Reflections on Everyday Life and All Its Glorious Implications

Last night I went to Doylestown to hang out at Main St. Baptist with some of my friends - like I do often. My friends' band was playing, and their parents, who are my youth pastor and his wife, were also there. Some other friends too. We were just chillin, when my youth pastor's wife, Jill, came up to me, gave me a hug, and stated, "You know, I'm so glad we've got the old Liz back."

Jill and me with our friend Alisha on the right three years ago on a mission trip

Now of course she was not talking about my old sinful nature. I've known this woman-after-God's-own-heart for almost four years, and I was about six months old in the Lord when I first met her. A whole lot has happened in those four years of my life, and she's seen the real Liz (bubbly, dancing, hiiiiiohmygoshihavetosharewhatthelordsdoinginmyhearthowcaniprayforyou?, singing and shoutin them praises high, "having a way with those kids" as she would say) as well as the dead one (only comes to youth group occasionally, noidon'thaveanyprayerrequests under her breath, shy and reluctant to do any sort of ministry, looks like she could shatter into a million pieces if you dare touch her). Unfortunately, for the past few months, I've been the latter. But now I am authentic and real, for the first time in like, seven months or something. And can I just say it feels really good.

I'll be blunt here: I binged and purged the other day. I hadn't used any symptoms at all in quite a while (I lost count of the days, but probably at least 15) and I felt like I must have been missing out on something -- after all, when I was so incredibly sick I refused to let go of my eating disorder for even a day because I loved it that much. So I bought in to Satan's lie, said hey, let's just do it for old times' sake, can't hurt anything. Well, false. But that God of mine works in mysterious ways, and He even uses our sin to teach us things (crazy, right?). A little graphic here: I only purged a small portion of it, because shortly after I began I thought, seriously? That's what I was living for? This is uncomfortable, and pointless. Excuse me but, um... I've got better things to do. It's funny how God just took away all memories of what it was really like, when just three months ago I was doing it 3+ times a day, it was my entire life. Maybe for a reason I need not tamper with too much.

Sometimes producing fruit in repentance proves difficult and wearisome. But it is so worth it.

Allie's and my victory hug after dominating at the Melting Pot

On a brighter note, last night I started sign interpreting songs again. A girl was doing it in worship and it brought me right back to when I used to do it. I missed it. So naturally I stayed up till 5 am refreshing my memory. And was consequently ten minutes late for my Sunday school class at church this morning. Awesome. Anyway, once I get this webcam I'm hoping somebody will sell me I might take some videos and put them up for your own personal encouragement and/or devotion.

Good ol' Pastor John gave us the Word this morning, and his message was convicting at best, horrifying at worst. In other words, awesomely thought-provoking. It was on Luke 14:25-34, and well, let's say I'll let you read that one for yourself (with the disclaimer that I realize this passage provokes a lot of heresy, but I can assure you that was not of this sermon -- I'll put it up once they upload it on the website). But let's reflect for just a moment on verse 27 -- "And anyone who does not carry his cross and follow me cannot be my disciple." Alright Liz, we've all heard that one, what's the point? Well let me provide you with some framework.

Crucifixion was created as the most painful way ever one was thought to die. After the convicted's body was whipped to the guts (yeah, organs spilling out), he was then to carry his large cross on his back to wherever it was he was to die, which more often than not was up a steep and rocky mountain. He was laid systematically on the cross, nailed to it in each of his wrists and his ankles on top of one another. They propped the cross up in the ground, and waited for him to die -- by suffocation. Here's how it worked: with the position he was in, he could not breathe without first pushing himself forward to gasp for air, but that would cause immense pain to every inch of his body, with his wrists and ankles being nailed to a tree and his body being freshly whipped to shreds. He would then exhale, which would cause him to slump down again so he would need to push up for every breath. Most have the impression that this lasted only a few hours, but depending on how long the convicted drew out this process, it could take anywhere up to a week. He had no nutrients but vinegar and his own blood and sweat, and I doubt it was an easy task to sleep. An ever-increasing puddle of sweat, blood, urine and feces lay beneath his feet -- imagine the smell of all those combined. Oh yeah, and he was naked before a crowd mocking him, throwing rocks at him, screaming words of absolute scorn and ridicule. Until he died.

No wonder everyone thought Christ was a radical lunatic... I can't say I wouldn't.

Jesus did that for us, and all He's asking us to do for Him is to carry the cross, a small portion of that entire dreadful ordeal. We best be thinking we should perhaps give back, just a little.

Following Jesus is definitely not for the faint of heart, to say the least. But it is so worth it.

One Sunday a month my good friend and I head into a Doylestown nursing and rehabilitation home to lead worship for a Bible study a dude from our church leads. It is the residents' only church, so we try to make the best of it, and we take solace in the fact that most of them are hard of hearing, since the piano is reeeaaally out of tune and Brynna is not much of a practicer (understatement -- she literally refuses to come up with a line-up anytime before we get to the nursing home -- nope, not even on the way over -- and even if she randomly chooses a song we happen to have never done together, she'll do one verse and then say "alright, we got it"). We do mostly hymn-type stuff, since they're old and sick and I don't think they want our kind of worship. Amazing Grace, always.

This is the kind of nursing home that doesn't just have old people, but also has people who for whatever reasons are severely disabled and can't live on their own. There is a woman living there called Audrey whom we've all taken a particular liking to (not in the sense that we play favorites -- she's just taken the time to get to know us and is very friendly). She's not terribly old, but it's obvious she's got some medical problems, is in a wheelchair and has extremely slurred speech -- most people cannot understand her, if ever on the rare occasion. But she's super sweet, and she loves the Lord. A lot.

This was taken on the day Brynna and I were baptized.

Today we were told she wasn't coming to church because she wasn't feeling well, and that we weren't allowed to visit her. I'm not gonna lie, that scares me a little. I think it affected my partners in ministry as well.

Sometimes it hurts inside to do ministry to our God. But it is so worth it.

My VBS group last year

VBS is this week -- possibly one of the craziest times of the year both in my life and for my church. Our VBS is not quite like any other -- it pretty much shuts down the church and all the volunteers' lives (a good 80% of the congregation, which totals to over 1,000), in a good way. It is the one week we all come together in the glorification of God for one purpose: to reach His sweet little children in mighty ways. And we always do -- through Him, of course. As much I freakin' adore VBS and even more so children (I've been told my love for them shows in my eyes whenever I talk with a precious one), it's super stressful, and I won't get much sleep this week. More and more each year, it is inevitably absolute chaos due to the large number of people and much smaller number of square feet of space -- both inside and outside, in multiple buildings (that makes it sound like the place is huge -- it's really not; it's in a strip mall, and we have four sections of it). There's also just so much to do and so little time and by nature, I always have false anxiety about not reaching the kids. I just need to surrender it to God -- it's not anything I do. It's all Him. That's how so many kids get saved at these things.

Sometimes giving Jesus the honor due Him has me going insane, in tears because He finally gave me some tough love, and way too stressed for my own good. But it is so worth it.

Can you tell I'm a bit weary?

In exactly two weeks, I will be sleeping in my DR bed. Part of me is extensively excited and jittery for this endeavor to get started, and a smaller yet significant part is kind of dreading it. Last year when I went, I had no idea what to expect, and was, well, a little taken back, mentally, physically, emotionally, spiritually. On one hand, I want to remember going into this that it is going to be difficult and I am going to be stretched, but on the other hand, I don't want to expect it to be the exact same thing as last year, because it's simply not the same trip and God is not going to do the exact same things. Mission trips are very flexible times where everyone is stretched, including those we are serving. So I feel a little hesitant to run into Barahona with open arms shouting YAY GOD! because 1) That would make us look even more like americanos locos, and 2) I would trip and fall, flat on my face, straight into the dirty, rotting, rocky mountains.

Sometimes, I'll be honest, I really don't want to serve God. But I know it is so very worth it.

"Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you." ~Matthew 5:12

"However, I consider my life worth nothing to me, if only I may finish the race and complete the task the Lord Jesus has given me—the task of testifying to the gospel of God’s grace." ~Acts 20:24