Enduring Faith

What I've Been Learning Through James: Enduring Faith

My best friend since 1st grade is very cool. Deuteronomy 8:3 and John 15:4-8 changed our lives and now we're spending our Friday mornings with the Word and frappes that think their eggnog (they're not). I adore it. Our first day, I Googled "commentaries on James", and, feeling ambitious, I printed out a commentary on the first chapter. Sit down, eggnog frappes and all, Bibles and window booth, an hour and a half later--guess what? We went through four verses. And one in Isaiah. Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay! Look at us.

"James, a servant of God and of the Lord Jesus Christ, To the twelve tribes scattered among the nations: Greetings.

Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything." -James 1:1-4

Did you know that James was Jesus' half-brother? Because I didn't. Yet he refers to himself as the Christ's "servant"? That's pretty incredible, that love and humility. I don't know if I could willingly be my younger brother's "servant", Prince of Peace and King of Kings or not. Also, did you know that James wasn't even a follower of Christ while he was yet still alive and walking among us? James thought his brother was insane; James was ashamed of Jesus. Wow. Fast forward a couple of years and some redemption later, James is one of the top dogs of the Jesus MOVEMENT. Oh James, James, James. He's something.

Four verses (plus one in Isaiah). One week. I should've known that as soon as we sat down that one Friday and opened our Bibles, letting Him and His life-changing beauty out and into our lives, that neither of would ever be the same. Two weeks later: we aren't. Thanks for asking.

Besides James being the brother of Jesus and all that, one of the main things that jumped out at me--it is the Living Word, after all--were the verses about faith. "Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything." I don't know about you, maybe this is just me, but I have a bad tendency that when the Lord lays something on my heart or calls me to do something--pursue a relationship, forgive, love like Him, reach out, reach in, fold the towels not only with a good attitude but with joy, etc.--I do it, for a day. Maybe a week. Then stop. First obstacle, first rejection, first shut down and this is me: "Well! God obviously didn't call me to do that! Moving on." First breakthrough? Me: "Well! Happy, God? 'Good and faithful servant' for a whole week! That's me. Now, what else would you like for me to do?"

I apparently never paid much attention to the last bit of that passage "Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything." Finish it's work...finish it's work...finish it's work... Let's chew on our straws and discuss this one for a half hour or so, shall we? I did, too, for an entire week; it led me around in circles in my mind, and then it led me to Genesis and the story of Noah.

"So make yourself an ark of cypress wood; make rooms in it and coat it with pitch inside and out. This is how you are to build it: The ark is to be three hundred cubits long, fifty cubits wide and thirty cubits high. Make a roof for it, leaving below the roof an opening one cubit high all around. Put a door in the side of the ark and make lower, middle and upper decks. I am going to bring flood waters on the earth to destroy all life under the heavens, every creature that has the breath of life in it. Everything on earth will perish. But I will establish my covenant with you, and you will enter the ark—you and your sons and your wife and your sons’ wives with you. You are to bring into the ark two of all living creatures, male and female, to keep them alive with you. Two of every kind of bird, of every kind of animal and of every kind of creature that moves along the ground will come to you to be kept alive. You are to take every kind of food that is to be eaten and store it away as food for you and for them. Noah did everything just as God commanded him."
-Genesis 6:14-22

Noah did everything just as God commanded him. 55-75 years later after the Lord spoke to Noah, Noah was still fulfilling the call, obeying his command. 55-75 years later! And, if you noticed, during those 55 to 75 years, the only recorded time that the Lord spoke to His faithful servant Noah was once: When He was telling Noah what He wanted him to do. The Almighty God spoke, Noah listened, and for 55 to 75 years afterward he was still fulfilling the task the Lord had given him--until he had finished his work, so that he was mature and his job complete, not lacking of or in anything. Can you wrap your mind around that kind of faith? Can you picture what your life might look like, might be capable of, if you applied that kind of brilliant faith to it? Oh my God, I wish I could. To hear the voice of the Lord once, call put on your heart--that would take you a lifetime to achieve! You would do it, too, until the flood of His good-favor swept over you and you knew you were done, He was pleased, the commission fulfilled. Mission accomplished.

James' joy and Noah's 55-75 year huge faith makes my week-at-best perseverance and faith rather sad. It's like when you're inspired, perhaps by a breathtaking landscape or a pool of gold sunlight beneath your windows, and you take up a blank white canvasing which literally screams potential, and you begin to paint. And paint. And paint. This commission is all-absorbing and life-consuming, and it is beyond brilliant and it's not even completed yet! Look at it now, ha! Look at it when we're finished. ...Except then, right in the midst of splashes of vibrant colors and a palette that has to be alive, you set down your brush. One shade isn't cooperating, the red isn't turning out how you saw it in your mind, and you're discouraged. You set the easel aside for the day, just for the day, promising your conscience that you'll start back up the morrow, just give you a break for a second. The next day comes, and the next, and the next. Your easel stays in the corner, the brush in the jar, and your motivation in nonexistence. You think about finishing it, but you know--you know--you never actually will. You've given it your best! Surely, what more can you do? Yeah, you feel guilty, but why should you? It's your life, that stupid painting doesn't affect it, why not say you're done with it and be done with it? After all, what more can you do? The shading is hopeless and the red won't cooperate.

This is me. This is me when my Father whispers in my heart "That girl, she needs a friend. Be a friend to her as I have been a friend to you." So I call a few times, get in the habit of hugging her every time I see her, maybe even invite her over for a sleepover. No, thank you. "'No thank you'? 'No THANK YOU'?!" I persevere, though, for about a week more, asking how she is, always smiling. Get brave, invite her over again. Like I'd ever want to do something with you. "'Like I'd ever want to do something with you'?!" Nope, got it wrong. God obviously meant I was supposed to be friends with that other girl I know! No, no Betsie. You got it right the first time. That girl, the mean one. I'm always so quick to listen the first time, but I usually cover my ears when He speaks the second time. I give up, I mean, what can I do? I've tried, given it my best, honest! She's just impossible, hopeless. I did what He asked and since I'm no longer going anywhere, I'm done. Move on.

..................

What would my life look like if I persevered? If I "considered it pure joy whenever I faced trials of many kinds, because I knew that the testing of my faith produces perseverance. If I let perseverance finish its work, then I would be mature and complete, not lacking anything." (James 1:2-4, paraphrased) It might be brilliant. And all those hard tasks, those messy callings--they have the potential to be incredible, beautiful things (Ecclesiastes 3:11), for that is our Father's greatest desire and goal, if only I had the faith to let Him finish them. If I had the faith to finish what He called me to start. If I had the faith, they wouldn't be blank canvases screaming "potential!", they wouldn't be a masterpieces that will never be recognized fore they were never completed.

I've been learning a lot about enduring faith through James.

Joyfully Dedicated

"And Betsie, don't be too harsh in your judgment. Remember, you wear a wedding ring that symbolizes you're married to Christ, and yet, a lot of times, you don't act like it. I would hope that if you were really married you wouldn't act like this!" Mom and daughter heart-to-hearts while washing dishes are the best, I totally recommend it at least once a month. Week. Day. The statement above was just a snippet from one of ours earlier this week, and the honesty was so needed. My mom and her friend Wisdom, everything they said was true, brutally so; but she was also wrong. "I would hope that if you were really married you wouldn't act like this"?
But I am really married...

Betsie Joy. That's my name. "Betsie" is derived from its lengthier sister "Elizabeth", and "Elizabeth" means: Dedicated to God. Then there's Joy, my middle name.

joy (joi)
a. Intense and especially ecstatic or exultant happiness.
b. A source or an object of pleasure or satisfaction.
1. To enjoy.
2. Something causing such a feeling: a source of happiness.
a: the emotion evoked by well-being, success, or good fortune or by the prospect of possessing what one desires: delight.

Betsie Joy--Joyfully Dedicated to God. Joyful "by the prospect of possessing what one desires'; joyful because I am dedicated to Him, I am His and He is mine. (Song of Solomon 6:3) No matter where I go in my life, no matter who I do or don't know in twenty years, I will never be able to run away from His for His name is my name and not only was I created to be His, but my own parents have given me to Him.
Before I was born, before I was even conceived, my parents were pregnant with a younger sibling for my older sister. That sweet child--it died while still in the womb, coming and going without even living. However, because that child never began its life, I began mine. I was conceived, knit together, mere months after my mother's miscarriage. Yet, even though they had already lost one sweet baby, without even holding them once, and I really shouldn't have existed in the first place--they still named me Betsie. Betsie Joy. They still joyfully dedicated me to our Lord, the One who created me and kept me alive in my mother's womb, just like Hannah did Samuel. ("And she said, 'Oh, my lord! As you live, my lord, I am the woman who was standing here in your presence, praying to the Lord. For this child I prayed, and the Lord has granted me my petition that I made to him. Therefore I have lent him to the Lord. As long as he lives, he is lent to the Lord.'" -1 Samuel 1:26-28)
For my trip to Thailand, my mom wrote me a letter which I read during my fourth week there. It was a beautiful letter...letting me go. My mom and dad were the ones who bought the golden wedding band which I haven't removed from my ring finger for nearly a year now. They were the ones who prayed for the Lord to give them a child, and then once they had me, they prayerfully gave me back to the Lord. My parents have always encouraged me to follow my dreams, whether that was running a Bed & Breakfast when I was twelve, or being the Queen of England when I was nine. I'm beginning to learn that they mean what they say, even when those dreams lead me away from them and to Him. Because as my mom said to me through blue words on a notebook page, I am His before I am theirs. I am His daughter, and I am dedicated to Him.

After fifteen years of bearing and carrying it, my name's meaning finally means something to me and now I want to live my life in such a way so as to live out my name. Joyfully dedicated to my Lord for He is my Maker and my Father and in Him, if I drink deep, I will forever be satisfied.

"Those who sow with tears
will reap with songs of joy.
Those who go out weeping,
carrying seed to sow,
will return with songs of joy,
carrying sheaves with them."
-Psalm 126:5-6

His plans are so much higher than ours, His thoughts beyond our capacity to comprehend. He orchestrates everything, and is the universe's Conductor. I yearn to possess the faith to always trust and believe in this. Not just when I've harvested and am returning rejoicing, but also when I first set out with seeds to sow. It is my desire that there would never be tears shed out of hopelessness and despair, but only joy joy joy.

Beautiful Things

"We're Christians--what does that look like?" Mrs. Amy Lancaster, who lives at WeWillGo, the homeless outreach ministry my family and I have been a part of for several years now, asked us this morning. Well, on July 9th, 2011, it looked like over a hundred brothers and sisters in Christ, the body of Christ, joining together to read the entire Bible over the course of a few hours. Today, being a "Christian" looked like a group of five reading passages out of Ezekiel, literally speaking life into and over a 21st century Valley of Dry Bones, prophesying and believing that the Lord would bring life where there has been death. It looked like children, black and white, sitting without the bondage of racism and fear on the porches of abandoned crackhouses, houses in which fugitives have hidden and alcoholics have wasted their lives, helping their parents slay Jackson's Goliaths of drug addiction and poverty through faith. It looked like people with controlled, suburban lives allowing the Lord to control their lives for a few hours, and, by doing so, they found themselves becoming a part of the lives of the sweet, bewildered homeless men and women wanting to know what all these crazy white folk were doing babbling on their corners and blocks.
It looked like reading the Word of God on streets that had truly never heard it before. Not once. And those streets, those people--they were parched. Cracked pavement from the heat and from lack of attention; streets that, in people's eyes, lack worth. Houses that once were homes for families, a refuge. Families once dwelt there, put up Christmas trees there, married there, gave birth there; but now they are only dark caves for people who have run away from their families to crawl into. Once man-made streams are now man-made dumps for used syringes, cast-off-falling-apart right sneakers, garbage, etc. This is my city, the very heart of my state--can the body possibly prosper when the heart is so...sick?
It's not the Lord's plan for it to be parched, and, thankfully, it was His city before it was mine. So if it is His city, and it's always His desire to make all things beautiful (Ecc. 3:9-11) in His perfect timing (Isa. 55:8-9)--what does that mean for Jackson, Mississippi?
It means that restoration, that beauty are coming to flood over the streets, blocks, and crackhouses of Mississippi's capitol.
I walked up and down my group's assigned--practically abandoned--street, and as people in my small group took turns reading aloud passages out of 2 Chronicles and Ezra, I held my youngest sister's hand and we played a game. It's called the Let's-See-How-Many-Beautiful-Things-We-Can-Find game, and the only rule was that you had to find the beauty that was around you; because it was there. Veins of lush green shoots running all criss-cross over the cracked lane; mimosa flowers still in bloom above our heads that sunshine danced through; an empty lot that with just a cutting could be a superb baseball lot; wild bushes that could bear fruit with a little tender and care, a polluted stream that, maybe someday, could run clear and be a place where children could splash during summer without fear of broken glass shards and bare needle points. We counted those beauties, the ones that were already before our eyes--the pink mimosa flowers, the strong grass shoots breaking through the concrete--, and we counted the ones that we could see would come to be, by faith and hope.

"You will go out in joy
and be led forth in peace;
the mountains and hills
will burst into song before you,
and all the trees of the field
will clap their hands.
Instead of the thornbush will grow the juniper,
and instead of briers the myrtle will grow.
This will be for the LORD’s renown,
for an everlasting sign,
that will endure forever.”
Isaiah 55:12-13

I prayed this verse over the street I walked, and I prayed in absolute faith that these things would come to pass in Jackson because I have already seen them come to pass in other cities, in the lives of others, and in my own life. Where I had planted briers, I have watched Him prune in a hurt-so-good kind of way and then lovingly and tenderly sown seeds of beautiful myrtle, and then water them with the Living Water that only He can offer and the blood that only He shed. Where I had allowed thornbushes to grow in my life, which, over time, cut me savagely and mercilessly, He has completely removed them so that a mighty and strong juniper could spring up. He has made a beautiful thing out of me so that I can better give Him the glory, and He has made beautiful things out of all of His children because He just absolutely adores us.
He doesn't just stop with us, with you and me. He can make beautiful things out of everyone. But why would He just stop there? He could make a beautiful thing out of Jackson, a beautiful thing out of Mississippi, a beautiful thing out of our country, a beautiful thing out of our nation...He could make a beautiful thing out of our entire world.
Oh. He can. And He does.

You Are Here

I had been in the United States--I had been home--for only six days after being gone for two months, when I found myself standing with my family in our second row spot during worship at our church. Standing there for the first time in two months. I felt like that bloke, what was his name? Rip Van Winkle, right? The one who wandered up into the mountains, drank liquor with some hoodlums, slept for over twenty years, and then returned to his village to find that no one knew who he was, believed what he said had happened to him, and everyone he loved had either moved away or died. Honestly, I felt a little like Rip Van Winkle that first morning in church; a little bit like a traveler returning after being gone way too long.
That day, I signed a paper saying that I was now an official member of our church. Which basically just means that I'm serious about going there, about investing in our church body, and whenever they need help with a ministry they can ask me for assistance. I wouldn't have signed my name if I didn't love my church, or prayed about it first--but I do love my church and I did pray about it first, so I crossed all my 't's and dotted all my 'i's and signed my name quickly and answered all the questions. However, with that said, I still felt a little melancholy while doing it. That penned signature made it real, that I was actually back. And for a while. Thailand was a short season, I know that, and now the Lord is leading me to spend a season or two just pouring into my church family. But still, watching that first season fade away as the days pass is a little sad. Like the heart sinking when the first burned orange leaf falls, signifying the End Of Summer. The leaf is beautiful and the season it brings in with it is gorgeous--but we all miss summer just a bit, deep down.
I miss the season I spent in Thailand. I miss how it was almost like for two whole months, I was all His and He was all mine. Up on an Asian mountain, motorcycling through a valley, praying underneath the vast night sky and constellations--I was able to just spend time marveling my Maker's creation and my praise song to Him wasn't interrupted by Big Life Decisions or Make-up Biologys or This Girl Said That And What Are YOU Going To Do About Its. He was there with me, like Moses on the mountaintop with the Lord for forty days and forty nights. Except, I had fifty-eight days and fifty-eight nights in which the Lord showed Himself to me. I miss my Thailand season.

Seasons may change, winter to spring, but I love you.

Um, was that God using the lines from one of my favorite songs to soothe my sinking heart? I do believe it was. You know what? God was there that first Sunday, in that church, in me. He was there with me just like He had been with me while I was in Thailand, and He is the same God here as He is there. He is the same, and He is here.
No matter what season He leads me to walk through--winter, spring, Romania, Thailand, high school, etc.--He will still be there, and He will still be showing Himself to me. How could I possibly think that our Father would be constrained and controlled by the changing seasons, or two months, or the sea separating land when He created each one?

Everything I've Been Missing Without Your Eyes

May 27th (Friday) 2011
3:36 p.m.

Yesterday, Pii Phet and Kara and I visited someone in Chiang Rai's government hospital. Translation slip ups and language barriers gave me the impression that we would be paying a call on a grown man; I was utterly unprepared to end up wandering through the children's ward. To visit a girl hardly younger than myself that was diagnosed with the life-stealing disease of HIV/AIDS.
Like I said, it was the government hospital, so treatment for all patients was free. Bad bit was that the patients would wait, sometimes days, for that free treatment. And there they were, the sick, lining the corridors with their blank, hopeless gazes and dirtied sheets. Absolutely no privacy, and--a lot of times, it appeared--absolutely no company. In pain, alone and humiliated--my heart ached with compassion.
Grandmothers with lifeless eyes; old men with black gums and black soles. Kara was upset because of the conditions: swarms of flies ruthlessly bombarding the patients, soiled sheets, dirtied hospital robes, etc. etc. What upset me was how unmistakably familiar it all was. I saw, and I remembered mornings spent walking the hallways of nursing homes back in the States with my family and/or homeschool group. I always secretly hated those visits. The weird, old people lining the rooms in their wheelchairs, just staring at you. Some of them were hateful, some O.C.D., others just...senile. I was always selfish, snobby, and awkward during those visits... Yet, the people I waled past yesterday--the skeletal frames, gappy mouths, and sad eyes--, I wanted to help them?

But they're just like the people back home. This is nothing new, you've seen this before. Why do you care now?

That's all I could think about as I made my way up the stairwells. Not the flies, not the living conditions, just how everyone was so lonely--and how I never cared before.
Why? Why have I never cared before? I wanted to grab a good Jane Austen novel, right then and there, and plop down among all those old, sick grandmothers and grandfathers and read to them until they didn't feel lonely anymore. I wanted to dance into the children's ward with a bright skirt, bells along the hem jangling around my bare feet, and maracas in hand and bring some joy where there was so much remorse, so much sorrow. Why? Why have I never cared before? How could I not care? How can I even claim to be a Christian (a "little Christ"), like Christ, and yet have so little compassion for so long? How could I go there, and then just...leave? How could I not leave completely changed from who I was just a few hours before?
I was not prepared for yesterday. I have never seen so many lonely, sick and hopeless children before. I pray it brought joy to at least one of them, or else my heartache would be in vain. The girl, hardly younger than myself, and her mother who we visited--did we encourage them? The Buddhist couple whose ill infant we prayed over--did that mean anything to them?
Well, it meant a lot to me.

"Give me Your eyes for just one second
Give me Your eyes so I can see
Everything that I keep missing
Give me Your love for humanity"

Greater Things

Last night, I stood in the center of Chiang Rai's Night Bazaar--a sea of handmade crafts; sketch tat shops; postcard racks; and young men selling their dignity up on a stage every night for the public's enjoyment, boys raised from childhood to be girls. Lame, maimed women and men curled up on the sidewalk, begging for their living, for life; precious salespeople and artists with heartbreaking, hallow lives; Christians on vacation who forgot to pack their compassion--this is Chiang Rai, this is the city I'm living in right now. I stood amidst it all last night, and a trio band sang through two huge speakers and over the entire square, describing the despair they were witnessing with the help of the Eagles.

"Welcome to the hotel California
Such a lovely place
Such a lovely face
Plenty of room at the hotel California
Any time of year, you can find it here

Her mind is tiffany-twisted, she got the Mercedes Bends
She got a lot of pretty, pretty boys, that she calls friends
How they dance in the courtyard, sweet summer sweat.
Some dance to remember, some dance to forget

Welcome to the hotel California
Such a lovely place
Such a lovely face
They livin’ it up at the hotel California
What a nice surprise, bring your alibis

Last thing I remember, I was
Running for the door
I had to find the passage back
To the place I was before
’relax,’ said the night man,
We are programmed to receive.
You can checkout any time you like,
But you can never leave!"

I felt neck-deep in evil, in injustice. Despair was in every face I saw, hopelessness impregnated the air. The beggars without a future, without self-dignity; the lady boys, stripped even of their God-given self-identity. Oh God, my heart ached, and I nearly wept for the tragedy that was alive around me. But, I know that it is man that looks, sees, and sings the ballads of hopelessness, of giving up. I, in my lack of faith, also look and see and feel overwhelmed in hopelessness. But God, God--I know He sees and sings another song, and He is teaching me to sing it over Chiang Rai, Thailand, and to believe in it.

"You're the God of this City
You're the King of these people
You're the Lord of this nation
You are

You're the Light in this darkness
You're the Hope to the hopeless
You're the Peace to the restless
You are

There is no one like our God
There is no one like our God

For greater things have yet to come
And greater things are still to be done in this City
Greater thing have yet to come
And greater things are still to be done in this City

There is no one like our God
There is no one like our God

For greater things have yet to come
And greater things are still to be done in this City
Greater things have yet to come
And greater things are still to be done here

There is no one like our god
There is no one like our God

Greater things have yet to come
And greater things are still to be done in this City
Greater things have yet to come
And greater things are still to be done here."

God has greater things in store for Thailand.