celebration series. [koinonia part I]

To read my previous blog post--the introduction of this current celebration series--click here.

Moving back to New Jersey after graduating from college was one of the hardest things that I had to go through in my life.  After my mom died during my freshman year of college, Virginia became home for me.  It was where I healed and met Jesus and lived in deep community.  Most of my college friends stayed in Virginia, and those that didn't moved to even farther places like Tennessee and Kentucky while I crossed the Mason-Dixon line once again.  I spent the better half of my first year in New Jersey praying for friends and feeling lonely.  Making friends in the real world is much more difficult than as a college student, and even making friends in the local church is much more challenging than making friends as an InterVarsity student.  I was learning that in the real world, people have very limited time to hang out, and so it takes months and months to finally feel like you know somebody.  As an InterVarsity student, my life was filled with instant best friends every semester and guaranteed groups of people to eat every meal with.  Being an InterVarsity student meant automatic koinonia [that rich, deep fellowship that Scripture references in Acts 2], with little or no effort at all.

Moving far away meant I had that community void to fill and as an extrovert, this process seemed to take forever.  A lot of tears were shed and a lot of emotional outbursts to God occurred over craving that missing koinonia.

I'm not exactly sure how it happened, but at some point this year, koinonia became a reality once again for me.  But this time, it was so much deeper and richer than what I had in college.

Let me try and explain myself, before I come off as offensive to my dear college friends.

In college, you live intimately with one another.  You are experiencing the same life transitions and for us as InterVarsity students, the highs and lows of doing ministry together.  You have common goals and interests and maturity levels.  In college you live in a bubble of people all within four years of your age and of similar economic statuses and intellectual abilities.  In my opinion, to have some type of like-minded community like this is vital.  But it's not complete.

Don't mistake what I'm saying.  I still have those friendships.  There is a group of us that still update each other regularly on our lives and ask for prayer requests.  There are some friends that I still talk to weekly or bi-weekly on the phone or on FaceTime (and actually I have a friend that I talk to daily...).  This love and intimacy still exist through the world of technology and social media, even if we're states apart.

But what that community lacked was diversity.

My college friends are some of my [hopefully!] life-long best friends.  I hold them so very near and dear to my heart.  Nothing will ever replace my relationships with any of them.  But my koinonia has gotten bigger since leaving Building 10 of the UMW Apartments.  My koinonia consists of friends that feel like a full and complete family.  I have a spiritual mom and dad, aunts and uncles, older and younger siblings, and sisters that feel much like the same age as me.

The body of Christ, as it was meant to be, was incomplete in college.  It only consisted of siblings the same age as me, which while necessary and fun and amazing, lacked completeness.

Entering into a relationship with Jesus means you enter into God's family (Ephesians 1:5).  This means that this spiritual family that I speak of isn't some daydreamy concept.  It's real.  These are people I've laughed with, cried with, been admonished by, and offered my own challenges to.  The mothers and fathers and aunts and uncles offer their wisdom in the Lord and love and challenge us at the same time.  They care for us young ones in such tangible ways like home cooked meals and offering to pay for dinners out.  The older siblings offer much of the same things, in their humble I'm-still-just-starting-this-journey-too type of way and affirm us in the ways we've grown--like good older sisters do.  I tease the littles with love and wrestle them in the pool, just like any sibling would, and offer up my own wisdom when the timing is right.  We function just like members of any blood-family function, but the thing that ties us together isn't our blood--it's His blood.  I'm blessed because I have a very large family--some that are legally related to me and some that feel just like family because we are adopted sons and daughters of the King.  My spiritual family doesn't replace my blood-family, it just adds to it.  And blesses me with a plethora of people that love and care for me.

Being in the family of God, my definition has been expanded.  Family is a friend dancing into your house singing happy birthday as she hands you one of her huge original canvas pieces of artwork (that probably costs hundreds of dollars) as a gift because she remembered you being awestruck by it at her art show.  Family is going to visit a friend and her turning on her computer to watch a show while you read a book because well, it didn't matter if the conversation ceased for an hour.  It was just important to be there, together.  Family is spending an evening in silence when you both study Scripture and take breaks to tell each other what Jesus was saying to you.  Family is a spiritual dad telling you he's proud of you and a spiritual aunt decorating your house with birthday balloons while you were at work.  Family is you feeding your spiritual older sister's baby for 7 hours upside down during a car ride while she blasted the Dixie Chicks to "make everything better."  Family is a spiritual mom hugging you tight, even when you act uninterested, because she knows what makes you feel deeply loved and knowing exactly what to pray for you, even when you don't ask for a prayer request.  Family is laughing until you can't breathe and letting the tears come when things feel heavy.  When you are in the body of Christ, the definition of family suddenly gets extended and an influx of people are added to the one you were born into.

As I've been celebrating these relationships over the past couple of weeks, I've paid attention to some of these friends' eyes and what I saw astounded me:  They all had the same look.  One pair of eyes sat in the dark on my patio with me and reminisced about how we met.  One looked over at me during a pretty heavy conversation on a long road trip.  A few pairs peek at me Friday evenings at home fellowship and Tuesdays during the Truth Project.  These eyes all have that glazed over look with that far away twinkle; the one that says without words, "I love you.  And you're important to me.  And I'm so glad the Lord has brought you into my life."  The most profound time I've encountered that look in a friend's eyes was yesterday over some froyo and in between roars of laughter.  In that moment, her expression spoke deeper into my soul than any amount of words could that I was deeply cared for and loved.

That look that these friends give me is one I carry with me every day because it's so authentic and unable to be faked.  It's one that I imagine Jesus gave to every person He encountered while living on earth.

It's a look that expresses the richest koinonia.

Some of my friends live close by and some live far.  Some are in their 50s and some are in the single digits.  Some have the same profession as me and some don't.

But all of them love me.  And challenge me.  And care for me.  And pray for me.  All of them stare back at me with that same expression in their eyes.

I've grown a lot this year in my walk with Christ, and some of that is thanks to all of these people that make up my church family.  This variety of people has added to me being stretched and has helped transform me over this past year.

While I've been aware of these rich relationships for awhile now, it wasn't until recently when I could fully say that I would have it no other way.  As much as I miss pieces of college, I would never trade living in that college bubble for the richness that I have in the local church.  I may not be living with 100 of my best friends that are all my age, but being intimately connected with people older, younger, and of the same age as me is infinitely better.  Recently I contemplated switching small groups from the mixed ages one I attend now to one for only young adults and I couldn't bare the thought!

And so I'm celebrating that!  I'm celebrating being in a place of deep friendships that I wouldn't change for the world.  I'm celebrating no longer grieving college.  I'm celebrating koinonia.

celebration series. [the beginning.]

I'm turning 23 in two days.

When I began to reflect on all that 22 encompassed, I realized that my birthday actually falls on a perfect date because it comes with the closing of the school year.  So reflecting wasn't just about being 22.  I had so much more to meditate on.  Like this first full year of post-graduation and being away from college friends.  And this first taste of what it means to be on staff with InterVarsity.  It entailed thinking through church and family and friends and jobs.  It composed of every detail that Jesus had stitched together for me over this past year.

When I sat with this, I realized that I have a lot to celebrate.

So I decided to throw myself a birthday party.  I wanted to rejoice in where the Lord has brought me and also spend some time in deeper prayer and reflection.  And I wanted to invite my friends to join me in that same process, as the school year was also ending for them (as many of their jobs are on the academic calendar, as well).

I invited my good friend Aletheia--who is an artist--to come over and teach me and my friends a thing or two about painting.  And that's just what we did.  A group of us got together to laugh and cry and process our year with Jesus. [Or to play, process, and praise, as Aletheia would say.]

We got messy under the sun and each encountered Jesus in deep ways.  We created with our Creator.  Sometimes externally processing to one another when we felt stuck on a piece and sometimes sitting quietly with the Lord.

As I painted this one above, I thought of the all-encompassing way that I've seen Jesus mold me over these last 365 days.  As I've continued to say yes to my anointing to staff, yes to inviting Him into wounded parts of my soul, yes to allowing Him to expand my knowledge of Him, and yes to surrendering pieces of my life, I've seen deep transformation.  I am more than just content at where I am after a year--I am jubilant.

And even more of a reason to rejoice is that I'm still being made new.  Each and every day.  And I can't wait to see where I'll be in a year from now.

But before I start looking to the future, I wanted to take some time and celebrate this year.  I painted and processed on Saturday, and now I'm ready to share.  So I'm starting this celebration series where I'll let you in on a few of the key things that I delighted in with Jesus this weekend.  Prepare to have the next few blog posts tell the story of my last year--my story of being 22.

As I wrote that last sentence I thought to myself, "Hmmm maybe that's the reason I felt a writer's block all year and seldom posted... maybe it was all building to this series?"

So let's celebrate.  I am beyond blessed that His grace let's me end 22 with a party. :)

those blue ridge mountains

I went to the most Virginian wedding of my life this weekend.

In the midst of fields and the Blue Ridge Mountains (which was in the backyard of my friend's childhood home), I watched one of my closest college friends marry her best friend.  During the ceremony we sat on barrels of hay and during the reception there was a very typical blue grass band playing, we played corn-hole (or as my northern friends call it:  bean bag toss), and for dinner we ate bbq, coleslaw, and green beans.  It was the epitome of everything I left behind when I moved back to New Jersey.  I held a dear college friend's baby, was corn-hole partners with another friend I hadn't seen in three years, and hugged the friend who lead me to the Lord [whom I hadn't seen in a year].

Through the smiles and the catching up, the laughter and the dancing, there was a piece of my heart that was aching.

I missed these friends.  I missed the mountains.  I missed the blue grass music and the southern food and the sweet tea.  While Fredericksburg, Virginia had been my home for four years, this more "Southern Virginian" friend group represented home in a different sense for me.  These were the friends that brought me to faith my sophomore year.  These were the friends that discipled me and developed me as a leader.  These were the friends that welcomed me into a makeshift family when my own mother died and my family in Jersey seemed to be falling apart.  These were the mountains I camped in every summer as an InterVarsity student during our Rockbridge conference.  These were the voices and the music and the scenery that spoke into my soul when everything else was falling apart.  These were the seniors that during my sophomore year, taught me how to make Jesus Lord over my life.

These were the memories of healing of my past.  A close knit friend group and a southern culture that I will probably never experience again.  A culture that I left behind--probably permanently--but that was once sewn together with my understanding of Jesus and healing and love.

And so now in New Jersey I listen to Mumford and Sons and remind myself of the difference of sweet tea and sweetened iced tea and jokingly roll my eyes when my friends in Jersey think bbq means cheeseburgers instead of pulled pork.

I'm elated to be in New Jersey.  Honestly.  I love my church, my students, and my co-workers.  I see how I'm becoming more like Christ and I see why He has me here.

I don't think a place has ever completely been home for me, but the culture of Southern Virginia very much represented home for me for a couple of years.  I miss the quiet of it.  The peace.  The comfort.

I'm embracing this new mission field in the northeast.  Really, I am.  And I'm learning what it looks like to be obedient to the call--whether that's in Virginia or New Jersey or someplace abroad.

But when I hold my friends' kids and hug long lost friends and laugh over college memories and see people that I haven't seen in years, there's a part of my heart that grieves because I miss it and I'm so very far away.

Virginia was where I got saved.  It was the place where I grew into the person I am in Christ today.  It was where I received my calling to InterVarsity Staff and where I met friends who carried me through my mother's death.

These friends and this culture and those mountains will always hold a very special place in my heart.

Dandelions

This week was the warmest week of spring thus far and it made everything nature-y stand out and yell for me to appreciate it.  As I drove up my street, I noticed how vibrant the green was on all of my neighbors' yards as the sun bounced off of the blades of grass.

And scattered throughout the lawns, in no particular sort of order, were dandelions.  Crayola's lemon yellow colored dandelions.  Some yards had a lot and others had a few, but they were everywhere.

Weeds.  That's what my parents told me they were when I was little.  And that's what the science textbooks claimed when I got older.

But these weeds aren't like the annoying green ones that grow in the garden.  These weeds are beautiful.  These weeds add spice to a neighborhood that otherwise would look bland and homogenous and well...

...suburban.

These weeds shouted, "Spring is here!  Open the car windows!  Lay on your porch!  Go on an adventure!"

Shouts of life.

Lemon yellow life.

These are the weeds that I would pluck at the end of their lives as a child.  When their yellow glow turned to powdery white.  When their names changed from dandelions to "wishies."  When I would blow the white seeds as I twirled in the grass.

And almost as if by magic, without the help of pollination, these scattered seeds would produce new dandelions.  Remarkable, really.

Sometimes the messy weeds add Life to our lives.  Sometimes the annoyances that disrupt our otherwise perfectly trimmed lawns add character and individuality.

Sometimes the weeds are what make us into works of art.  And remind us that in order to scatter them requires a deep breath and a word of prayer and the Lord's hand to grow them in the spot they land.

Maybe reflecting on these sprouts of Life in our lives--sprouts that we could easily disregard as weeds--remind us of the work God's done in us.

So here I am, attempting to learn to embrace the weeds.

deception

These lies

Leave us empty inside.

Wrapped in fabrications of happiness and fulfillment.

These lies

Leave us broken inside.

That fable in the garden

Left lives wounded and scattered and fractured.

Marked our DNA with this propensity toward sin,

And our hearts with a deceptive muddiness that not even we can sift through.

These lies,

Leave us shattered inside.

Destructive waves in high tide,

Drowning us.

Making us wonder where the

                                              Life

                                     Has gone.

God didn't offer them a speech of why they shouldn't eat from the tree.

He just said no.

And put into motion a plan of redemption to make them white as snow.

These lies,

Seem prettier.
Clothed with a detailed response of how

["happy"] we could be.

Yet clothed is what they are,
Garments covering the dark debris.

These lies,

Appear to be so bona fide.

Though they are but a guise,

That leave us empty inside.

Grace-site

For the past couple of years, a common theme I keep hearing from both followers of Christ and non-Christians alike (usually around the time of Easter) is that Jesus dying on the cross makes them sad.

Maybe this sounds harsh to some, but sad isn't the word I'd use to describe it.

Somber?  Yes.
More aware of the gravity of my sin?  Yes.
Sad?  Not so much.

Jesus died on the cross to raise from the dead three days later.  He is alive and has conquered the grave!  The story ends in victory!  And though Good Friday is painful for us to be reminded of, it is fully immersed in love.  For you.  And for me.  This is the greatest love story ever written.  And it's written by our Maker for us.

If Jesus never died on the cross and rose again, that would be you and I up there on the tree.  Dying a death that we so deserve.  Bearing the weight of our sin like we should.

But Love stopped the story from ending that way.  Love died in our place.  Love took the shame and the mockery and the beatings and the death when He was sinless.  Love took the Father turning His face away.  Love humbled Himself and received the worst death sentence ever so that you and I could receive eternal life.

And not just a ticket into heaven, but a transformative life here on this earth.  Salvation is only half of the Gospel.  Sanctification is the other half.  Jesus tells us that eternal life is to know Him (John 17:3).  So my question to you today, friends, is this:  Do you know Him?  If we have not entered into a transformative relationship with Jesus here on this earth, we have not accepted this gift of eternal life.

I'm not sad when I think of my Savior hanging on the cross, I'm grateful and find myself rejoicing.  Because He died and rose from the dead, we are able to have a relationship with a Living God.  Sometimes we forget this fact.  Yesterday in a game, one of my (Christian) friends made a reference to Jesus being dead.  He is not dead!  He is alive!  How do we, as Christians, breeze over that fact?!

Because He conquered death we can have a relationship with Him!  Because He conquered death we have the power to conquer sin!  The same power that rose Jesus from the dead lives in you (Romans 8:11) if you have entered into a saving relationship with Christ.  As I said before, the Easter story ends in victory.  And we can enter into that victory over our sin if we allow Him to work in and through us.

"I also pray that you will understand the incredible greatness of God's power for us who believe him.  This is the same mighty power that raised Christ from the dead and seated him in the place of honor at God's right hand in the heavenly realms" (Ephesians 1:19-20; emphasis mine).  I don't think that most of us have even begun to understand what a powerful gift the Holy Spirit is.  I don't think that most of us have even scratched the surface.  When Jesus left us with the gift of the Spirit, He said we will do greater works than He did during His time here on earth (John 14:12).  #WeDon'tEvenKnow

Because He conquered death we can be healed if we are in a saving relationship with Him.

"But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed" (Isaiah 53:3).

By His wounds we are healed.
Let us never forget that.
Any healing and restoration that Jesus has brought into the various aspects of my life over the past 3 1/2 years I can only attribute to His work on the cross.

I'm not saying that it's not important to know deep in your soul the pain and agony that your Savior went through for you.  I'm not saying that it shouldn't bother you.  In fact, it should do quite the opposite:  It should change your life.

But the cross for me isn't a gravesite.
It's a living hope.
It's the point where true freedom begins.
It's the point where love and grace and mercy and truth and power intersect.

I guess you could say that for me, it's a grace-site.

But when Christ came as a high priest of the good things that are now already here, he went through the greater and more perfect tabernacle that is not made with human hands, that is to say, is not a part of this creation.  He did not enter by means of the blood of goats and calves; but he entered the Most Holy Place once for all by his own blood, thus obtaining eternal redemption.  The blood of goats and bulls and the ashes of a heifer sprinkled on those who are ceremonially unclean sanctify them so that they are outwardly clean.  How much more, then, will the blood of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit offered himself unblemished to God, cleanse our consciences from acts that lead to death, so that we may serve the living God!... In fact the law requires that nearly everything be cleansed with blood, and without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness. [Hebrews 9:11-14; 22; emphasis mine]

Luke 5

"Go away from me Lord; I am a sinful man!" Peter proclaimed when he realized Jesus' power and holiness vs. his own lack of faith.

I imagine Peter yelling it with tears in his eyes and anger on his face as he turned to face the other direction--much like my exterior when I try and push someone who loves me away.

But Jesus didn't get defensive.  And He didn't give up on Peter either.  He was determined to make Peter one of His disciples and He responded immediately with, "Don't be afraid; from now on you will fish for people."

Whoa.

When Peter realized his unworthiness of this call on his life, he tried to run from Jesus.  But Jesus gently pursued him.  Peter's "GET AWAY" probably came off as angry and rebellious, yet Jesus was able to instantly recognize the deeper emotion at play:  Fear.  Fear trips up many of us who are called into this discipleship.  It gets in the way of any of us who are trying to do the Lord's work.  Fear of our own inabilities.  Fear of the spiritual attacks we'll encounter.  Fear of the hardness of our own hearts when we realize how frequently we don't believe God's promises.

But we have nothing to be afraid of because we are signing up for Jesus' team.  He's got it.  He's got us.

Peter tried to run, so Jesus called out this inner emotion in order to break it..  He then spoke Peter's calling over his life:  That he would be a fisher of men.

When we try to run from our callings out of fear, Jesus casts out that anxiety and still expects us to follow Him.  To give up everything and follow Him.  Our families.  Our homes.  Our careers.  Our own expectations for our lives.  We must lay them all at the altar.

Jesus doesn't let us push Him away like we so easily do to the people around us.  He loves us.  And pursues us.  And forgives us.

Even in the midst of us recognizing that we are sinful.