On Invitation

2014 - Change. 2015 - Growth.

2016 - Invite.

Most years around Christmas, I spend some time reflecting on the year past, and praying about the year future. Sometimes, God gives me a word, an impression, a picture of something to be. In 2014, it was the word change... I didn't like that one so much. But change it was - some good, some not at all. 2015 was a year of stretching. Good growth. Not always easy but looking back, it was a richly blessed year.

And now in thinking of this year, the word Invite came.

"Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if anyone hear my voice and open, I will come in." Open the door; invite me in. Step aside so I can enter.

Another parable goes... One day a master decided to throw a big banquet. "Go out into the highways and the byways. Invite them to my dinner."

Not everyone excepted the master's offer. But that wasn't the servants' responsibility. The task was to invite.

This is a year to invite. Beckon people in. "Taste and see that the Lord is good." Don't force. Don't coerce. But don't assume that just because people may (and will) turn you down, you shouldn't extend the invitation. Gently and lovingly say "This is what God has done for me. This is what His love has looked like in my life. Won't you come and meet Him too?"

Invite them to the feast.

On Oma

I spent time with a wonderful woman tonight.

84. Widowed. Frail of body. Four-point-five weeks healed from a fall that broke her pelvis. Strong of mind. Full of stories to tell.

"I have a harder time with your families birthdays," she says. "You were always the farthest away." A hint of regret.

That was a fact. I didn't spend much time with this Oma growing up. Which made the three hours we spent talking tonight even more special. 

Just us. And the pets.

Pets. Children. Family. Society. Faith. We covered them all.

And then the stories came. Stories of her married years, when my dad was growing up. Stories of rescuing raccoons, and a pigeon, and piglets, and a goose. Stories of overprotective dogs and the men that secretly loved them (apparently my Opa and my dad are alike that way). Stories made sweeter by their newness to me. My Opa died when I was three; I have one treasured memory.

Then we went back a bit further. Growing up in the war. Stories she told me, heroic I. Nature, yet told as though that was just life. The way it was. My ancestors hiding Jews, being arrested, being liberated; stories of curfew and disobedient trips to the doctor in the middle of the night to get medication for an ailing mother; stories of (my personal favourite) my Oma, a twelve year old girl, and her brother, stealing supplies from a German outpost to make... a toboggan!

What a glorious gift this was, this connecting just the two of us. To learn from her, to gain anothers' perspective, to see the wisdom of her years. 

I talk to a lot of people, have many conversations, but this one... this one I will hold especially dear.

On the clock

Sigh.

I spent a lot of time looking at calendars today. Not to buy one. Not because the art was awesome. But my brain was pushing this: I need to survive the next seven weeks. And after that, I need to get this long list done in the next two months. And after that, the next year.

And staring at a calendar, at a clock, gives me the illusion that if I stare at, write down, plan, work hard enough, I can make it happen.

Now, I'm not saying burn all the calendars. As a teacher, my work life is ruled by the clock... bell for recess, bell for lunch, bell for bus. Gym schedule, computer schedule, classes. Calendars are essential. Long range plans. Upcoming events.

But, I can go too far. I can convince myself that it is my doing, my planning, that will get me through my schedule. I neglect grace.

Instead of writing "34 days left to get everything done," my time would be better spent writing "Trust in the Lord" on my heart.

Instead of stressing that family camping will take three days, that I forgot to schedule, out of my carefully planned summer life, I should really be thanking God for a blessed time to spend with the blessing of my family. 

I literally have April through August planned out, almost day to day. That doesn't leave alot of time to look for God in my days. Being focused on doing often means missing the seeing. The seeing of God's love and truth in the everyday.

So as I go, consulting clocks and bells and calendars, they will be tools. Tools to plan ahead, yes; tools to fulfill my responsibilities, yes - but not taskmasters. I will look up at life rather than down at my schedule. I will focus on the people around me to enjoy, rather than the list in front of me to be done.

I will be present.

On struggle

I cried today. 

Not the gentle mist in the eyes kind of cry. The I'm-in-public-but-I-can't-turn-off-the-faucet kind of cry.

For many reasons. Hurting friends. A grieving community. An overwhelming work schedule. Changes approaching in life. And mostly because Satan was taking all of those things plus a myriad of insecurities and hurtling them at me in attack after attack. And what should have been a joyful week for me, one of celebrating a good change, a blessing, turned into a struggle.

So at church, I cried. Starting the second the chords of "Lord, I Need You" began. And then again through every other song. And again when my brother asked at the end of my Sunday School lesson why I was cried in church. And again when my parents asked if I was okay. And  again when someone else did. And again in the car talking to my sister. And again when I was talking to God.

I've been struggling.

What follows is an excerpt from my prayer journal.

"I should know by now that pressing into you harder when struggles come is way more effective than pretending I'm not struggling.

But still I fail and learn again anyway.

My heart has not been quiet. Still. Peaceful. It has been anxious. Upset. Grieving. Doubting. Shameful.

Why is it that Satan can steal my joy and I don't notice? This should have been a joyful week... But instead he whispers... "You aren't good enough. You will fail. People will be disappointed in you. You won't be good enough. You are not good enough."

But I am. Because You made me. Because You call me by name. Because You have taken my guilt and shame to the cross and I bear it no more.

Praise the Lord, Oh my soul.

I know that, God. But still I struggle.

Help me."

A cry from an honest heart to a loving father.

And He answers. 

As my anxioius spirit juxtaposes the quiet of my bedroom, as I sip David's mint chocolate tea (God bless David), my Abba listens. And my heart knows that His heart knows. As I'm looking through my Bible for a verse, I come across two things. A bookmark. Made by a friend over eight years ago. On the back is written "To remind you that I'm praying for you!" Next a card - a prayer from a mentor and a friend. In it, the words "Go in Grace - You are human. Allow yourself to be! Go in strength - may your Almighty, living God be faithful to equip you for every task and relationship He calls you to." 

Encouragement.

And then. Words from the Father Himself. Sing, daughter. The Lord has taken away your judgments. The Lord is in your midst.... the Mighty One will save; Sarah, I will rejoice over you with gladness, I will quiet you with my love."

 

Promise.

On Wonder

It's been a while. Like, a year, since I've written a post. A lot has happened. I've graduated, moved out, found a job. I'm teaching at two Christian schools in my area. And maybe someday I'll write about what that was like... and about first year teaching... and about how much life teaches you.

But for today, this Sunday, this day especially dedicated to the worship and the admiration of the Creator, I'm reflecting on a few experiences I've had recently.

It's easy, when you've gone to church all your life, heard all the cliches, been to the services, to lose the big picture - the wonder that Jesus actually did come down to earth as a baby, lived, died a horrible death, and wonder-of-wonders rose again! Ask a new Christian - that is just WOW!

But I don't always feel that. I'm so very blessed that I know it and have heard it so often, but I don't want to forget that it's an awesome gift. I don't want to take it for granted.

Thankfully - God knows me. Better than I know me.

A few weeks ago, I was at church, and the band was doing a great job. It was one of those mornings for me where worship is a choice you make, but the emotion isn't necessarily there. I was tired. I wa a bit down, struggling with some stuff. While I was singing, I happened to look towards the front side. And there was a boy... I'll call him S. I've known S since he was young. He is on the autism spectrum and very special to my heart. And he was in the very front, rocking back and forth to the music. And he was smiling. Not gentle in-my-own-world smiling, but a wow-this-is-awesome grin. 

Like, wow-this-is-awesome. Amazing love, how can it be, that you my King have died for me!

This was my first reminder. 

Then last night, the youth of our church put on a service for their peers who either were not following Christ or who were just riding the coat-tails of their parents' faith. This group, around twelve of them, had come to our lay pastor after a trip and admitted their struggle with faith and their desire to press in. And now, six months later, they took their passion to their friends. It was amazing.

Music, worship, dance, etc. but two things especially. 1. Their testimonies to their peers. Their willingness to be vulnerable and not-cool for the gospel. To  use their gifts for Him. 2. The last part of the program was a call to respond. The team went out and just prayed. There were tears, laughter, and hearts tugged to the Father. I cried.

I'm a teacher. I teach students between the ages of Junior Kindergarten and Grade 8. I know highschoolers. And I see kids start in a Christian school in the primary grades excited about God and faith and life. And I see it die. I see kids become less wowed by God's love and more drawn towards the loves of the world. And it hurts me. I went to a Christian university. I saw people dedicated to their faith and I saw amazing things happen, but I also saw peers who were just there to get away from their parents and party their years away. Despite all the opportunities there was to grow. And it hurts me. 

Watching those teens step our in faith in front of their peers was a reminder to me. That God is still in the business of redemption. That even though we are living in a world of 50 Shades and pornography addiction and sexting and apathy, and even though I look at these kids that I know and it sometimes looks like they don't have a chance to make the right choices, that God fights our battles for us. And ensures the victory.

On transitions.

(c) Sarah Kuipers

I handed in my last assignment today.
I wrote my last exam.
I've had my last class.
I'm packing everything up from this school for the last time.
Anything other 'lasts' that come to my mind just sound mushy and extreme.

I am starting to really dislike the word 'last.'

When people ask how it feels, this is usually my reaction "Weeeeird. It feels very strange."

I know, not very articulate. But I'm still having a hard time putting my finger on it. It's another one of those things that make you feel two completely opposite things at once. I feel proud of the fact that coursework is done. And I will NOT miss writing exams or essays. And I am very much looking forward to placement.

But, I love my school. I have so many wonderful friends here. I love and am loved. I belong. And I will miss it.

(c) Sarah Kuipers

I am blessed.

I'm also scared. When you are preschool, your next bunch of years, you just know, are going to be in school. When you are in high school, you're pretty sure you have four years of college/university ahead of you. But right now? I don't have a clue what's next. So I'm scared.

But I'm not in charge of my life (thank goodness); the Creator is.

I am blessed.

This is my choice. I will be sad. I will cry, most likely, when I say bye. But, my decision, the choice I make, is to thank my Father for the blessings. Innumerable blessings.

Blessing my finances every year, faithfully, so I could keep coming back.
Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful friends and peers.

(c) Sarah Kuipers

A great program that has equipped me for my future career as an educator.
Fantastic, caring profs.
Opportunities to be involved.
Spiritual growth.
Community.
Acceptance.

And most of all, the knowledge that my God will be faithful to me in the future, as He is in the present and has been in the past.

On everything and nothing. On anchors. On the Anchor

Everything and nothing.

That seems like my answer to everything right about now. What are you thinking for jobs? Every option, nothing for certain. What are you thinking about right now? Mind=whirlwind: everything, which means I'm thinking nothing effectively. What are you doing? Same thing. 

In the past seven days, I have: contemplated living in a different country, gave blood -> got sick, decided to move if need be for a job, considered working in Europe for the summer, finished a knitting project, did readings, decided not to do some readings, ran an event, had group meetings, had conversations, had other meetings, took my grad photos, went grocery shopping, attended class, stayed up too late, blogged for school, memorized a verse, worked ahead on some assignments, procrastinated on others... and that is the short list.

In my program, many students experience this. In the school - hundreds. In the province - thousands. It's not unique to me. It's not unique to students. And, it is truthfully a blessed busy. A blessed everything and nothing. I am incredibly blessed to be in this place.

Back to the everything and nothing... every person processes things differently. Right now, I'm blogging after some prayer, piano playing, and scripture memorization time. I'm listening to worship music. This is my processing. To reflect on everything and nothing, to write, to sing, to pray, to knit, to read, to pick out a song on the piano.

So, this post comes from my need to actually think. About one thing. Meaningfully. To step out of the cycle of everything and nothing. This post is for me, today. Because I need to not only say some things, but to hear some things. So if you're reading this, bear with me, as I'm writing a letter to myself.

Dear Sarah, what holds you? More accurately, who holds you? What brings everything and nothing together? What carries that paradox? Remember when you memorized the first verse of January? Say it now - "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God." Remember how that first week coming back, it anchored you? You saw it on the back of your phone or on your wall and it made you take a breath. "In the beginning was the Word." God is here. God has been preparing you for this impending graduation. You're scared. It's more scary than any other transition you've been through, I think. But that's okay. He's been talking to you for a year about roots in a place (geographical, relational, spiritual). He's been showing you that your anchor much always be Him and Him alone. "The Word became flesh and dwelt among us." He dwells here. With. In. So as you do everything and nothing, as you sometimes avoid the hard questions and sometimes dive headlong into them, don't forget your Anchor.

As I thought about this, I remembered the song "Jesus is the answer." You know the one - the version you heard is probably sung by a black gospel choir, with feeling, and mmmm's in the background that make you want to sway side to side. As I heard it in my head just now, the lyrics changed a bit...

"Jesus is your anchor, in your world today. Above Him there's no other; Jesus is the way."