the thick empty

Most of the time recently, I've been so aware of the silence, of the thick empty.  I can hear my heartbeat echoing throughout the stillness, reminding me of the longings that aren't met (today).

And I'm angry, and I'm sad.

(Unsettled, fidgeting in my seat.)

Most of the time recently, I've found myself drenched in tears, questioning His love and faithfulness and goodness.

But I know that regardless of my feelings, regardless of the sadness and the loneliness and the pain that pierces through this thick empty, He is so abundantly good.

And that THIS (right here, right now), this very moment in time, THIS is His best for me in the now.

But that part,

(If I'm being honest)

That's the part that is sometimes so very hard for this little heart of mine to fully grasp.

My prayers over the last few months have been to live into and out of this now, this best that He offers me today.  To stop looking back and stop yearning for more--for something in the future--but to live in the here and now.

To be present in the moment,

With an increased awareness of my God.

The tears still come as these unfulfilled longings piece my heart.  The pain is still real and the desires are still present and I still pray that there would be some other ending to this story, some other outcome.

But for now, I will choose to live in the fullness of this very moment.  I will choose to press into Jesus, to allow Him to fill every crevice that looks and feels (and is) so very empty.

The invitation today (and every day) is to know Him deeper, as Lover and Friend and Comforter and so much more.

And though I would choose a different story for this season, I know that He is a better Author than I.  I know that His plans transcend mine because He is good and sovereign and loving.

And I can trust Him to fill the thick empty with Himself,

To illuminate His presence in the loneliness.

To comfort and grow this little heart of mine.

Explosion in Mountain View

There have been news choppers circling my neighborhood for almost nine hours.  It's dark and late and though I want to sleep, the rhythms of this helicopter coming in and going out stir my heart awake.

You never think that something like this would happen in the place that you call home.

Today around 1pm, there was a violent gas explosion on the street that runs parallel to mine, obliterating one home, completely destroying ten houses and damaging many others, injuring seven workers, and killing one person.  From where my house sits, this site (that looks much like a mini Ground Zero) is visible from my window, directly behind the houses that are across the street from me.

The explosion only caused (very) minor damage to my house and it felt rather odd to be welcomed home by numerous news station vans at the end of my driveway.

But as the hours have ticked on today, the eeriness of it moved from surreal to sickening.  The devastation of it all hit me little by little.  My body felt tense as I turned on the television and watched an interview of a childhood friend who lives across the street from me explain what the explosion felt like and then another childhood friend telling about the injuries he received as the explosion knocked him over.  The weirdest interview I watched was of my next-door neighbor because my house was in the background of the camera shot.  I froze in horror as I watched a dog find the dead body in the rubble on live television and my heart sank even more when later in the night I stood up and looked out my window and saw the lights and the huge crane illuminating the darkness of the night.

I'm not sure why I feel so shaken up, especially because my life and my loved ones lives weren't effected.  But as I watched clip after clip of families running through the grass onto my street, as I watched these people trace the same pathway I would take as a high schooler walking home from my friends' houses, my stomach knotted up inside.

It looks like a war zone over here in Mountain View.  There are emergency vehicles and news casters everywhere.  The firehouse is full of people without homes for the night and my heart breaks every time I look at images of the aftermath.

In all of this uncertainty ("I can't believe this happened here" and "Could this same gas explosion happen tomorrow in my house?") I am certain of one thing:  The love of God is so thick and real and immense.  And this Love pierces through any pain and darkness and fright.

Jesus is present in the midst of the suffering.  He is with the families grieving and the families without homes.  He is with the frightened and the workers who were injured and their friends and families.

He is right there in the rubble.
Right there in the middle of it.

He isn't a far off God who will try to fix this.  He isn't a God that doesn't notice and doesn't care.  He is present and He is there with the brokenhearted and the afraid.  He is present in the debris.

It seemed appropriate to me that most of the damage in my house was nail damage to the framework and ceilings (other than a poor decapitated wooden duck that fell off of a wall somewhere) when the damage done to my Savior was also nail damage.  And when I look up at the holes that now dot my ceiling from where these nails were shaken by the brute force, I am reminded of the holes from the nails that pierced His hands and feet.

He is here, I know it.  Despite the eeriness of the news chopper breaking through the silence of the night, He is here.  In my neighborhood, in the firehouse, with the brokenhearted, in the rubble, He is here.

He is God.
He is Love.
And He is making all things new.

I am confident that this God of death and resurrection will bring Life to this rubble.  He will bring Life to this tragedy and resurrect it for His purposes because He cares and loves and pursues and restores.  He will create beauty from the mess.  I know this because it's His nature.  I know this because I know Him.

He doesn't just pick up the broken pieces, but He sits in them as the crane sifts through the rubble.  He is present in the middle of the heartache.  The explosion was strong, but His love is stronger still.  The damage is immense, but His love is greater.  The road to healing and recovery and restoration is long, but He walks it with us.

[Listen over the helicopter.  Do you hear Him?  He is here.]

The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit. [Psalm 34:18]

If someone is reading this that was personally effected, know that I am so sorry and my heart breaks for you and I am praying for you.  But also know that there is a God who loves you and is there with you and desires for you to know Him.  Also, my church would love to help you in any way possible so feel free to visit ccmercer.com or email connecting@ccmercer.com

Life.

Life.
That's how I can sum up all that I've been thinking and feeling and experiencing and reflecting on lately.

There is Life in the laughter,
   Life in the tears.

To know Life in the deepest of heartaches,
   Life in the mundane,
   and Life in the jubilation,
is perhaps the greatest invitation to us ever given on this side of heaven.

To walk with Him in all things,
to really know He is present when my heart is breaking and when my heart is celebrating,
is to experience true humanness, to be as I was designed to be.

Life.
Always.
[Because there is Life in Him.]

Sometimes my heart is completely overwhelmed,
   by this Life,
   by this Love,
   by His relentless pursuit,
because I am so undeserving.

And regardless of how often I stumble or fall,
He. loves. me.

With a love powerful enough to pierce through the darkness,
a love powerful enough to transform a darkened heart,
a love powerful enough to break the chains that once held me bound.

I'm overwhelmed because that kind of Love is indescribable,
that kind of love is the only kind with the ability to transform,
   to produce growth,
   to soften a heart.

So today, this mix of emotions feels overwhelming,
   [in a good way.]
because this Life that I'm invited into is better than anything I've ever known.

these growing roots.

"Man cannot live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God."

I opened my eyes and stood straight, pushing away from the wall that I was leaning against as if I were the seeker counting in hide-and-seek.  Jesus had spoken; that much was evident.  And those words hung in the deepest parts of me for longer than I had anticipated.

This morning, two days after this interaction between us, a thought hit me:  The things I cared so much about six months ago are not as high priority in my life anymore.

Some of those things (actually, most of those things) are, at their core, good.  And I still desire them, but they are no longer the focus for me.

I could write a list for you about what those things are, but I think that would be besides the point.  The point is that those things--the bread of this world--aren't my focus anymore.  And though good, I never want them to be the focus again.

Because those things aren't Jesus.

One by one and little by little--so slow I wouldn't have even noticed if I hadn't taken the morning to reflect--they each faded into the background of my life as Jesus was illuminated more and more.

As I became more rooted in Him, as He alone became the only thing that I was running after, everything else stopped screaming for my attention.

I think, maybe, that's a piece of what the Spirit-led life is all about.  It's about being so fixed on Him that one day you finally understand that He alone satisfies, that man cannot live on bread alone because even though you eat it today, you will hunger again tomorrow.  I'm not sure I'm always there 100% of the time because I still fall into the trap that other things--even good things--can satisfy me, but I'd like to think that I'm moving and that these roots are growing and that I'm farther along on the journey than I was six months ago.

I'm not sure what the bread is for you, what the thing is that you are tempted to have more than Jesus--maybe it's friends or marriage or success or fun or wisdom or strength or gentleness.  But those things have to come second.  (Actually, some of those things are only produced from our intimacy with Jesus and thus naturally come second anyway.)

The thing is, the bread isn't bad.  It is, at it's core, good for us.  But we have to understand at a heart level that this bread will never satisfy.  That when we live our lives in pursuit of things--even good things--other than Jesus, we will always find ourselves to be insatiable.

No amount of bread and no type of bread will ever satisfy.  The things of this world will always leave you hungry again.  But Jesus does.

He lives in me and walks with me and when I spend my days aware of Him and in step with Him, the insatiable becomes satiated.

When rooted in Him, I am satisfied to the full.

He [alone] resurrects.

Last night, in an attempt to spend some intentional time with Jesus, I coerced my friend into painting her prayers with me.  I needed to create space, to listen and be still and rest.  After eight nights of continuous sleepovers (and let me add that half of those nights there was a crowd of women sleeping over due to a wedding and a New Year's party) and little alone time to hear from God, my soul was thirsty, panting, my arms reaching out franticly to touch Him.

And so I gave my friend a quick demo of how to paint, handed her the supplies, and turned on the worship music.  I barely spoke, other than my exchanges with Jesus and for me, this space was exactly what I needed.  I began throwing colors on the white sheet, pinks and greens and yellows, celebrating the new life that I've seen in my walk with Him over the past few months.  Something broke open within me this semester, and I was creating a painting to represent that.

After awhile, I felt like the piece was done and I sat back to look at it.  Though I was sure it was finished, it didn't look quite right.  I added more yellow, but that wasn't it, something was off.  I crossed my arms, frustrated, my eyebrows furrowed in thought.

[how I intended it to go]

It just didn't feel right.

I flipped the painting upside down and stopped.  It's supposed to go this way.

But God, I insisted, that isn't how I created it to go.  I was painting a picture of the Life that broke open within me this semester, remember?  If the piece is turned upside down it looks like… well… it looks like You shining down into some sort of messiness, not me bursting open, growing closer to You.

Ah but My child, He replied softly, you are mistaken.  The intimacy you have with Me didn't increase because you figured out how to listen or because you discovered new tools.  You burst open because I resurrected dead areas in your life.  I am the initiator.  New Life always starts with Me.

[how He intended it to go]

With the painting turned upside down (or I suppose it was right side up to God) it felt brighter.  I've never taken an art class, and so I can't explain to you scientifically what it does to the eye to have the brighter colors on top and the darker colors on the bottom.  I don't know how (neurologically) this makes the art appear lighter.

But I do know that there is something brighter about knowing that my God is the initiator, about knowing that I don't grow to Him but that He reaches down to me, about knowing that there is a resurrection hope amid any lifeless mess.

There was, it appeared, a theology lesson present for me in the midst of my play.  That, I think, is what art has become for me: a space to learn and re-learn the Truths about our great God, a space to create with our Creator, a space to breathe and rest and interact with Him, a space to know and be known.

[a space for Father, Son, Spirit, and me.]

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