To Stay in the Fire

Sometimes when I write, the truth of my world at the moment emerges on the page, and it's like I recognize it for the first time.  Writing seems to draw it out of me.  It's not something I plan, in fact it usually happens by accident. 

Like yesterday.  I'm writing in my journal, pretty much rummaging around my heart looking for signs of faith.  And it hits me:  I'm not at a place where I can articulate what is happening to me or in me right now.  I have no idea what mark this chapter will leave on my life, my family, my marriage.  I am hopeful, because I've seen enough to know that God really does work things out for good.  But the good I am hoping for seems so far away, and ultimately it may never be.  Good in God's eyes can be so different from the way it looks in our own.  I have no sense of direction, just a sense of being caught in circumstances I am helpless to change.  I see no movement.  I hate being stuck in the middle of uncertainty.

Here are the words that spoke truth to my heart as they landed on the page: 

The circumstances we are in are doing their work in us--like we are the silver, thrust in the refiner's fire for the moment.  It's impossible for the silver to be fully aware of what is being shaped in it while it is in the fire.  All that registers is the heat and the pain.  Only after it is removed and cooled can it see what the heat and the Artisan's hand have done. . . .  To stay in the fire is faith.  To know that someday I will see its worth is trust. 

Faith can be painted in so many different ways.  Often it is tied to our beliefs, and the strength of our faith is judged based upon what beliefs we hold or what we believe will happen.  Believing becomes a convenient indicator of one's faithfulness.  As long as I believe the right things or in the right way, then I get to be counted in the "good Christian" category.  But what happens when our belief comes crashing down and no good alternative steps up to take its place?

It seems to me that inherent in the belief litmus test is an audacious assumption that our beliefs obligate God to do X, Y, and Z.   Quite honestly God is the most perplexing and frustrating person I know.  Like Aslan in Chronicles of Narnia novels, He is certainly good, but never tame.   What then happens to our faith when (as Beth Moore has said on occasion) God does not behave?  Especially when God does not behave the way we believe that He should?

So faith right now for me is about our relationship, the one I share with this incomprehensible, bigger than I can imagine, and I can't imagine what He is doing right now God.  I choose to be in the relationship, even though some things in my life hurt right now, even though my future is uncertain, even though the answers I seek are not coming, even though I hate being stuck in this place that I can't get out of.

Faith for me is knowing that God is still good, even when I cannot feel His goodness the way I want to.  Faith for me is trusting that in His time He will give me eyes to see.  Faith for me is knowing that there will come a time when every part of this uncertainty will make perfect sense.  Until then, to stay in the fire is faith; to know that someday I will see its worth is trust.

But now thus says the LORD, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel:  Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.  When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you.  Isaiah 43:1-2

This is me trusting,

Sami



 

Not Done Yet

I've been wrestling with what ministry looks like for me now that I'm no longer employed in a full-time ministry position.   I have told college students for years that God has great plans for their lives, that they can change the world.  And I never once told them they had to have special circumstances in place to do it.  I just told them they only had to offer God themselves; God was responsible for orchestrating the rest.  Somehow it's easier to be the messenger of such a powerful message.  It's so much easier to believe it for somebody else. 

On my birthday, my sweet husband asked me to read a passage from his library book.  In The Cause Within You, Matthew Barnett shares the story of being at the end of his rope, ready to give up on ministry, on the dreams God had planted within him.  It was then that God brought him to a chance encounter with an ordinary man of extraordinary faith.  This gentleman prayed for Matthew in such a powerful way that Matthew returned to his dreams ready to step boldly into the future.  This is what he says he learned from the experience:  "There is life after giving up!  You may run low on inspiration, but the dream doesn't die.  The calling remains firm.  You are not done giving people hope and new life until God says you're done." 


In that moment I felt Barnett's words pierce my heart, bringing tears to my eyes.  Life and faith still continue, even when our paths take an unexpected turn.  From the beginning I have believed that this change in vocation was really an invitation from God to follow my heart's desire, giving my unrealized hopes and dreams a chance to be planted instead of buried.  I guess I also felt that God's ability and desire to do something through me to make God difference in the world had been buried along with my old job description which so obviously gave me an avenue for recognizable ministry.  These words of promise are like balm to my broken spirit, and so like Paul's assertion that God's promises to His chosen people are still viable:  "for the gifts and the calling of God are irrevocable"  (Romans 11:29).

It's so easy to focus on what I can't do, and so easy to forget that I serve a God Who creates the very universe out of the nothingness of space.  It's so easy to forget that God can take the emptiness of what I have to bring Him and do the impossible with it.  He's just that big.  Paul goes on to express this later on in the Romans passage: 

"O the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are his judgements and how inscrutable his ways!
‘For who has known the mind of the Lord?
   Or who has been his counsellor?’
‘Or who has given a gift to him,
   to receive a gift in return?’
For from him and through him and to him are all things. To him be the glory for ever. Amen" (Romans 11:33-36).

So I'm still not really sure what the future holds.  But God can use me.  God wants to use me.  More than I want to be part of His plan for bringing redemption to others, He wants me to be a part of His plan for bringing redemption to others.  At least that is what I would tell my students.  And to be true for them it also has to be true for me. 

This is me trusting,

Sami

Hope Rising

I first noticed it a few weeks ago while I was running.  Summer storms had left chaos around the neighborhood.  I had assumed the overturned flower pots were just more debris from the driving wind and rain.  As the days passed I thought it odd that they had never been righted.  Until this morning when I passed them again and happened to look inside.  It seems the upturned flower bins are that way for a purpose.  Beautiful flowers are growing sheltered by the shade provided by the large tin buckets standing on their sides.  It is quite stunning, and gives pause for reflection.  Surely it must be a mistake, I think.  And then I look closely at the neat arrangement of growth, as if someone thought long and hard about what flowers and foliage would grow best in the unusual placement of their flower bed.  It reminds me of my life. 

 When we first learned that I would not be returning to my last place of ministry, it took our breath away. We were in shock.  In the span of a three minute conversation our lives had been upturned, like the flower pots after the storm.  Yet slowly shock gave way to something else.  Quietly, slowly, we began to discover a deeper truth holding us; perhaps this wasn't a surprise to the One who had called me there in the first place.  Perhaps this was part of God's calling me to a new path.  Perhaps this was part of a greater plan.

One of my students shared Gunther's song "Beautiful Things."  I play it often.  It stirs me deeply.  When I feel discouraged, it reminds me that from the beginning of time God has always taken the debris of chaos and plants beautiful gardens.  I love these lyrics:

All this pain
I wonder if I’ll ever find my way
I wonder if my life could really change at all
All this earth
Could all that is lost ever be found
Could a garden come up from this ground at all

You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of the dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us

All around
Hope is springing up from this old ground
Out of chaos life is being found in You

You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of the dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us

As I am living into this new season of our family's life,  I am learning how dependent my faith has been upon outcomes.  I am beginning to see that faith in God is less about trying to convince Him to arrange for better outcomes and instead to trust that He already has the outcome in His hand.  Faith is becoming a daily choice where I choose to believe that the outcomes are unfolding according to a greater plan.  Even though I don't always understand, by Grace I am choosing to believe that the greater plan is beautiful.  Just like the upturned flower beds.  They are beautiful.  Unexpected.  Singular.  Unduplicated.  But incredibly beautiful.

And just as those new flowers are rising out of strategically placed potting soil, reshaping a lawn into an invitation to enjoy beauty from a different angle, I sense God inviting me to trust that beautiful things are growing out of the soil of my life too.  Though the seeds planted there are still tender, not yet sturdy and strong, their tenacious hold on new life inspires me to hope.  Those subtle stirrings are indeed there, every time I let go of my need to have things turn out in the ways I expected and allow God room for surprises.  Uncertainty seems to be the best seed bed for hope to rise in.

This is me trusting,

Sami

Content in My Tent

Nice toes, huh?  I only paint my toenails during the summer.  Most of the year I am pretty unconcerned about my appearance.  I usually dress in jeans, a t-shirt, and hiking boots.  But something happens in the summertime.  As the sun comes out and the days lengthen, I really want to live into the joy of being alive.  Perhaps it is because my birthday falls in the middle of July, and I want to make the season special.  For me that involves taking a little extra time to attend to small details that usually I ignore.  It's like for these three months out of the year life slows down enough that I can notice what it feels like to live in this skin,  appreciating the gift of being alive by adding splashes of color to my normally mundane routine.   To a small degree it is a celebration of the vessel God gave me to house my heart, mind, and soul.  I remind myself with gratitude:  this is the body that gave me the joy of my heart; even with all its scars and aging, this is the body that made me a mother.  And so this is the time of year that I take a little extra care, saying thank you to it and to God for another year of life.  And in just a few days, this body will take me into a whole new year again.  As I celebrate turning another year older and living boldly into the joy of walking a new path, I thought I would share some other things I love about summer time.

Things I love about summertime:

painting my toenails

eating grilled corn on the cob

playing outside with the boys

getting to spend extra time with my wonderful hubby

wearing sandals

trading in make-up for the sun-kissed look with just a touch of lipstick

sleeping in

dressing up and looking pretty

long morning runs

playing kickball in the front yard

making homemade banana bread

enjoying impromptu visits with friends

going hiking with my sweet husband

backyard barbeques

sherbert in an ice-cream cone

camping out in the living room

dancing with my boys

dinner around the kitchen table

sweaty hugs and kisses

The apostle Paul says in Philippians 4:11 "I have learned to be content with whatever I have."  Summertime for me is the best time to practice this.  With a slower than usual schedule I am no longer distracted by busyness.  It is like my family is given the rare opportunity to learn to enjoy just being together again, without the rush.  And for me, I am learning to enjoy being in my own skin, to treat this temple of the Holy with care, dignity, and love.  I am learning to be content in my earthly tent, to accept it as one of God's gifts to me.  I guess this is my birthday present to myself:  to live this season as if I truly like being the girly girl that I am, the woman God made me to be.  It seems like to be an American woman one must criticize and blame, punish and control the body she lives in.  But for this season I choose to be care-full rather than critical, to trade in my complaints for simple complements, and to be at home in the skin I'm in.  For the rest of summer anyway, this is my road less traveled.

Washed with the Word

Last week we found bag worms on our evergreen bush in front of our house.  They are probably the grossest thing I have ever seen.  They are really larvae that create little pods for themselves out of spit and the foliage from the bush they are eating.  Individually they cannot do much, but collectively they can kill your plant in a couple of weeks.

I've wrestled with this image and how it fits into a broader context of my life.  At first I thought it represented my battle with boredom this summer and the struggle to make meaning out of limited choices.  But what I realized this morning while I was running is that there is a much more dire threat looming on the horizon than boredom and limited choices. 

Since I've left my time at the Wesley Foundation, I've been careful to preserve in my heart the truth of this change.  I totally believe it is the hand of God.  I totally believe it is a gift of freedom to be enjoyed and lived into.  I totally believe it is an opportunity to boldly and courageously follow dreams that I thought were impossible.  However, transitions are rarely smooth, and God knows how difficult it has been.  Especially the impetus that created the change.  It would be so easy to dwell and ruminate on the parts of this transition that were unfair, to become bitter about the details.  The temptation is especially strong when someone who doesn't know that my time at Wesley has been completed asks about it.  So I try to focus on the joy of the new journey, the gift of this time with my family, the peace of knowing I no longer carry burdens that were hard to bear.  It seems easier to turn away from those paths of bitterness when they present themselves because my internal reaction to the past is so different from that of looking into my future.  The choice is clear, and I can choose to redirect my focus toward the future.


But I realized this morning there is another area of my life where this choice is not so easily discerned, where discouragement and hopelessness can easily take root, escaping my notice until I realize I have come  to a place of despair that is hard to get out of.  There are some things I have been asking God to intervene in for a long time, years even.  It seems like my prayers have been useless and I would give up praying them, except that these prayers are a part of a deep and abiding love for a dear treasure in my life.  I can't not pray, but it seems like my prayers have availed nothing.  I so want God to show Himself.  I so want to know how God is moving.  I am so ready for this walk of faith to become a place of sight.  I so want to know God cares about this need, and that He has a plan for resolving what is beyond my ability to help.  I so want to know I can trust Him to be present in the need and to meet it in only a way He can.  The lengthy discouragement and repeated disappointment seem to be robbing me of that trust.

And then I remember the bag worms.  Often they are hard to notice because the larvae wraps itself in the very parts of the evergreen that it is destroying.  So the bush or tree looks normal until the little buggers have completely taken over.  Because they don't look alien to the host plant, one doesn't think to remove them.  They look like they are supposed to be there.  But in taking parts of the plant to make their pods, the stuff of the plant becomes the very thing that becomes part of its demise, if action isn't taken.  The remedy is to remove the pods and treat the plant with something that will kill the bag worms.  Oddly enough, one suggested treatment is quite simple.  Soapy water.  That's it.  Ordinary soapy water.

As I was pondering this whole metaphor this morning, I began to think of how my longing for answers from God can easily turn into bitter resentment.  And how deceptive this bitterness can be because it is wrapped in the very stuff of my love and longing.  And yet, when I allow this unrequited longing to come between me and God, it becomes the very thing that kills the faith that keeps me alive.  I am reminded of how crafty the enemy is, so deftly disguising evil in good, masquerading as an angel of light.  I also love how beautifully the metaphor of remedy speaks as well.  Just like the infected plant needs to be doused in soapy water, the best cure for doubt is a soaking, washing, Word. 

Ephesians 5:26 says this:  Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her to make her holy, cleansing her by the washing with water through the word, and to present her to himself as a radiant church, without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish, but holy and blameless.  I love that God's Word has the power to preserve us as the radiant bride of Christ, without stain, wrinkle, or blemish.  I so need that.  My heart so needs that.  I can't do it on my own strength.  I need His.  I need Him. 

So I leave this moment no less confused about the predicament of my prayers.  But I think I know which path now is the one to take.  After all, the whole essence of this new journey I'm on is to take the road less traveled.  For this time in this moment it means I must rest my longing on the strength of God's Word, trusting the efficacy of His Word to do for me what I cannot do for myself:  to keep my desire to see Him holy and radiant, without stain or wrinkle or blemish, holy and blameless.  Only God can do that.  I guess I better get to soaking and washing.

This is me trusting,

Sami

Seasons

"For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven" (Ecclesiastes 3:1)

I love this verse.  When I mentioned it in my last post, it was like manna from heaven, giving me a hopeful and life-giving frame of reference for the last three months of transition.  The last few days I have held this verse in my heart along with the question, "Who am I when I'm naked?"  I'm not talking about standing in front of the bathroom mirror naked.  I'm talking about the kind of naked that happens when something you used to believe was absolutely essential to your personhood is gone, those outward trappings of identity that helps the world know who you are and how you fit into it.
For a long time I associated myself with my job description.  If you asked me who I was, that identity was wrapped up in being a campus minister.  And while I absolutely loved it, it was hard to fit anything else in.  I'll never forget going on a Celebrate Jesus Mission one summer and a gentleman there saying to me about my work, "you have to be committed but not invested."  After he told me that, I began to figure out how I could be committed without losing myself.  I believe God slowly gave me the grace to find myself beyond my job description.  And in the aftermath of no longer being in a position that defined me for so long, I believe it is why I'm okay.  In fact, I am more than okay.  I can see God's hand in the mix of all the circumstances of my life, giving the absurd order and giving meaning to experiences that at first glance left me baffled.  What staggers me and fills me with hope is that I feel joy and peace, like my future is wide open rather than shutting down.  I feel like the captive parts of myself have been set free. 

So who am I when I'm naked?  Every year the trees where I live lose their leaves.  In fact the whole life cycle of a tree is filled with transitioning from one season to another.  Sometimes the outward growth is obvious.  Sometimes all the growth happens beneath the surface.  But whether it is the season for leaves or not, a tree is always a tree.

The last nine years have actually nourished me, showing me to myself.  I know I am a shepherd at heart.  I know that laughter is important to me.  I know that writing connects me to God in ways that nothing else can.  I know that teaching others helps me grow.  I know that being a wife and a mother is my most important work.  I know that my life has to be filled with creative expression.  I know that the only life I want to live is one where I live each day in the presence of God, free to follow Him wherever He leads, free enjoy the life He has given me. I also know that I absolutely hate being an administrator and the one in charge.  I'm so grateful that part of the last season is over.  These are all gifts that my sojourn in campus ministry have given. 

I'm not sure what all that this new season holds.  I am trusting God to unfold it in His time and His way.  But I believe that it hold as much blessing as the last season did.  I believe this new beginning is filled with promise and hope.

This is me trusting,

 Sami

Letting Go

So in just a little more than two and a half hours my last day of being employed at the Wesley Foundation will be over. It's hard to imagine that something that has been so much a part of me is coming to an end. At every significant milestone of extracting myself from this life of campus ministry I have felt the sadness of letting go. But after the release of a few tears, I'm fine. I guess the deeper truth that holds me is the message of Ecclesiastes: for everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven. The season of being the spiritual mother hen of the Wesley Foundation is over. I am profoundly grateful for the opportunity, for the gifts that nine years of serving there have brought. During my time there I have witnessed two miracles of physical healing and numerous lives changed. I have always counted my time there as a privilege and an honor. And now it is okay to let it go.

This is how I will honor the memory of my time at Wesley: I will leave well. I will let it be everything it was, not trying to hold on to what is past, not trying to recreate what was good. I will let it be. I will not look back with wistful longing like Lot's wife, trying to recapture what I can never have. Instead, I will look forward. I think the true mistake that Lot's wife made was not trusting that what lay ahead of her could be better than what lay behind. As great as the last nine years have been, I don't want to make the same mistake.

Instead, I want hands that have fully released what was, hands emptied and waiting, eager to receive what will come. I trust that my God is good. I trust that His mercy is great. I trust that His timing is impeccable. I look forward with anticipation, meeting the mystery of what will be with joy. It's okay. While my God is far from tame, I know He is good. He is so good.

And so this is how I choose to greet the beginnings of a new day: with hope. No regrets. No fear. Just hope, joy, and a deep love for God who leads me into the goodness of morning. Indeed, morning by morning, new mercies I see.

This is me, full of trust,

Sami

Finishing a Chapter; Turning a Page

Dear Friends,

I just wanted to send my deep appreciation. Thank
you for the touching and heartfelt farewell dinner
last Saturday. It was a sweet time. I continue to
be deeply touched by the generous gift of the new
computer. It is wonderful beyond words. And I am
especially moved by the decision of the Board of
Directors to name the Wesley Foundation Leadership
Scholarship after me. This is such a beautiful gift.
It humbles me and truly speaks to my heart's desire
to impact the lives of students in meaningful,
practical, and eternal ways. Thank you. Thank you.
Thank you.

Please know that you all have a special place in my heart. I am
heartened by the choice of the new campus minister.
I believe she is a young woman who will bring
vitality, enthusiasm, energy, and a great work ethic
to the ministry of the Wesley Foundation. I have
been blessed by my conversations with her.

Once again, thank you for helping me to begin a new
chapter in my life (literally), even as I close this
one. The past nine years have been a deep joy for
me. I have seen miracles and enjoyed God's most
precious blessings. And I couldn't have walked the
journey with more wonderful travel companions. I go
forth into the new direction God has for me and my
family with deep peace in my heart and hope for the
future. I know that God holds us all in His hands,
and I know His love supports us, even as He brings
new companions to our journeys.

Blessings to you all.

This is me, full of trust and hope,

Sami

The Gospel According to "The Wesley"

Dear Friends,

Finals have been over about a week now. Many of you have gone home for the summer and are either gearing up for jobs or winding down from the craziness of the school year. Can I just say what a great time I had last week? It was such a joy to have you all in my home. The (co-ed) Ladies Tea Party and the (co-ed) Men’s BBQ were wonderful ways to celebrate the end of our school year. Last Thursday night as I put my boys to bed they were still buzzing from the excitement of a water-balloon fight in the rain with “the Wesley Students.” Thank you for making them feel so special and so included. As I tucked them in, Isaiah looked at me and said, “Mommy, this was the best day ever, when the Wesley Students came over. It was better than a birthday party!” This sweet four year old is still asking if he can have “the Wesley Students” and a water balloon fight for his birthday. I have to explain to him that November and water balloon fights don’t go well together. Anyway, I just want you all to know how special you are to my whole family, how much you are loved, and how deeply you will all be missed. As I share my last “Ramblings” of the school year, please know that I’m only a phone call or text away, and this rambling girl is still going to ramble. You can continue to find me (and all the ramblings I’ve ever written) at http;//www.sami-rambles.blogspot.com.

Now For Sami’s Ramblings About Jesus:

The weekend before finals we had our “Fall Retreat in the Spring . . . Again.” I loved it! We all fasted together for 24 hours; we spent time setting our intentions for that separated time, things we were lifting to God and asking Him to intervene in; and we watched all kinds of John Hughes’ movies! The official title of our “Fall Retreat in the Spring . . . Again” was “The Gospel According to John Hughes,” which I thought was pretty good since the last time I asked students to do a fasting retreat with me I made them watch ten hours of Beth Moore videos. I don’t think any of them have had the heart to watch Beth Moore since then! So John Hughes was a bit easier to handle, I think. And during that twenty-four hours I felt like I watched my junior high and high school years playing out before my eyes on the big screen. Who knew hair could be so big, jeans so high wasted, or PG rated movies so inappropriate!? Wow.

Since then I have been thinking of what exactly “the Gospel According to John Hughes” is. Here is what resonates within me: 1) Love changes everything. 2) Authentic community is redemptive. 3) Individuals are bigger than the box others try to put them in. And finally 4) when people change, the world they live in is transformed. As I have pondered these life lessons I realize that they are actually related to four other statements that have been an integral part of my life for the last nine years. Since my first year serving as campus minister our mission at the Wesley has been to put a human face on God’s love, create a safe place for students to meet Jesus, discover who we are in Christ, and take the love of Jesus beyond our own four walls (this one actually came about in my third year or so). I can remember exactly where I was and what I was doing when God spoke these core values into my heart.

I remember sitting at a computer trying to articulate what the Wesley Foundation meant to me in my very first “official” Wesley e-mail. I was trying to put into words what it did for me as a college student years ago and what I wanted it to do for everyone we would minister to in my tenure. First and foremost it made God’s love real to me like it had never been real before. I knew God loved me because I felt His love through people who took the time to get to know me and celebrate me as an individual instead of trying to make me into someone else. As a student discovering the Wesley Foundation for the first time, I realized that God’s love had a human face, and “He” looked a lot like my campus minister and friends who daily accepted me, encouraged me, and walked with me through graduation. I knew God wanted that legacy to continue, and “Put a human face on God’s love” was born. This Love led me to hear God’s call upon my life and also brought me to the sweet man who has been my husband for almost 15 years. Yes, Love changed everything for me twenty years ago, and I have had the privilege of seeing this Love change lives “for good” for the past nine years.

During one of our first Thursday night Bible studies we looked at what the Kingdom of God was like, trying to understand how it is different from the world we live in. I remember reading the passage from Isaiah that speaks of lions lying down with lambs while a little child leads them. As I stood before the group that night God began to put in my heart a picture of what He intended to do at the Wesley. He began to show me that our ministry was supposed to be a place where everyone could safely come to know Jesus, no matter how different they were. He began to show me that all people are sacred and beloved to Him, even as animals as diverse as lions and lambs are important and needed within creation. As we began to create an atmosphere of safety, where each unique person could be welcomed into our community and offered the unconditional love and hospitality of Jesus Christ, we began to see an openness to a relationship with Jesus in people that had not been there before. We could literally see Jesus transforming lives from the inside out. Authentic community is at the heart of creating a safe place for students to meet Jesus, and such an atmosphere is truly redemptive.

I went to my first (and last) Ichthus my first year as campus minister. It was hot, sweaty, grungy. We stayed in tents, slept in water, pooped in port-a-potties, and picked up trash in the rain. All for the chance to attend an outdoor Christian music festival for three days. During that weekend I spent a lot of time in the worship tent. While I was there God once again began to speak to my heart through a picture. Here’s how I described it in my journal, April 29, 2003:

We went to Ichthus—the big music festival. You gave me a new vision of myself—beautiful! In this vision You (Jesus) are looking at me and I am looking at You—You are so beautiful! And You are smiling—everything about You is smiling—Your eyes, Your inward light, Your Spirit. And then I began to see me—I was beautiful—with a light and confidence radiating from inside, truly beautiful. I realize I was seeing myself looking at You. What I also realize as I write this is that I was seeing what You see! Wow!

After that powerful moment, I began to realize that rarely do any of us ever see ourselves as Christ sees us. We are too caught up in others’ opinions of us, or our own opinions of ourselves. These opinions are rarely grounded in truth and are confining in ways that choke out the life within us. When we discover who we are in Christ we are truly free, joyful, and powerfully beautiful. Often that discovery can be disruptive because suddenly we no longer fit in the neat and tidy boxes others would have us occupy. However, we do begin to enjoy the freedom and abundant life Jesus died to give to us. We become who we were created in Love to be, and we no longer fit in the boxes we used to live in. Over the years it has been so cool to see my students begin to embrace this freedom and live into it. You are all so utterly beautiful to me. Praise God!

The final part of our identity as a campus ministry is bittersweet. When we realized what God was asking of us and gave our hearts to it, our Wesley Foundation was completely transformed. But this new way of being was born from a painful realization that we were doing all the right things for all the wrong reasons. Wesley has always been a small community. This is a part of our identity we have struggled with from the time I stepped foot in the doors. During my first couple of years here we began to really try to grow our ministry by doing creative outreaches in our neighborhood and on campus. One day I was walking on campus having a screaming meme with the Lord. In my frustration I prayed to Him, “We are busting our butts trying to grow! Why won’t send us new students?” And with deep tenderness I felt in my spirit these words: “Because if I sent you new people now you would quit reaching out.” The realization that I had been reaching out to campus only because I wanted more numbers, only because I wanted to boost my own ego, hit me square in the eyes. God began to show me that He wanted us to reach out to campus because He loves college students. He wants us to share His love in creative ways because there are people on our campus who will never go to a campus ministry but still need to know He loves them. And so our students unanimously voted to expand our mission to include our vision to “take the love of Jesus beyond our own four walls.” We have faithfully tried to share God’s unconditional love with our campus and community since then. In the years since that change in heart was embraced it is clear to all who know us that reaching out is now one of our core values. I believe that this change in us has impacted our campus. I know of many students who haven’t been formal members of our ministry who have been touched by our ministry. Deep and lasting transformation never happens in a vacuum. When Jesus gets a hold of our lives and does His thing, the world we live in is never quite the same; it too is transformed.

A final message from the films of John Hughes is this: Life is a gift to be enjoyed and lived to the fullest. I love how he weaves this vision of life being worth living through all of his movies. Of course the ultimate goal of life in his stories is a bit misguided. In the big hair 80’s that Hughes’ movies celebrate and glorify, it is one’s first true love that brings saving grace to the desperate world of adolescent angst. Yet as followers of Christ, we know that Jesus is the only One who can really save us and make our lives everything we long for them to be. We know that He really is the only source of true love, authentic community, life beyond the box, and lasting transformation. It has been a joy and privilege for me to come to know Him in just these ways while I have been with you. At our last worship service I encouraged each of you to continue to run with perseverance the life-race marked out for you, leaning on Jesus as you move forward into your next chapters, knowing that I am in your cloud of witnesses madly cheering you on (Hebrews 12:1). But the gift I have just realized in the past week is that these are the things you have done for me. When I arrived here nine years ago, it was hard for me to grasp God’s love for me. It was hard for me to feel safe enough to trust His grace. It was near impossible for me to step outside the box of others’ expectations and be myself. And I was so terrified of upsetting the status quo that there was little chance the world I inhabited could be transformed. Yet in all that time you all have loved me, accepted me, showered me with grace of Jesus, and continually cheered me on. All of you have made my cloud of witnesses so utterly beautiful. Because of your witness to His love for me I am completely undone and so much more His now than when I started. Thank you for that. Your presence in my life has been a precious gift I have enjoyed, one that has made my life full to overflowing. I love you all so much.

One last time, I leave you with this benediction:

Now may the Lord bless you and keep you. May the Lord make His face to shine upon you, and be gracious unto you. May the Lord lift up His countenance upon you, and give you peace. Amen.

This is me trusting,

Sami

Gratitude

When I was in college I stayed with an English professor who out of the kindness of her heart made it a practice to rent out her large attic room to whichever poor, starving student God happened to bring to her doorstep. For the last half of my college career, it was me. In exchange for the next to nothing rent I paid, I received a room, all my meals, and my laundry to boot. Yes, she washed my clothes for me. Karen even packed my lunch for school each day. I cannot begin to tell you what a blessing it was. When I first moved in I discovered that Karen was in remission from cancer of the esophagus. Over the course of the next three years, her cancer would return, and, as a part of the family, I walked with Karen through those painful, final months of her life. I felt like God had placed me there to bring hope and joy to a difficult journey. I attended the weekly healing service hosted by the Episcopal church she attended; I prayed for Karen daily, asking God to bring forth a miracle; and I rubbed her swollen feet at night as both of us laughed through Dave Letterman’s top ten list on TV.

I will never forget the week her brother visited her just a few months before her death. It was truly bittersweet. How clearly I remember the day he left. As I returned home from school, I recall pausing before the back door and bracing myself before my entrance into the house. I knew the morning had been difficult for Karen. I didn’t feel up to it, but I put on my happy face and went on it, greeting Karen with my usual jovial self, hoping to help lift her mood. Karen’s words in response pulled no punches: “Sami,” she said, “it is hard for me to say goodbye to people for the last time when you are so damn cheerful!” I was stunned, but over the years her words have become one of my highest treasures. I have carried her gift of direct honesty into every situation where I sense others are deeply grieving. Because she was so blunt with me, I was able to learn early on how important it is to walk softly on the raw edges of another person’s life. That wisdom has served me well over the years.

But I can honestly say that I’ve never felt what she felt until today. Last night was our last worship service at Wesley for the semester. And for me personally, it was my last, period. I don’t even know how to put into words how I feel. I just know that I am hurting. People who don’t relate to me as the campus minister of the Wesley Foundation have no idea how significant last night was. It’s like they are talking to me as if I am the same person they have always known, but inside I am undone. It just doesn’t seem fair that I am in the midst of letting go of a part of my life that has been central to everything I am for the last nine years, and yet I have to relate to the world outside of this experience as if I am still the same person. I am not.

Yet the best parts of me still are the same. My heart truly is full. More full I would venture to say, than ever before. All of you, my precious students, poured out your love for me last night, in ways I could not have anticipated. I just had no idea. I know so deeply the love I have for you. I am staggered and humbled by, truly in awe of, the love you have for me. Oh my. There are no words. God has truly placed you here to bring hope and joy to a difficult journey. Wow.

John Claypool, a Baptist minister, wrote about the heartrending experience of losing his ten year old daughter to leukemia in his book Tracks of a Fellow Struggler. In it he shares the journey of her diagnosis, remission and relapse, and finally her death. In poignant vulnerability he shares his grief, not from the vantage point of a wise and far-removed pastor advising parishioners on grief, but rather from the perspective of a devastated father who has lost his own beloved child. As he struggles to understand what has happened, he offers a way of moving through the heartache that helps me now as I move through these final days: “Here, in a nutshell, is what it means to understand something as a gift and to handle it with gratitude, a perspective biblical religion puts around all of life. And I am here to testify that this is the only way down from the Mountain of Loss. I do not mean to say that such a perspective makes things easy, for it does not. But at least it makes things bearable when I remember that Laura Lue was a gift, pure and simple, something I neither earned nor deserved nor had a right to. And when I remember that the appropriate response to a gift, even when it is take away, is gratitude, then I am better able to try and thank God that I was ever given her in the first place.”

I choose gratitude. There are, to be frank, numerous other options available to my battered and broken heart. But I have to view them as less than viable options for helping me truly live deeply these last days together. I have to view them as temptations with the power to rob me and those I love of holy moments together, where we celebrate our fun times, reminisce on the good times, and reflect on the meaningful times that changed us forever. Ultimately, more than anything else, I am deeply grateful. I’m so grateful for each one of you, your tender expressions of love, the legacy of Jesus writing Himself all over and through us that we have shared. My time at Wesley, all nine beautiful years of it, has been a gift, full of God’s grace and mercy. Every sweat drop and tear has been worth it. Every struggle and fight to keep Wesley alive and thriving has been well spent. I would give myself all over again for the ministry we have experienced together without question. None of the loving, no matter the cost, has ever been wasted. While my heart grieves the changes that are happening, I honestly thank God that He brought me here to be a “spiritual mother hen” in the first place.

So, my dear, sweet ones, we have a week and a half left in our semester. The time is quickly flying. I don’t want to waste a minute of it. Please come for these final days together. Let us laugh, be silly, and boisterously celebrate life together as we always have done. In the midst of my heartache this is my highest joy.

This is me trusting,

Sami