birthing the new

This Christmas, I've been thinking a lot about Mary's side of the story.  This Christmas, my heart has resonated with this woman who chose to say "yes" to God's calling on her life.

Usually when I think of Mary, I reflect on God's interruption in her life.  I think of how she was probably trembling in fear when she said "yes," knowing that she could have been stoned for being pregnant outside of wedlock, knowing that her side of the story must have sounded crazy to the people she told it to ("Mom and Dad, I'm pregnant by the Holy Spirit, really!"), knowing that she alone was responsible for carrying God in her belly (talk about the desire to suddenly eat healthy and get fit).

But this Christmas, I've been pondering what it means that she said "yes" to God and that He was birthed in her.

Christmas was a new beginning for Mary, a new beginning of motherhood, of marriage, and of this new ministry calling on her life.  Christmas was also the new beginning for humanity because Jesus, as the new Adam, created hope and justification where there was once separation and condemnation.

This Christmas, I've been pondering the new thing that Jesus wants to birth in me.

For nine months, Jesus grew in Mary.  For nine months, she was "that girl" who was pregnant outside of wedlock.  For nine months, she (probably) had morning sickness alongside of worries about caring for this infant who was the Word made flesh.  We sing the lyrics, "silent night, holy night," but I am sure that this night we sing so softly about was anything but silent for Mary, lest we forget that she was in labor without any pain meds, surrounded by livestock instead of doctors.

Mary birthed Jesus.  Think about those words.  "For to us a child is born."  We repeat that verse every year, but we forget what those words mean.  Birthing this child involved nine long months of waiting, a terrible night of delivery during which not one person was nice enough to let them into an actual home, and all of the sleepless nights of infancy that (especially first time) parents endure.

Birthing new things isn't always an overnight process and isn't always pain-free.  Birthing new things involves repeatedly saying "yes" to whatever it is that God is asking of you.

But a life of walking in step with the Spirit--wherever that may lead you--is an abundant life, full of joy and freedom and peace.  After Mary (immediately, might I add) agreed to God's will being done in her, she sang a song of praise to Him (Luke 1:46-55).  Though Mary's decisions to follow God weren't always easy, they resulted in her living a life of celebration and praise, having a joy that is only explained by being in a relationship with God.

God was inside of Mary for nine months and, if you are a believer, He is in you now.  I think there's something to that.  Just like God wanted a little baby to grow in a teenage girl, He wants to grow new things in you and me.  Mary said "yes" to God.  The question for us is: Will we?  The Christian walk and the responsibility that comes with listening to the Holy Spirit--a responsibility to not just hear but do what He's asking of you--though not always easy, is the path to true Life.

Christmas for Mary was pregnancy and delivery and the start of sleepless nights.  But Christmas was also when she grew in her intimacy with God and when she celebrated that He found her worthy of this call.  The birth of this child was not only a new beginning for these parents, but a new beginning for all of mankind.  Mary's decision effected many others, for generations to come.  Likewise, our decisions as believers effect more people than I think we sometimes realize.  We have the opportunity to not just grow as disciples of Christ, but to impact a dark world around us, simply by living a life of saying "yes" to God.

Let us live in Christmas, always.  Let us continuously say, "yes" to God's calling to birth new things in us, even if it hurts in the process, because the end result always leads us to deeper intimacy with Him and always forms us to be more like His Son.

The life He has for us is the best life.  We can converse with Him about dreams and plans and callings, but when it comes down to it we have to ask ourselves: What is my response?  Will I allow Him to birth new things in me?  Will I say "yes" to this task He has asked me to do?  Will I live a life of intimacy with Christ and listen and act on what He's calling me to do?

The abundant Life is in Him, just taste and see.

ministry partners

There is something about writing thank you cards to ministry partners that makes my heart melt.

With every new card, I am able to sit and reflect and pray.  I remember the ways that this person has taught me what it looks like to honor God with my money and time and what it looks like to pray for those around me.  Without knowing it, this person has discipled me when it comes to my own tithes and offerings and when it comes to my own intercession for others.  Usually when I'm writing these cards, moments come to mind of when they've prayed for me during a spiritual attack or given me advice and encouragement when I felt overwhelmed by being a missionary.  These names aren't donors or prayer warriors, they are partners, in every sense of that term.  I wouldn't be able to fight this spiritual battle without their prayers and I wouldn't be on campus without their financial support.  Their partnership plays a direct role in the transformation on campus.  As I think about all of the students who I've seen cross from darkness to light this year, all of the students who have grown in boldness in their leadership, all of the students who have broken strongholds, all of the students who are learning to recognize the voice of the Lord, I know that none of these significant Kingdom stories would happen without the support of these dear friends.

These friendships are some of the sweetest I'll ever know.  Some live in my town and some live literally in another country, but we are all doing ministry together.  We are all on this team, praying and giving time or money or energy to see The College of New Jersey transformed.  The reality of ministry partnership connects me with these friends at a much more intimate level than Facebook or Skype or texting ever could; we are connected in Kingdom work.

Whether they are monthly donors or one-time givers or prayerful intercessors or volunteers or a mix of those four, these friends are all my partners.  They are all on my team.

With every card, I reflect on the way that this person has impacted me and my walk and the way that this person has impacted the ministry at TCNJ.  I reflect on the campus stories that have happened as a result of this person's partnership.

And every few minutes, I pause to sing along with the worship songs that I have playing on Pandora in the background.  I sing praises to our God because it is He that ultimately draws all of these students to Himself.  It is He who is renewing the campus and developing world changers.  And it is He who has drawn me and these ministry partners together to have a heart for this campus.  I am grateful that He is moving in all of our lives.

And I am so grateful for each of these friends.

As I sign my name on each card, I pray over these friends, asking the Lord to bless each and every one of them, just like they've blessed me.

I'm not alone on this campus.  I have an army of friends on this team, fighting for me.  They love me and they've grown me in ways that they'll never even realize.

So I look forward to writing these cards because doing so gives me space to reflect.  My words to them will never be enough, they will never show the depths to which I am thankful, but they are something.  And I hope that with each "Thank you so much" they know what I am saying is, "Thank you for believing in me.  Thank you for fighting for me and interceding for me when I am too weak.  Thank you for reminding me of the vision when my heart feels burdened and overwhelmed.  Thank you for loving my students and eagerly asking for more stories of how they are growing.  Thank you for mourning over the lost and crying with joy over the redeemed.  I wish you could be there every day with me.  I wish you could be in the room when students pray to receive Jesus for the first time.  I wish you could be sitting at the table when freshmen jump up to invite random people in the student center to evangelistic events.  I wish you could be there when the leader I'm discipling turns to someone she barely knows who is crying and asks if she could pray for her.  I wish you could see His Kingdom coming to campus every day like I do, because you are just as much a part of this mission as I am.  You are just as much a part of this team.  You are impacting lives.  Students are graduating college with a renewed knowledge of who God is and with leadership abilities with which they will one day change the world.  Thank you because you played a part in this.  Thank you because you've opened doors and paved pathways to see transformation happen.  Thank you because you dream big with me for this campus and you help make those dreams become a reality."

I am grateful.  I am blessed.  And my heart is quite full.

To partner with this mission:
…you can join my team with financial support by visiting donate.intervarsity.org/support/Alyssa_Dembrowski
…you can join my team with prayer support by emailing alyssa.dembrowski@gmail.com
…any questions about partnering or to get together to hear more you can email alyssa.dembrowski@gmail.com

they inspire me

There is a stirring in my spirit when I see growth, a joy that overtakes me and causes me to want to jump up and down.  Both the green sprouts that come up out of the ground from newly planted seeds and the leaves that form on mature plants create excitement in me.  "Yes! His Kingdom come!" I want to shout.

It is a joy to walk alongside of so many people and watch as the Lord does a work in them.  Sometimes He uses me in their journey and sometimes I just get to sit back and watch these lives unfold before my very eyes.  But regardless of my involvement in their journey, I find my breath taken away as I am left in awe.  I become speechless from the stories, from the wisdom shared, from the love displayed, and from the acts that my friends step into right in front of me.

I love watching the newer believers in my life drink in the gospel every week, eyes wide and sparkling with the hope that the empty tomb offers.  They remind me that the basics of our faith--grace and new life and joy and love--are truly the most important part, that the resurrected King and His forgiveness and the power that His Spirit gives to all of His followers are more important than any of the nitty gritty pieces of theology I often find myself pondering.  They remind me that I need to constantly live out of the gospel and out of the transformative work of Jesus.  I love watching these sisters and brothers grasp biblical concepts for the first time and step into freedom from strongholds for the first time and engage in listening prayer for the first time.

And truly, nothing is more wonderful than watching my friends who have been walking with the Lord for decades get wow-ed by the Gospel all over again.  I love to hear their stories of stepping out in boldness, to watch as these strong men and women of God lovingly encourage the rest of us to have a missional-mindset, to be in the room as they welcome and love new-comers so well.

I count myself blessed to be invited into the lives of so many who exemplify the on-going work of the Spirit.  Their growth inspires me.  It reminds me to never stop living out of the beauty of the Gospel.  It encourages me to press deeper into the Life that He offers.

Thank you, friends, for opening up your hearts and sharing your lives with me.  Thank you for allowing God to continuously transform you.  Thank you for having a heartbeat that echoes the Kingdom of God.

Immanuel

I sat curled in a ball, weeping into a blanket, crying over the same thing that always gets to me.

After a conversation earlier in the day, I spent my afternoon in meetings, half of me present and half of me feeling like I could burst into tears any second.  6pm and the door to my house couldn't come fast enough.  And when I finally walked in that backdoor at the end of the day and made my way up into my room, I couldn't contain myself any longer as I collapsed on my bed, sobbing.

That was where I sat for an hour, blanket wet from tears by the time my eyes were dry, body shaking uncontrollably as if I had a fever.  I was one gross and snotty mess, "waterproof" mascara down my face, hair literally drenched with tears, my nose blocked up thanks to my inconvenient nose ring.  I wept so hard that I went to bed four hours earlier than my usual bedtime, body weak and head aching from the sadness.

I slept nine long hours and woke up well before dawn, surprised at how alert and content I was feeling. I made my way downstairs, brewed some coffee, and began to read Scripture like I always do.  During my morning quiet time, I realized that the night before I had spent that hour crying out to God.

That, for me, is different.
That, for me, is progress.

In between "I'm sorry's" and in between moments of long silences when all anyone would have been able to hear were my sobs, I must have said "Jesus" a hundred times.  Sometimes I found myself stating the obvious ("I'm just so sad") and sometimes I muttered out a few complete sentences to Him ("Let me just feel Your presence & let me just know You are here & teach me how to forgive myself"), but when no other words came, I just continued to say His name, sometimes adding a soft "please" at the end.  And always, I invited Him into the room.

It was honest and authentic and raw.  It wasn't an hour of eloquent prayer and it wasn't a time when I necessarily experienced any crazy supernatural encounters.  It was just me and my tears and my blanket and my God.  The room was still and the pain was real, but something was different.  I didn't feel the presence of God in some overwhelming fashion and I didn't feel any less sad and in that moment, if you had asked me, I probably would have said that I didn't feel any less alone.  But I realized in the morning that He had indeed been in the room, that I went from my typical place of sitting alone with my regret to inviting Jesus into it.

I realized that while I went to bed physically tired from crying and still sad and still hurting and my situation still very much the same in the morning, Jesus had been right there in the thick of it.  Because I invited Him in, because I cried out to Him, because I took the focus away from the pain of the situation and put it back on Him, I no longer felt debilitated by my sadness.

Immanuel, God with us.

And He is always with us.  He had always been there when I cried, I just had never chosen to engage Him before.  I would push Him away, too hurt and angry and ashamed and lost in my thoughts to know what it was I even wanted from Him.

But now I do:  His presence.

He is good.  He is faithful.  He is everything I need.  And as long as I remain in Him, no situation will ever been too over-bearing for this little heart of mine.

For this is what the LORD says…

"As a mother comforts her child,

so I will comfort you."

[Isaiah 66]

selah moments

I think that I've told this story a million times in a million different contexts, but it was so impacting to me that I must tell it again…

August, September, and October were going to be far busier than usual for our staff team at TCNJ.  And when October began approaching and I was a bit drained from the previous two months, the realization that the usual October lull wasn't going to come hit me.  Somewhere at the end of September, I turned to Robin and said, "Oh man. I just need to get through October. November can't come soon enough."

"Alyssa," She responded, "Life doesn't start in November.  Life is now."

This reminded me much of what Jesus said to me when I was in the Catskills for a few retreat days before NSO began in August.  "Alyssa," I heard Him say, "I am in the city just as much as I am in the mountains."  He isn't just present in the restful seasons, but He is present in the hustle and bustle of packed google calendars, too.

From that moment on, everything shifted in me.  My prayer changed from, "Lord, get me through October," to, "Lord, what are you inviting me into in this very moment?"

I began to make attempts at practicing the presence of God, of listening, of sensing Him in the room, and of inviting Him into all circumstances (even the really boring ones).  I began experiencing Him always.  I'm still growing in this and I still have much to learn, but my relationship with Him soared to new levels almost immediately.

Last night I was finally able to put words to it:  I am learning how to add selah moments to my life, always.

In the Psalms, selah was added after some verses with the intent of pausing and reflecting.  In my life, I began pausing and reflecting after even the little things, inviting Jesus into the situations I was in and asking Him what He thought about them.  A life of abiding began to captivate me and I wanted more of Him, more of His presence.  I couldn't get enough.  The more I experienced Him, the more my heart yearned for more--more Jesus, more Spirit, more of the Father.

And oh, how I experienced Him in October.  I carved out moments of selah.  I would drop what I was doing just to get down on my knees in sincere prayer and worship if I felt Him inviting me deeper into His presence.  And I chose time with Him over everyone else in October.  For an extrovert, it was strange that I felt like I had intentionally dropped off of the face of the earth (socially speaking) this month, but I knew that in a season thick of ministry and limited on time, I needed Him more than ever before, and so I prioritized Him in new ways.

On Friday, the calendar turned to November, and I have to admit that I've spent the last few days in a confused and almost somber state, mourning the loss of the October that I had once so dreaded.

A normal work flow is now underway.  My social life has started back up (I've hung out with.. gosh… 30 friends in the last three days?!… most of whom I haven't seen since August), which is a gift to this raging extrovert.  I am grateful for November, really I am.  But I loved October.  I loved it because I learned and grew so much in the simplicity of inviting Jesus into it.  It was a month of love and passion and newness and an opportunity to know Him more.

But life doesn't start during the next season that is unique and unlike daily life--be it on a peaceful retreat or in a busy, jam-packed week.  Life is now.  Life has always been now.  Life will always continue to be now when I choose to invite Him into it.  Selah.

Life is now when it's quiet.  Life is now when it's routine.  Life is now when it's busy.  Life is now in Christ.  Selah.

And the most wonderful piece is what Jesus talks about in John 15:  that abiding produces fruit.  The closer I remain to Him, the more I can hear His heartbeat, and the more my own heart begins to beat in rhythm with His.  I am morphing more into His image with eagerness and delight.  It feels good to sense growth in this sinful heart of mine, to watch the ugliness of it be made beautiful by His love.

And that's all I really yearn for these days, anyway: more awareness of Him in and with me, more of my heartbeat syncing in rhythm with His, more of this Kingdom reality, more heaven on earth.

And broken and ugly things just like us are stamped, "Excellent,"

With ink tapped in wells of divine veins.

-Lofty by Propoganda

The Rattles of New Life [and conversations on post retreat syndrome]

Son of man, can these bones live?

That's the question that's been echoing through most of my conversations lately, friends crying out to me that they feel far from God.  The common thread of spiritual deadness makes me keenly aware of the decaying stench that penetrates so many Christian circles, not due to any outright disobedience to Christ, but due to a lack of the pursuit of relationship with Him.

It's the same question I asked God time and time again when I was overcome with the stress and the busyness--and sometimes even the monotony--that daily life tends to bring.  I would find myself often frustrated when I would get on a spiritual high at retreats or conferences or mission trips and watch it fade after returning home, presenting myself more like Moses than Paul, watching the glory fade and not increase.

Sovereign LORD, you alone know.

I knew something was off, something wasn't adding up.  As a New Testament believer, these constant deaths and revivals seemed much too draining to be the abundant life that Jesus spoke about.

Dry bones, hear the word of the LORD!

The revelation that God is always speaking and that I needed to just listen opened up new doors for me.  It tended to the flame that was in my heart, creating a fire in me that became beautiful and untamed and all-consuming.  As I started making attempts at listening, I could hear.  As I started making attempts at noticing, I could see.  Suddenly, abiding became more of a tangible reality rather than some abstract concept that we preach sermons and write workbooks on.  He is speaking.  Do you hear Him?  And almost all at once I began experiencing the fruit of the Spirit overtaking me and sensing the heartbeat of God.  I began experiencing newness.  Mundane routines were transformed into Jesus adventures.  I began to feel alive in more places than just on retreats.

This is what the Sovereign LORD says to these bones: I will make breath enter you, and you will come to life. I will attach tendons to you and make flesh come upon you and cover you with skin. I will put breath in you, and you will come to life. Then you will know that I am the LORD.

In Ezekiel 37, the bones rattle and come together and grow tendons and skin, but there is no life present.  Part II involves the word being spoken again, and life is breathed into them.  We can give the appearance of being alive and actually be dead on the inside.  Having tendons and skin, while it might mean that you aren't dry bones anymore, doesn't mean that you are living in the abundant life that Jesus offers.

The bones rattle and receive breath after they hear the word.  Deadness becomes life when we hear Him speak and we chose to respond, but we won't hear Him unless we practice the art of listening.

So for those of you who were at The Big Event this past weekend (or those who also experience the comings and goings of retreat highs), listen up: You did not experience a Jesus high because you were at Lake Champion.  You experienced a Jesus high because you were constantly in Scripture, in prayer, and in fellowship with believers.

If you find ways to incorporate those things into your daily routine, you will experience abundant life all of the time, and not just on retreats and at conferences.

Here are some simple and tangible things you can do:
1.  Read Scripture.  Every day.  I don't care how busy your schedule is or what your major is.  Be in the Word every morning (~1 chapter a day) and don't leave your spot until you find an application for your life.  [And actually read through a book, don't just pop around aimlessly.]  His word is alive and active and He will speak to you through it.  You've never read Scripture before on your own and don't know where to start?  Great.  Try starting with Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John.
2.  Learn how to listen in prayer (rather than talk the whole time).  We are not a people who worship a far off god that we just "shoot prayer requests up to."  We are in an intimate relationship with a living God who dwells in and with us.  Speak and wait to hear.  Journaling can help you focus, so ask God a question and then write a response as He puts thoughts in your mind or pictures in your imagination.
3.  Get plugged in and pursue fellowship.  Join a small group.  Find community.
4.  As you go about your day, practice His presence by becoming more aware of Him in the room.  This might seem tricky at first, but the more you do it, the more natural it becomes.

He loves you and He offers you life--abundant life--that stretches beyond the walls of our worship services, weekly prayer meetings, and off-site retreats.  This life exceeds the limitations of our life stages and schedules and (even sometimes) our lack of close friends that live nearby.

Dare to experience Him always.  It will change you.  Forever.

[Speak.]

"My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me."

-Jesus

To follow Him has always been the invitation.

When Jesus first called His disciples He said, "Come, follow Me."  They left their homes, their families, and their careers to follow.  This initial story parallels our own lives, for those of us who have entered into a relationship with Him.

But the following didn't stop there.  The following continues, always, as we remain His sheep.

Jesus says that He knows these sheep, these followers.  And doesn't this verse also imply that the sheep must know Him?

The word "hear" [Greek = akouō] speaks of attending to what is being said and giving an ear to a teacher.  It is a choice.  The reality is, He is speaking all the time, and the invitation is to listen.  And when we decide to listen to Him, we grow to know Him more.

The call is to hear and thus to know Him, to have Him know us, and to follow.  When Jesus beckons us to come, it is not a one-time decision or even a once-every-six-months decision.  We joke in this Christian culture of experiencing "come to Jesus moments," but the invitation is not to come during a season of revelation or hardship or exponential growth.  The invitation is to follow.  Coming happens once or in scattered spurts.  Following happens with every step, every leap, every hobble, and even every crawl.

The invitation is to follow.

The invitation is to listen, because He is speaking.

The invitation is to know and be known.

The invitation is to go deeper,

     in this minute and in the next,

     abiding and praying without ceasing.

Let's stop separating the sacred from the secular.

Let's stop coming to Jesus only when we hear His voice screaming over our noisy lives.

Let's stop coming to Jesus only when we meet with Him in the morning.

Let's say "yes" to the invitation to live out of the Kingdom reality that we are so graciously offered,

     [on earth as it is in heaven].

Let's follow, not come,

     in step with the Spirit, every second of every day.

Let's hear His whispers as well as His shouts,

     because He speaks and His words cut through all of the opaque mundane,

     and all of the thick darkness that we sometimes endure.

He is speaking.

He calls us by name,

     saying, "Child, pay attention,

          you are Mine."

He knows His sheep.

By name, He knows us.

By name, He calls us.

The invitation is to experience Him [always].

The invitation is to go deeper.

always, always, always deeper than before.

the crowded couch

There is a couch in my living room that I find myself always sitting on.

I declare this to you as I'm cuddled under my favorite pink blanket--that I so maturely named "fuzzy" at the age of 22--on this said couch.

I eat my meals here.  I watch my favorite television shows here (well, when I'm not watching Burn Notice and Graceland at the Downs' that is...).  I have my quiet times here.  I even send all of my InterVarsity emails and write my talks here.

These patterns of browns, yellows, reds, and greens make up the fabric that screams of the redemption of my life.

In high school, I never really liked this couch because I never really liked this living room.  I didn't want to be in any common space in my house because I very much enjoyed staying in my room with the door shut.  My wardrobe and attitude announced to the world, "I have teen angst. And I don't want you to talk to me."

It was on this couch that I sat one horrible night during my senior year of high school.  I hid my face under a blanket while my swim coach sat across the room, telling my parents that I was suicidal and that I needed to go to counseling.  This was the night that I thought my life was ending, when in reality, it was only just beginning.  A year and a half later, what I found was that conversation led me to a Christian counselor who led me to InterVarsity, which eventually led me into a relationship with Jesus.

But even though the Lord worked that dreadful conversation for my good and used it as the catalyst to bring me into a relationship with Him, this couch was always the place where I hid in shame under a blanket, too afraid to look into any of their eyes.

And then this was the couch that I laid on (I won't say slept, because sleeping wasn't in the agenda that week) during the last few days of my mother's life.  My sister was on the chair, my dad on the bigger couch, and my mom on the hospital bed in the center of the room.  Dad and I took turns doing round-the-clock care for my mom at night and half-heartedly smiling at visitors during the day.  I remember jumping up from this couch in cold sweats and fear in the middle of those nights, checking to make sure she was still breathing.  The tears and words and feelings and images from that week are burned into my memory.  Forever.

And as those scenes were etched into my memory, these were the cushions that offered me comfort.

It was the death couch to me, the place where my suicidal thoughts and habits were made public and the place where I helplessly watched as my mom died.  It was the place that birthed shame and anger and fear and sadness.  It was the place that ripped life from me.

During breaks from college, I would come home and sit in this family room, remembering how my mom used to always hang out in here and how I would avoid joining her at all costs.  I'm not sure why, but I started reading and watching TV in here more often, maybe in some lame attempt to get back what was so abruptly taken from me, maybe in some lame attempt to apologize to someone who was no longer here.

So by the time I graduated from college, the room no longer held it's death-stigma in my mind.  Those haunting images never went away, but I began to forget about the significance in the fabric of that couch.

And one day, as if a wave of clarity hit me, my friend turned to me with laughter in her heart (trying to prove to me that there was no question that I was an extrovert) and shouted, "YOU SIT ON THE CROWDED COUCH!"

The crowded couch.

I looked around the room and realized there were 30 women packed in here, women who entered through that doorway every Friday morning, women who knew and loved the Lord.  On this couch, I was right in the center of the thickest sense of agape you'll ever experience, snuggled in between five other sisters in Christ.

This room went from a place of darkness to light.  This couch had somehow been transformed into a place where I met with the Lord quietly in the mornings and loudly with my women's bible study on Fridays. This couch went from the place where death loomed and shame burdened and became a place where I did my missionary work, where I wrote curriculums and talks to share Jesus with my students.  It went from being a place of me sitting alone under a blanket, hearing someone tell my parents that I wanted to die to being a place where I encountered Jesus.  It went from being a place of me sitting alone, watching helplessly as my mother died, to being a place where I sat piled with friends and love and the Word of God.

It went from a place where I was alone and in darkness to a place where I was in community and in light.

And oh isn't that what He always does?  He turns our mourning into dancing.  He replaces our sackcloth with garments of joy.

On this couch I once sat broken, and now I sit whole.  On this couch, I thought my life was ending, and now I write talks to invite students into the Life that He offers.

This couch represents me.  This couch speaks of my healing.  This couch proclaims the mighty work that Jesus has done in my heart.

By faith in the name of Jesus, this man whom you see and know was made strong.  It is Jesus' name and the faith that comes through him that has completely healed him, as you can all see. [Acts 3:16]

Refreshed by the Gospel... again.

Today I sat in the backseat of my friend's car on the way home from our church's women's retreat.  My eyes were closed, the wind was blowing my hair in every direction, the sun was shining brightly, and my mind & body & soul were humming to the praise music that we were blasting.

I found myself soaking in His presence.

This weekend revived me.  Between tears on my Saturday afternoon alone with Jesus and howling laughter with friends, God met me where I was at, just like He always does.  I had a web of themes that the Lord taught me this weekend but on that car ride home, I meditated on some of His words to me during our time of communion that morning.

Alyssa, by my wounds you are healed.  My forgiveness is more than the cheap grace you've been making it.  My forgiveness is more than Me just covering your sins.  It's greater than that.  It's about Me making you NEW.  Take Me in.  This is more than just a ritual: It's soaking in My love.  It's being consumed by Me so that You not only rest in Me, but become like Me.  It's newness.  My forgiveness is the restoration of your life, of your relationships, of you and Me.

Our God is a personal god.  That's mostly what He taught me this weekend through Mark 5.  He loves the unloved and sees the disregarded.  In this chapter of Scripture, He could have cast out demons, healed the sick, and raised the dead all alone by a prayer to the Father on His friend's boat.  But He went to them.  He spoke to them.  He had compassion on them.

If God wasn't a personal god, He wouldn't have died on the cross and rose again.  Do we realize this?  Do I realize this?

He could have just left us with the law.  He could have just left us to animal sacrifices.  But the law never made the Israelites new.  The law only allowed for them to reflect God's fading glory, not for them to be transformed into His image in an ever-increasing manner.  The law only covered their sins (imperfectly, might I add).  Do I realize this?

The Gospel message of Jesus dying for our sins is generally well-known in America, and sometimes it becomes dry and taken for granted, even to us born-again Christians.  But He died and suffered and was mocked and flogged and beaten.  For you and for me.  He made the sacrifice personal so that we could be personal with Him.

God allowed Himself to be brutally murdered for me.  Do I realize how personal that is?

And He rose again so that His Spirit could dwell in me, not just so that I could have eternal life in heaven, but so that I could have a living relationship with Him here and now.  The fact that I could have a conversation with Him and feel Him all around me this weekend is proof of the resurrection being personal.

The law doesn't come and dwell in us.  Jesus does.  And the law could never make us new.

His forgiveness--and what we are remembering when we take communion--is more than just the acknowledgement of the covering of our sins (though it is that too, don't get me wrong).  It's also the acknowledgment of us needing His nourishment for our souls, of us needing Him in us in order to be made new.

He died and rose again and lives in me.  That's what makes me new.  It's not just the covering of my sins that transforms me, if that were the case you'd see grander stories of transformation in the Old Testament instead of fading glory (2 Cor 3:13).  It's Him living inside of me that makes me new and transforms me into being more like Him.

He is personal.  He is in me.  He is all around me.  It's a miracle, really, that He not only washes our sin, but desires and chooses to transform us and have a relationship with us.

We are unworthy.  But His love is greater.  His love is the greatest we'll ever know.  And just when we think we're deep in His love, we realize that we've only just scratched the surface of understanding it.

Love is dying to save.  Love is conquering death to transform.  Love is being the Living God who we can hear and see and feel.

The question then doesn't become: Does He love me [or How can He love me when I'm so unworthy]?  The question was never that.

The question is: Am I listening?  The question is: Am I paying attention?  The question is:  Am I being transformed from the inside out by His Spirit that lives in me?

The question is:  Am I engaging with this Love?

He is here.  And He is personal.  And He loves me.
And He is making all things new.

tonight, i breathe in that familiar scent

The past few days have been a whirlwind of emotions due to some unexpected circumstances. Though I don't want to get into the details of those encounters, I did want to note that it was that string of events that brought me to this spot on my bed where I find myself typing from at 2am.

I was tossing and turning about an hour ago, unable to fall asleep, thinking of the trauma my family has gone through over the past several years.  I was replaying memories, mourning deep regrets and painful losses, wishing that I could just do it all over again.  Mostly, I just wanted to rewind the clock and have a second chance at things.  I missed the people who we've said goodbye to and the way our family unit used to function.  I missed the sense of home that I used to know so well.

I got out of bed, determined to find a box of sweatshirts of my mom's that my dad had mentioned still lingered in the house.  After a rather short search, I found it.  Furiously shaking, I pulled out articles of clothing and stopped when I picked up a very familiar navy blue USA sweatshirt.  I held it out before me, images flashing across my mind, scenes from the 90's replaying in my brain.

Hesitantly, I brought the old sweatshirt to my nose and inhaled very deeply.  Mom.  I breathed in the scent of love which used to fill my nostrils every time that I hugged her, and collapsed in a ball on the ground, sweatshirt in my lap, silent tears streaming down my cheeks.  I thought of my unwillingness to hug people now and wondered if somehow, those things were connected.

The pain doesn't go away.  My life has moved on.  I'm four years older now.  I have a college degree and a real life job.  I've met Jesus and my life has been deeply transformed by the Gospel.  I have a new mom-figure in my life for all of those necessary mother-moments.  The reality of her being gone isn't as debilitating as it was when I was 18, but the pain is still the same.  It's still sharp and strong and at times very consuming.

Sometimes I wonder if people think I'm silly for still hurting to the degree that I do over my mom's death, and so I refrain from talking about it.  But what I remind myself of is that the majority of people in my life (thankfully) just don't understand.  I praise God that my friends didn't go through what my sister and I had to as teenagers.  A mom is so significant in a girl's life--especially at our age.  I long for her comfort at every difficult moment and for her celebration at every joyous one.  I wish she saw me graduate college and I wish she saw the births of our little cousins.  I wish she was going to be there at our weddings (if we get married, that is).  I wish I could have shared with her when I found a major to study that I enjoyed and a career that I was passionate about starting.  So many times things happen throughout the day and I think, "I wish I could call up my mom to tell her about this."

I miss her laugh and her constant involvement in my life.  I miss her telling me how proud she is of me.  I miss her cooking and her giving heart.  I miss her making up crazy stories about our neighbors at the beach.  Mostly, I just miss her hugs and having someone who would lay down next to me and hold me.

I just miss her.

I sat on the floor, heart aching from the loss of that comforting smell, lips quivering as they wished for one last chance to apologize and say, "I love you."

Eventually I pulled myself together and dug to the bottom of the box, where I found the sweatshirt that reminds me of my mom more than any other article of clothing.  Walking into my room, I slipped it over my head and gazed in the mirror.  I look like her, only younger and with longer hair and bigger glasses.  And now I sit on my bed, the scent from this sweatshirt I'm wearing rising into my nose.

For now, I smell like her, too.

But the scent will fade, just like it did from the other articles of clothing I've taken from her closet.  And I'm sure over time, the memories will fade too, just like they did of the other family members who have passed away.

And this pain?  Maybe one day it will fade.  But for now, for today, it hurts just as much as it did back then.

me (currently, at 2am)

to be grown up.

I didn't watch the 2013 VMA's over this past weekend, but like most Americans, my twitter and facebook feed blew up over Miley Cyrus' shocking and over-sexualized performance.  I wasn't surprised when I read the comments, knowing the direction her music had been heading in over the past couple of years and so I shrugged most of it off.  Usually when I hear gossip over celebrities I don't turn on the television, partly because I've never been one to follow celebrity drama and partly because I know that continuously immersing myself in our sex-loving culture every time a celebrity does something jaw-dropping probably will add up to be a stumbling block for my walk with Christ.

But for some reason, I youtubed her performance today.  And for once, the entertainment culture didn't beckon me to stumble and didn't make me day dream of a worldly life.

For once, I sat heartbroken, eyes glazed over with tears, feeling the heart of God for His daughter on that stage.

Not long ago, Miley was a Disney Channel superstar and a role model to so many young girls.  Now she seems to be doing everything in her power to let the world know that she's 20 years old and that she's all grown up.

I am a campus minister at The College of New Jersey, a missionary to students ages 18-22 years old.

Miley, at age 20, is the average age of my students.

I sat on my couch, cringing and mourning over the images that I was watching on my computer, thinking of the thousands of ~20 year olds that I see walk past me every day on campus.

Miley wanted to grow up and, in this culture that we live in, sex is the way to do just that.  She never heard the message that God created her to be a woman and that He has plans and a purpose for that womanhood.  She never heard the message that to be a woman, in the way God intended, is to follow Christ.  The message that is portrayed in this day and age is that if you want to be a woman, you must become a sex object.

So who can blame her, really?  Miley responded to the culture that she grew up in.  Sex, to America, is what draws the line between being a girl and being a woman.  Not the biblical Truth that God created man and woman in His image, to be like Him and to glorify Him.  Not the biblical Truth that there is a God who loves her and gave His life because He couldn't bear to not make a way for her to be in a relationship with Him.

And she definitely hasn't heard in this culture that even through the sin and the ways she's refused Him, He stands with open arms of grace, eager to welcome His daughter home.

The only difference between Miley and the average 20 year old in our society is that she was raised in the fame and money that allowed her to strut her "I'm a woman" announcement on stage at the VMA's.  The reality is that the average college student is raised in that same exact culture.  Maybe the women on campus aren't going to class in their underwear and promiscuously dancing on stage in front of the whole world.  Maybe they aren't as public or outlandishly jaw-dropping in their actions, but those once-little-girls are sent the same message as Miley that to be a woman and to be liked is to be about sex and fame and independence.

The average college student is a version of Miley Cyrus:  a person who was raised in a culture that tells them their value is based on their sex appeal and their independence is based on their ability to break every social taboo without caring what people think.  They are 20 year olds searching for ways to explore this new start to adulthood, wanting to be desired and loved and heard.

But there is a God who desires them and loves them and hears them.  There is a God who created them and yearns for them to turn to Him, and who delights in blessing them.

The culture we live in is rapidly progressing in what it considers to be it's sexual norms and ideals, which means that the average 20 year old experienced a lot more of this sexual revolution growing up than the average 20 year old five years ago did.  The culture we live in traces easy pathways for females to go from girls to sex objects in an instant.

I want to see them go from girls to women of God.

I want those 20 year olds to know that life isn't about what the media says it's about.  It's not about money and sex and fame and drugs and fun and success.  It's about saying "yes" to Jesus because He's already said "yes" to you.  I want to invite them into a deep encounter with God that will transform their lives, rather than watch them stumble into false promises of fulfillment that will instead leave them empty inside.

The average American receives the message every day that this Miley-pattern of growing up is good and normal.  I'm not talking about prostitutes or strippers or porn stars, but the average American 20 year old is on a trajectory that is headed toward spiritual death because of the lies that this culture feeds her daily.

Today I wept for Miley.  And for every 20 year old at TCNJ that thinks she has to be like her to be grown up.  Today, more than ever, I was reminded of why I am a missionary to college students.

[partner with the mission.]
www.donate.intervarsity.org/support/Alyssa_Dembrowski

You captivate me.

I'm here,
     Listening.

It took me awhile, but I'm here (now).

Simple obedience,
     how sweet it is,
To sit in Your presence,
And hear You speak to me.

That's what I live for, really.
     (I can't believe I resisted for so long.)
These moments with You.

Nothing more exciting,
     adventurous,
     and peaceful
          than hearing directly from my King.

You speak,
And every hair stands on the back of my neck,
     so aware of You.
The air is thick and beautiful,
     like it is when I hear a new harmony,
Chords blending and moving and I,
     am lost,
     in Your song.

Nowhere I'd rather be,
Than right here with You.

                    See, I am doing a new thing!

                         Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?

                    I am making a way in the wilderness

                         and streams in the wasteland.

                                     [Isaiah 43:19]

the art of grace.

lately, i've been an advocate for creating.
     [newness in the debris.]

building friendships in the midst of brokenness.
piercing a nose through the sunburn.
cooking dinner with random scraps of leftovers.
receiving love from a Savior when my heart beats with rebellion.

i remember learning in chemistry about entropy,
that a system naturally goes from order to disorder over time.
meaning that unless energy is put into something, it just gets messier.

in this world, there's always going to be disarray.
and according to these laws of science, our environment is bent toward the chaos.

so i think there's something to creating in a world where there is always messiness.
i think there's something about picking up broken pieces and crafting something else,
not continued attempts at gluing back the original,
but designing something new.

i think, that maybe, that's what Jesus does with me.
He takes my heart that's so prone to messiness and continuously molds it into new artwork.

i'm not the same today as i was yesterday.
and i'll be different again tomorrow.

i'll be messy in another way from this entropy and sin that i live in.
yet i'll be more holy from the Potter always having His hands on me,
always kneading this clay of His.

i think that participating in my own acts of creation reflect my Maker's heart just a bit.
i think that's my favorite. and i think, just maybe, it might be His.
     [sculpting in the mess.]

crafting life from beauty is easy.
but life from the debris?
well, that brings Him the glory.
2 Corinthians 12:9

that's the art of grace.

what is grace?

Tonight I was sitting with Jesus as I journaled through my good friend Aletheia's comtemplative art journal.  I came to this piece where she prompted my thoughts with a question next to the painting:  What is grace?

Grace is
     having this dance with You,
     moving in step with this new routine of familiar patterns,
          as You hold me close in gentleness.

Grace is
     feeling Your heart beat in time with mine,
     sensing You flutter all around me,
          embraced by Your love so abounding.

Grace is
     the sea of love that swirls in Your eyes,
     vast shades of blue interacting,
     color with more depth than anything I've ever known.

Grace is
     us.
     this love story.
     and Your passion that never gives up on me
          with a magnitude that's incomprehensible.
     [You never stop loving me.]

Grace is
     everything that first brought me to You,
     and everything that keeps me where I am,
     and everything I live my life for.

Grace is
     this stillness,
          this love.
     it's here,
          and now.
     and there,
          and forevermore.

Grace is
     written in the story of my life,
     splattered in the paintings of my soul,
          the harmony that rings out as You pursue me,
          [undeserved and unending.]

Grace is
     beautiful.
     healing.
     enchanting.

Grace is the heart of my Savior.

I'm writing again.

The most vital piece of my connection with God was missing this year.  Lack of energy, lack of time, and lack of creative juices caused the longest writer's block I've ever experienced.

This year entailed a lot of transition, a lot of growing pains, a lot of being exposed to old wounds that I never let heal.  I did a lot of snapping at people that I love dearly and a lot of praying through frustrations that I have with myself.  And with this season, my soul felt dry a lot of the time.  I knew that I was growing, I saw the new-ness every time I looked into the mirror or chatted with a friend.  But I didn't know how to express it, to friends or to Jesus, and so I felt like I was the only one seeing growth.  I felt like friends were unable to see through my soul's dryness and pain, and I wasn't sure they believed me when I tried to explain that I was indeed being made new.

But I'm writing again.

And not just posting blogs.  About a week ago I started writing a book again, my favorite release since I was a little girl and my favorite way of connecting with the King.

Usually fresh notebooks would cause excitement and anticipation to rush through my veins, but this year, blank journal pages and word documents haunted my every moment.  They made me nervous and aggravated and worried about why I felt like I had nothing to say.  I forced blogs once a month and generally gave up on journaling in my own privacy.  I had nothing to write (or perhaps, too much to write to know where to begin).  Too many times I sat with a blank blog post open, hands poised on the home keys, begging God for something, anything, to say.

Nothing.

But now, my fingers can't fly over the keys fast enough for my thoughts and every day this week I've come up with multiple illustrations for this new book project that the Lord has laid on my heart.

I'm writing again.

These blogs and this new book are my prayers, my way of processing and praising the way Jesus is moving in me, my way of connecting with Him.

The words that have danced across my computer for this book over the past week have caused so much healing and redemption to already take place.  It's like there is a connection between my soul and my written words, a direct pathway that if broken, processing ceases to happen and my mind spirals into weeks of confusion and arguments with loved ones and strange, misplaced tears.

But by His grace, He's released me from this writer's block.  By His grace, I'm invited into closeness with Him via metaphors and word documents.  By His grace, I'm writing again.

So here's to renewed intimacy with God.  Here's to creating art.  Here's to the process.

Here's to writing again.

celebration series. [intervarsity staff.]

For the intro to this series, click here.

Celebrating the year.
That's what I'm doing in these recent posts.
Arms high in praise, eyes focused on Jesus, I am celebrating.

For those of you who don't know, I'm on staff with InterVarsity at The College of New Jersey (TCNJ).  In basic terms, this means I'm a missionary to college students.  To tell my entire journey this year about coming on staff would entail me writing a novel, so I'll spare you the pain and keep it short.

I was a student in the Blue Ridge Region (The Carolinas & Virginia) but felt the Lord strongly calling me to staff in the NY/NJ Region about a year and a half ago.
*When it comes to InterVarsity, you apply to the region, and honestly switching regions when you come on staff is almost unheard of.

Joining a new region was hard.  Like really, really, really, really hard.  The cultures between the two regions were vastly different and while all regions have the same heart for students being transformed and leaders developed, I had to learn new methods and tools and even some new language.  I tried my very hardest to embrace the differences and engage myself fully in them, but as an ENTJ who needs tangible proof, I wasn't there yet at the cognitive level because I simply just needed more time to see the methods play out.

Not to mention I basically didn't know anyone.  I remember going to Basileia (the region's end of the year conference) last year and not being able to keep track of schools in Upstate New York that I had never heard of, let alone remember the names of all of the staff and students.  I felt lonely and confused and I wondered if I had heard Jesus correctly when he told me to go be staff at TCNJ.

Over this past year though, something shifted in me.  I'm not sure exactly when it happened, but about a month ago I could finally verbalize what I was feeling.

Wholeness.
Absolute, complete wholeness.

I realized that very quickly after stepping onto TCNJ's campus in the fall, I fell in love with those students.  Utterly, head-over-heels in love with them.  My heart broke over the lost on campus and rejoiced when I saw hearts transform and leaders develop before my very eyes.  Very quickly my co-workers at TCNJ became like family to me and very quickly my calling was confirmed that InterVarsity Staff was indeed what I am anointed to do.

That all?  That took place within the first few weeks on campus.  That was easy.
The switching regions was the hard part.

I can now say, with 100% honesty, that I am so glad the Lord brought me to NY/NJ.  Though it maybe took me a year to catch on, I'm in love with this region, too.  Every cell in my body jumps for joy about how well this region does mission, prayer, and multi-ethnicity.  As a person who was a student in another region, I feel like I can easily pinpoint that those are [some of] our region's strengths.  The students understand how to start new things and take ownership of mini mission fields on campus.  They seem so spiritually mature for their age and so in-tune with the Spirit.  And living in a diverse part of the county, we have students with so many different ethnic backgrounds and they all get the radical importance of that.  Also, I've grown so much as not only a staff worker by being in this region, but as a disciple of Jesus.  This region has equipped and stretched me and continues to do so and I count myself so very blessed to be hired here.

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.  I am so proud to be able to wear the NY/NJ hat!
[Figuratively speaking; I look terrible in hats.]

And what's even more, I now feel like I know staff all over the region.  Like really know them.  And they know me.  Yes, there are still handfuls that I have yet to sit down and really chat with.  But I've made so many good friends who know deep things about me and who I talk to even when we are hours and hours apart during an average work week.  I have such very good friends and I am a better person because they are in my life because they are friends who consistently point me to Jesus.  My last celebration post was entitled "koinonia part I" because this is my koinonia part II.  There is nothing like having deep friendships with people on InterVarsity Staff.  There's nothing like being in the same room as fellow co-workers and having people who really and truly get and understand the work you do.  There's nothing like having people who share your giftings and passions and quirkiness.  I love that I can turn around and say a statement that involves a student, myers-briggs, and theology and I don't have to give any background information.  We get each other.

But above all, I feel wholeness because I am right in the center of God's will.  I was talking to my friend who is still in college and I said to her, "I cannot wait until you start working in your career because there is nothing like doing the work that God has prepared in advance for you to do."  It's exciting and peaceful all at the same time.  Whether I'm discipling a student, filling out a google doc, giving a talk, or at a staff training, I feel whole.  When I'm working on InterVarsity things, I feel like everything is right in the world.  Like I'm swinging, eyes closed in a hammock and I could just rest there forever.

I feel such wholeness when I'm doing the work that I am anointed to do.

So I'm celebrating working with college students:  The population of people that I feel called to.  The population of people that get my heart beating faster and that I find myself constantly dreaming about and for.  I'm celebrating working for an organization that I so greatly love and affirm.  I admire so much about InterVarsity--our vision and purpose statements, the time we spend developing world-changers, and the way that we are so eager to learn and grow (which is something that the Church at large historically does not have a good track record of).  I'm celebrating working in NY/NJ, with so many new life-long good friends and so many people mentors on the Regional Leadership Team that have strengths in all different arenas.  I'm celebrating having a clear calling that stretches me and grows me.  A calling that gives me a sense of excitement and peace and wholeness.  I'm celebrating that Jesus saw it fit to use me to impact these students' lives.  I was and am the most unworthy sinner to work in full-time ministry, but by His grace I am here.  By His grace I get to wake up each morning, excited to go into work.

I love my students and my staff team.  I love InterVarsity at large and having the opportunity to work with college students.  And I love all of my partners in this--all of you who pray for me and/or financially support me.  You guys make it possible for all of this to be a reality.  You guys have so tangibly played a role in letting these dreams of mine come true.  You've said yes to Jesus and being used by Him and He's said yes to redeeming and using me.

And that discussion will be continued in my next post...