Her spirit is like a breath of fresh air. She's got a fiery sass about her. Not of the offensive sort, but of the sort that's snappy like the bite of ginger and full of passion and zeal. She's kind and genuine. She loves the Lord. O, how she does. She never ceases to encourage this in my own life, simply due to the way she lives hers.
The beautiful face recently moved home too. Shared musings abound. She shared what the Lord has been doing in her in recent days. Of refocusing her desires to match her Maker's. I remember giggling long into the night in our little upstairs nook. Laughter mingled with serious contemplation of our desires for adventure and big things. Adventure can become an addiction, big things a vice, even if they are adventures under the banner of 'mission'. She reminded me tonight that we are required to die to ourselves again and again. That perhaps even a yearning for familiar community, having credentials or doing something radical-things that are 'good'-could turn out to defame the Lord. Fail to give Him glory because of wrong motives. Motives that are selfish. It's not about me.
It's something I need to continually remind myself, especially now. It's not about me.
Jeremiah 29:4-7When I read this my heart sank. Lord, are you telling me that I need to just take root here? At home? Is this a sign that you want me to settle into this place for good?
"Thus says the LORD of hosts, the god of Israel, to all the exiles whom I have sent into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon: Build houses and live in them; plant gardens and eat their produce. Take wives and have sons and daughters; take wives for your sons, and give your daughters in marriage, that they may bear sons and daughters; multiply there, and do not decrease. But seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the LORD on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare."
And then I realized, that just because I'm reading through Jeremiah and read this doesn't mean God is telling me to start tilling up the back yard and birthing hoards of babies. Whew.
But there is something to be learned here. Building a house feels pretty permanent. As does establishing a family. And not only is permanence a requirement for these things, but also focused energies. Gardening is hard work. If you want to eat some produce, there's a lot of tending involved. Planting. Weeding. Watering. Gathering. If you take off for a week or two, if you aren't present with your garden, no goodies for you come fall.
So maybe I'm just taking out of this what I want...but it's sounding a bit like, "bloom where you are planted." Even in the midst of exile. Even when you are an alien. Be present. Focus your energies on what is in front of you. Your gardens, your children, your cities.
Jeremiah 29:10...14My heart feels a little bit like it's in exile truth be told. I find myself longing for the end of these seventy years. How often do we trudge through the present, missing the little bits of light scattered to our left and our right, blinded by what looks to be so bright in the distance?
"For thus says the LORD: When seventy years are completed for Babylon, I will visit you, and I will fulfill to you my promise and bring you back to this place...I will be found by you, declares the LORD, and I will restore your fortunes and gather you from all the nations and all the places where I have driven you, declares the LORD, and I will bring you back to the place from which I sent you into exile."
There is a point when the exile will be complete. And He will bring us back. He doesn't call his people to get new plates and a driver's license in Babylon. They aren't commanded to take up legal residency. Because they are still in exile. But He calls them to take up figurative residency. To invest. To plant, weed, water and gather. To be a people invested. To yes, bloom where they are planted.
To me and my beautiful kindred heart, strangely enough, moving home feels like leaving. But may we flourish here, you and me. May the Lord be glorified by our faithfulness. In the letting go of our simply waiting until our seventy years is passed and the putting on the yoke of His promises.
"Plans for wholeness and not for evil" Jeremiah 29:11May our fingernails be filled with dark soil. Our backs sore with labor. Not for our glory but for Yours O, Lord.
For turning your ever-lovin' eyes upward, beautiful one, I am most thankful.
If you ever need "small adventures" from time to time you can always come down and see your friend in Chicago.
ReplyDeleteAs always, beautiful words written in a beautiful way.
My dearest Jen.
ReplyDeleteif I were to equate your goodness with some inferior example that often visits me when I think of you friend.. it is that of a loaf of warm zucchini bread. To many Zucchini bread is just another slice on the coffeeshop shelf, pretty, filling, but simliar as it seems to the pumpkin muffins and cranberry nut loafcakes. But to those who know what goes into the making of a zucchini bread, the time, the labor, the whole, lovely fresh ingredients finely shredded for the perfect blend of something natural, sweet, and earthy, their thankfulness for its creation will never warrant a half hearted glance on some shelf, for they see its worth, and they are grateful, even giddy at its presence. I, as you can tell, am a desperate lover of this simple, and terribly complex bread. Jen you have been labored over... only the choice ingredients, the raw, lovely bits were added into your bowl. God has been stirring you... and my dear sister.. as you bake.. it smells sooo gooood ( : I see a rare loaf in you. You will never be another pretty pastry in a hip java joint's fingerprinted case. You stand out because of what has gone in, and it is that wholesomeness, that wholeness that is only perfected by the hot coils that bring crunchy golden edges that are altogether lovely and truth be told, my very favorite part. warmth and wholesome love... that is my Jen Spears... she is one of a kind, don't take her for granted, don't take a bit and wrap her back up or set her aside. She is a soul meant to be savoured and she is altogether lovely. Jen Spears, you reached in and pull out the depth of me as only you do and though time and space abound... we are not hindered. Praise be to God. He intended your iron to sharpen mine and He smiled at the birth of that gift when he squeezed us half way across the states in one little musty, cold, redwood room. I love you sister. I needed this. How good it is to know that we are only in exile and that one day this pain of home, so beautifully spoken, will be replaced with something so beautifully eternal, a place where roots are for keeps, and our purpose is clear. Teach us to number our days oh Lord. We are not home yet.