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

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]