy and imagination creating a nonfiction story involving some component of that character's story.  I was very intrigued and have enjoyed the series thus far.  I'd encourage you to read through the post and see if you can guess whom I've chosen to write about before the end.  It may surprise you.

--------------------------------------

I know what to do.

To a certain extent, I always have.

There’s a security here, in knowing.

Even if my fear wins, as it most assuredly does, at least I am among those who know the truth.

My battle is not found in the striving to know, to be certain of what is correct and desirable.

My conflict lies not in God’s expectation of righteousness.  I find peace in His character whether it is joyous or wrathful.

He is undoubtedly good, Sovereign, and wise beyond comprehension.  I love that.

You can find the rest here.

When the on fire was "we"

If you were to take all of my memories, over the past 27 years, line them up and categorize them based on intensity of emotion, I have NO doubt that youth group days capture a majority percentage of the "top intensity" spots.  Newsboys, "Yes I Believe," trips in 15 passenger vans, pamphlets, flag poles, prayers for peers, purity pledges, "Heaven's gates, Hell's flames," bible drills, DC Talk, naming and claiming and believing and receiving, secret notebooks, "I Kissed Dating Goodbye," "Book of the Martyrs," spiritual gift inventories, and judging apathetic parents...it was black or white baby, gray area was for unbelievers.

Reflecting on those things now, mostly makes me feel...tired.  Where did we find this seemingly endless supply of energy and passion and heartbreak and conflict and dedication?  Now I'm just happy to commit to a social gathering on a school night.  Ambition looks a lot different on the other side of 23.

I have so many thoughts on this culture perpetuated in which being "on fire" was the definition of a true Christian.  One thought being that it was so powerful because it was "we."  There was a community, with heightened emotion and spirituality---essentially, a "perfect storm" for growth--good, bad, or ugly.  It was a gang culture without the violence or obvious intent to harm/illicit activities.  We belonged to each other, we had a higher calling in midst of a developmental stage begging for independence and adult ambitions, we stood for something.  

Is our "on fire" "we" anymore?  For many of us, the answer is no.  We don't live in a culture that celebrates the "we."  We have to work for the "we."  I don't know what happened between then and now that we can't figure out what "we" means anymore.  Plus, "We" just looks a lot different when you work full time and have kids.  

Another thought is that "on fire" and "doubt" were antonyms.   And grace was just forgiveness.  I'm still working my way out of those nuggets.  Who has learned how to talk about the "gray area?"  The gray area that doesn't hide our sinful nature, but acknowledges that it is a part of who we are now (now meaning out of the garden).  Our generation are skilled "splitters."  My on fire self and my hidden self instead of my whole self has good and bad components.  That is a HUGE difference.  

I think many of us needed that culture, as dysfunctional as it may have left us.  Yes, "on fire" looks a lot different from this side.  I think many of us found ourselves having to push against that culture in college in order to find the balance.  Its scary to me to think about how close I came to walking away from Christianity because of those subtle and scary undercurrents perpetuated in the "on fire" culture.  And I consider myself more fortunate than others.  I'm so grateful for this book and eager to delve into it so we can have good discussions on how to perpetuate a better way for our children especially in light of the ever growing divide between our broader culture and our Christianity.  I want my kids to know who they are, completely, not split into good and bad versions.

This is part of Addie Zierman's synchroblog for "When We Were on Fire" which I am sooo excited to read.  You can buy it here.

My teenage conscience live in concert!

I went to my first Switchfoot concert last night, which seems hilarious in multiple ways.  One being that they were the first band I obsessed over.  The other being that they've been around for, you know, pushing two decades.  And, naturally, they played at a theatre less than a mile from my apartment.  Random.  I love the intimacy of listening to a band whose songs were such a foundational element in forming my identity.  Sometimes I think Jon Foreman was my teenage conscience.  I still have my original cds and their army of small scratches.  My journals paint an ode to their impact.   Do you have a song that you obsessed over during a very specific period in your life, and then ten years later can play it and flashback to that moment?  Yeah, good stuff.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Sometimes we think that response has to be proportional to whatever event proceeded it.  If something terrible happens, my response has to be very firm and confident and assertive in regards to whom, when, where, and why.  If something sad happens, my response has to be wordy and exaggerated to compensate for helplessness.  If something outrageous happens, my response has to be passionate and reassuring to someone, even if only myself.  Sidebar: "has to be" is not necessarily always a conscious process.
My problem is that I kind of suck at "proportional" responses.  I can produce witnesses ;0)  I don't find security or safety in formulating responses to things like government shut downs or scandal or school shootings or victim blaming blog posts or all the people in jail who couldn't read in 3rd grade or suicidal 7 year olds.  I don't find safety in policies or Facebook micro social movements or lecturing or assessments or statistics or political party affiliation.  I feel lost in a mosh pit of verbal vomit.  It's not that I don't have something to say, or a desire to speak my mind.  But, more often than not, what truly can be said and be proportional?
------------------------------------------------------------------
There are moments.  Small moments.  Maybe alone, maybe in a small group, maybe in an auditorium that seats a couple hundred.
All the pressure for proportional fades.  All the voices outside of that moment clambering over each other to be heard, fade into white noise.  What remains is us.  Together in our struggle for a response.  Nothing except our voices, some instruments, soft lights to illuminate the dark space surrounding our group.  The dark space doesn't escape my attention but, rather becomes inferior to what is happening now.
We find our voices.  We find a solidarity in our lifting one timeless song, with each one's voice, with one aim: to be heard.  It is here that I find my security.  The anthem of my sisters and brothers and little ones and elders.  "hello hurricane, you're not enough...you can't silence my love."  "until I die, I'll sing these songs, on the shores of Babylon, still looking for a home, in a world where I belong."