Beautiful Humility

"Anna, I need help. I'm going to overdose."
I'm not sure if you know what fear is until you've heard someone you love say those words to you. This time, it was my friend Holly who lived caty-corner to my house. So I slipped out of my house and Holly and I sat down and talked under the soft blinking canopy of stars. She talked, I listened. I listened as she talked about her struggles, about the anxiety attacks, arguments with her family, and the desire to overdose and end her life.
"I just want to die," she told me. "Do you see how miserable my life is?!"

What could I say?

Do you ever have those times when your life is as starkly different as night and day with the person you're trying to reach? And you wonder...how in the world can I ever connect with them? My life is a piece of cake compared to hers!
"I'm so lucky to have you," Holly said softly.
I assured Holly I loved her and reminded her she was a fighter. It was gonna get better.
What could I say?
When I went back inside, it dawned on me. The beautiful truth about Jesus is that he left it all. Heaven. Glory. Splendor. Perfection. Beauty. To come down to earth infected with disease, death, decay, and damnation. He loved us so much he came down to us. To connect with us. To live life with us. To weep with us. To teach us. But ultimately, to die for us. Because of that, we have a great High Priest who is able to connect with us in our weaknesses. Incredible, isn't it?
So. Application. Sometimes you need to stop trying to bring people up to your level. Instead, bring yourself down to their level. Weep with them. Feel their pain. Hold them tight. Through his example, Jesus showed us the beautiful humility of love. Love always humbles itself and connects with people where they are.

Relentless Love

"People may not remember exactly what you did, or what you said, but they will always remember how you made them feel."

Those words resonate with my soul. They remind me to cherish those around me. They remind to love. Deeply. Passionately. But it encourages me to do more than simply that. Those words encourage me to not just to love, but to tell others how much I love them. I love those around me so, so much sometimes it hurts. But oftentimes I forget to tell them how much they mean to me. There have been so many moments over these past years where I have realized how important it is to tell others how much you treasure them. 

The first was a couple years ago at a speech competition. We'd gone back to the hotel and my dad called my mom. When my mom finished the phone call, we immediately knew something was wrong. Mom sat us three girls down on the bed and, through blurry eyes, preceded to tell us that our oldest sister, Kristen, was diagnosed with a brain tumor. Sometimes you don't realize how precious someone is until you might lose them. I remember the fear that went through my heart. I remember trying to hold myself together, gather my thoughts, and force out the question we were all wondering: would she die? And I remembering breaking down in my sister's arms. I saw life is such perfect constrats of black and white in life. I saw so clearly what was important and how much time I had wasted on what wasn't. We praised God when we learned that Kristen's tumor wasn't cancerous, but I will never forget how I learned to stop being distracted by the petty things on life. 

The second thing that made me realize how fragile life is was when my uncle was shot. I'll make it short. My uncle stopped by the side of the road to see if a broken down vehicle needed help. No one was there. He continued towards home, stopping to talk to his neighbor about the broken down vehicle he'd seen. As dusk as setting, two men emerged from the trees and started shooting at them. My uncle and his neighbor were both shot multiple times and soon rushed to the emergency room. Both men survived, but face a long daunting road to recovery. I realize through that experience that life is extremely fragile and can be snatched from us without a moment's notice. That's why it's essential to let people know how much they mean to us. Because, in the blink of the eye, it can all be gone.

The third thing was my beautiful friend Grace. I met Grace when I went on a mission trip a couple years ago and soon became best friends with her. Grace's family moved to the Dominique Republic to be missionaries and we hadn't had much contact over the past few months. All that changed when she called me one day. I could tell something was wrong, but had no idea what. Grace said, "I need to tell you something. We're back in the states." I thought that's what she had to tell me, but she continued. "...because my mom died." At sixteen years old, Grace's mom was gone. Forever. 'The future," Grace said, "is the hardest part. We were gonna go back packing through Europe next summer. We can't do that now. She'll never see me in my wedding dress. She'll never get to hold my grandchild. She was so excited about being a grandma." While talking on the phone, I noticed my metals on my dresser. I'd just gotten back from the speech tournament in Council Bluffs which was, hands down, my best tournament yet. But in that moment, I hated those metals with everything I was. I saw so clearly what was important. And it wasn't those metals. Not at all. I remember once when we had to take cover because there was a tornado warning. I ran back to my room to grab my blanket and saw my metals hanging on my dresser. So temporal. Please. Don't become distracted by things that don't matter. 

Having said all that...I hope you understand that I'm not just a "sweet person." I've learned time and time again how fragile life is and how it is vital to tell people how much they mean to you. A simple "I love you" or "I hope you're having a good day" or "here's how much you mean to me" or "I appreciate you because..." Go out and love relentlessly. Love passionately. Love when it's painful. Love when you don't feel like it. Please, I beg you, stop being distracted by things that don't matter. Stop being distracted by winning and earning metals. Stop trying to be the prettiest, smartest, funniest, strongest...best. Stop striving for temporal, perishable things. I pray...that at the end of my life...and even now people will not remember me as someone who was great at forensics or funny or anything else, but someone who loved deeply from her heart.  "Love," Jesus said, "must be sincere."

So what are you waiting for? Go out and love with relentless abandon. 

"The way to love anything is to realize that it might be lost." 

- G.K. Chesterton

The People I see

I was named after the Bible character Anna. Anna, a Prophetess, was an amazing legend to be named after. According to Luke, Anna never once left the temple. Instead, this devoted servant worshipped and fasted day and night, displaying her hopeless love for her Lord. She was right beside Simon’s side when he gently cradled the newborn baby Jesus in his arms. From that moment on, she couldn’t shut up about the child. She looked forward to great expectation to the day God would deliver Israel.

            And yet, oftentimes I don’t live up to the legend I was named after. Sometimes when I look in the mirror I don’t see Jesus’ eyes of grace and compassion staring back at me at all.

            Instead, I find myself staring at Pharaoh.

            You think that an odd comparison?

            Perhaps.

            But let me explain. All too often, I find myself acting like Pharaoh. In the times of darkness and confusion and plagues in my life, I find myself in desperate need of God. I cry out to God, plead with God, beg for his deliverance. In those rough places, I am quick to recognize my dire need for God. And yet, when the plagues are gone, when I am finally out of the deep waters that once threatened my life, I always seem to forget my need for God. Instead, I find myself pushing him away, pursuing my own agenda.

            And other times when I look in the mirror the person I see staring back at me reminds me of Pilate.

            Pilate. The man whose hands were stained red with the innocent blood of God’s gift to humanity. He tried to lay the blame on the people. He tried to remind them that it was their children whose hands were guilty of bloodshed, but-in reality-the decision rested in his hands. I am often like Pilate because I am all too eager and willing to do anything to get people’s approval. I am often like Pilate because I am afraid to take a stand for what is right. I am often like Pilate because I sarcastically question, “What is truth?”

            But most of all, I am like Pilate because I am guilty of crucifying God’s precious gift to humanity. My hands are stained with the blood of an innocent man.

            But most of the time, when I look in the mirror I see the accusing, dark eyes of the Pharisees staring back at me. We Christians are much too quick to accuse the Pharisees of hypocrisy and judgmental motives. How ironic that we judge the people who judge. After all…how are we any different? The Pharisees didn’t recognize who Jesus was, you say. But do we? Do we realize that Jesus is the face of the prostitute on the corner of the street, just doing her job so she can provide food for her children? Do we realize that Jesus is the homeless man pushing his shopping cart of precious belongings that we avert our eyes from? Give me one good reason as to why the person staring back at you in the mirror is any different than the Pharisees inscribed on the pages of the Bible. We cluck our tongues at the behavior of the Pharisees, but yet we fail to recognize the Pharisee that lives in each of us.

            Pharaoh. Pilate. Pharisees. People I recognize when I look in the mirror.

Till Death Do Us Part...

            “Sir, can I help you?”
            I was working with my co-worker, also named Anna, when an older gentleman  wandered into the back room for employees only. I glanced up from making his wife’s sandwich as Anna helped the elderly man. His wife, a beautiful older lady with pretty eyes and an easy smile, quickly said, “Oh, let me go help him.” She hurried away to go help her husband, speaking to him in a gentle and loving voice. Two things were obvious from observation: 1. Her husband clearly wasn’t all there, most likely suffering from Alzheimer’s disease. 2. His wife still loved him very much. I remember the last years of my Grandma’s life. We would visit her at the nursing home after church every Sunday. I was too young to understand the impact of my Grandma’s Alzheimer’s, but I understood one thing: my Grandma didn’t know me. Only once do I remember watching as a spark of recognition flickered in her eyes. To those who don’t know anyone suffering from Alzheimer’s, it’s hard to wrap their mind around. But those like me who have watched loved ones suffer from it know it doesn’t just affect the victim, but everyone around it.

            After I got off work, I continued to think about the couple. I imagined a younger version of them, pictures of black-and-white photographs of them flashing through my head. Perhaps he’d been in the army and they had gotten married as soon as he’d returned home. I imagined a wedding photograph of the young couple, bursting with happiness, their love apparent to all. I imagined pictures of them holding their newborn infant, their faces glowing with peace and pride. And then the growing up years…more children were added to the photos, more wrinkles appeared on their faces. And before they knew it, their children were flying the nest and heading off to college, leaving just the two of them, older, wiser, but still in love.

            And maybe that’s when he began to forget. Slowly at first, but more steadily as the years advanced. First it was forgetting the year, but then other things…his grandchild’s name, his address. It all led up to the doctor’s diagnosis: Alzheimer’s. Then I imagined the day that she’d finally realized that’d she’d lost him. How devastating and heart-breaking that moment must have been! But even though she’d lost him, one fact remained the same: she still loved him. Not just for who he once was, but for who he still was. It was a kind of love that stretched farther than any emotion. A love that says, “Will you love me even if I forget your name? Will you love me even if I have no clue who you are?” A love that means what it says when it says, “I’ll love you till death do us part. In sickness and health. For better or worse.”  It’s that kind of love that makes the world spin round. A love that says, “I’ll still love you…even if you forget that you love me, too.” 

Demons of My Soul...

            Adonai.

            It was when I whispered his name that the first blow came.

            “Never mention his name again!”

            His fist made contact with my eye.

            “Understand?” He didn’t give me a chance to reply as he screamed, “Do you understand?”

            Unable to speak, I nod. I feel blood trickle down my lip, filling my mouth with its sticky taste.

            “If you mention his name again, I swear I will drag you with me when I return to hell!”

            Glancing around, the demon paces the floor as if waiting for someone.

            I lay on the cold floor, numb and exhausted.

            Adonai.

            Abba.

            Yeshua.

            Jesus, what have I done? Abba, what have I done with your Son?

            He had offered me the world and I had refused. What I would give to go back and do it over! But when I told Adonai no, I had sealed my fate, my destiny. There was no turning back, no white prince who would come and rescue me. I was getting only what I had brought on myself. I drifted off into a fitful night of sleep. I dreamt of the night Adonai and I lay under the stars, whispering. He had told me he loved me, but I had scoffed at him. Now when I thought about those simple words, they filled my body and quieted my restless soul. My dream dramatically changed scenery when hundreds of demons started lurking in the background. I could see them, smell them, feel them, but Adonai…He couldn’t. He sat there, helpless, reminding me of his love as the demons crept up behind him, reaching out their greedy claws. I tried to warn him of the darkness lurking but he didn’t hear me. Finally, they grabbed him.

            “ADONAI! No, they’re coming for you!!” I jerk up from my dream, screaming bloody murder. I felt the next blow before I even saw the demon.

            “WHAT DID I TELL YOU??” He grabs me by the throat, preventing any air circulation. Unable to speak, I stare into the demon’s black eyes. I feel my breath grow fainter and was sure I was dying-hoped I was dying.

            This is the end, I think to myself. What a tragic ending to a dance that had once been so beautiful. But as he cluthces me by the neck, I noticed something in the demon’s eye. Something sparked when I had screamed Adonai’s name.

            Fear.

            The demon was afraid of Adonai.

            I summon up all my strength and croak out, “Adonai.” The demon hurls me on the ground, my body slamming against the floor. Pain explodes. Death awaits me, welcomes me.

            But I don’t give up, not quite yet.

            “Adonai. Adonai. Adonai.” I repeat his name over and over, each time growing bolder. Each time, the Demon grows weaker, his grip on me loosening. The terror in his black eyes ignites.

            I have discovered the demon’s weakest spot, his secret.

            He-yes, even he, is in some way I can't quite understand, subject to Adonai.

            The demon finally lets me go, turning away in disgust. I curl up in a damp corner, whimpering softly to myself. Salty tears run down my raw cheeks but I lack the motivation to dust them away.

            Where am I? Hell?

            Safe for the moment, I tentatively glance around.  I am deep, deep within a pit, not unlike a well in many aspects. The ground is muddy and damp and I hear a dripping noise coming from somewhere. I roll painfully over on my side and notice a faint trace of light far, far above me. For a brief moment, I feel a flicker of hope. Perhaps I can escape! But then reality, ever so stinging, sinks it. It's too far. I could never do it. Groaning, I twist on my back once again and drift off into a dreamless night of sleep.

            The next few days pass in a blurry haze, drifting between life and death. The demon is still there, guarding me, making sure I wouldn't make a foolish attempt to get away. I never do. I am smart enough to realize I can never make it out on my own. Never.

            Time drifted on...one week, maybe. Two? Who knows. I awake one morning to hear low voices and crouch forward to listen. When I hear the second voice, my heart stops beating for a moment. It was Him. He came! Relief floods over me and bubbles up in laughter. But...why? Why would he come after everything I had so cruelly done to him? 

            “Silence." Jesus, eyes compassionte, turns to me. "Cassandrella. My beloved.”
             Shaking my head, I summon the courage to look up.

            “Why? Why have you returned?”

            Yeshua pauses for a moment before replying, his voice dripping with emotion. “You really don't understand how much I love you, do you, child? Or the fact that I would to the earth and back to rescue my precious lamb? I love you, Cassendrella.”

             I hear sobbing and realize it’s my own. With those four words, a torrent of painful memories rush back, forcing me to dissolve to the ground like a puddle. Painful beatings. Getting screamed at. Humiliated. Wanting to die. He was the only one who had ever told me that he loved me but more importantly, he was the only one who had taken the time to show what true love was. And along the painful rush of memories also came sweet memories of happier times. Laying on the soft ground and looking at the canopy of twinkling stars with Yeshua. Picking wildflowers in the meadow. Splashing each other in the gurgling creek. Why had I left all of that? And for what? That was the question that still plagued  me everyday of my existence.

            “Come with me, Cassendrella. Today. Right now.”

            “I can't, my Lord. I...am ruined.”

            “And I am healer.” Yeshua disappears momentarily and then tosses something down the dark pit.
            A rope.

            “You can't do that!” screams the demon.

            “And I said SILENCE!” Yeshua thunders. Once again, he shifts his attention back to me. "Come with me. The choice is yours, Cassendrella. I won't make it for you. I provided the rope, now it is your turn to provide the choice."

            I take one shaky step forward. Then another. Then another. It is then that the demon starts speaking.

            “You're a failure, Cassendrella. You are worth nothing.”

            I hesitate, stumble, take my eyes off Yeshua.

            “Eyes on the finish line, daughter. You are beautiful. I love you.”

            “You are ugly. You belong here.” His words sting, not because they are the lies, but because they are the truth.

            He continues, “Do you understand what you did to him? You left him after everything he did for you. You betrayed him. And that's not the worst either. You crucified him. You-" he points a deformed finger in my face- "crucified him! After all he did for you and what did you give him in return? A bloody cross? Didn't you? DIDNT YOU?”

            “Shut up! I'm telling you once and for all, shut up!" The demon looks surprised and closes his mouth.

            “Yes, it's true. I can't deny any of it. I betrayed him. I walked away from everything he offered me. And yes...my choices, my past, my sin nailed him to the cross. But...but it's not my sins that kept him there either. It was his love.” With that, I take the final step forward and grasp the rough rope. The climb up is difficult and tedious, but Yeshua is there pulling me up and at long last, I reach the top, the end of my journey. I melt into Yeshua's comforting arms and murmur over and over, “I am sorry. I am so sorry.”

            "You are forgiven. You are forgiven." He whispers repeatedly into my hair. Arm and arm, we walk away into the a melting sunset of hazy purples, vibrant oranges, and creamy yellows.

            So there it is, my friends. The verdict is up to you. You are in a dark pit but there is a rope there, a rope leading to the sunshine and the loving arms of Yeshua. The choice, my friends, is entirely yours.

Once Upon a Peace Treaty...

                                   

     A couple months ago, I rode on a horse.
     And I know that means nothing to you, so let me tell you a little story of something that occurred about six years ago.
     It happened in 2006. I was eleven years old. Every few years my small town puts on a show called the Peace Treaty which is a two hour reenactment of Kansas history all the way from Coronado passing through Kansas up until the white men sighing a peace treaty with the Indians, hence, the name of the pageant. Thousands of people from all over the country come to watch the historical reenactment in our outdoor amphitheater. Everyone in my town pitches in to make the performance. I was in a scene called the Prairie Flower scene with dozens of other little girls. We were waiting to rehearse our scene when it happened.
     A horse broke loose.
     Having grown up on a farm, I had been around horses since I was in diapers so the fact that a horse had run away didn't phase me in the least.
     That is...until it was charging straight at us.
     Panic kicked in. Chaos erupted. It felt like a movie playing in slow motion. The dozens of girls from my scene fled in every direction. I desperately glanced around and started wildly running up a hill, clutching onto every branch or twig that I could find.
      Climb the hill, Anna. Get away from the horse. Climb the hill.
     Out of harm's way...for the moment...Until I glanced over my shoulder and saw the horse plowing up the hill. Heading straight at me. Clutching onto some shrubbery, I crouched as close to the ground as I possibly could.
    I have no recollection of the next few minutes. The next thing I remember was the horse jumping over, feeling its warm, fuzzy stomach brush over my back. What was racing through that eleven-year-old brain of mine? I have no idea, but what I do know is that I should have been hurt or at the very least seriously injured. But I wasn't. Other than being shaken up, I was completely unharmed.
     On that day, I developed a fear of horses. Every time I was around them after that episode, fear kicked in. My heart started racing. I would relive that September day and the horse would be jumping over me all over again. Some people looked at horses and saw their beauty and majesty. I looked at them and saw their power and strength. And for the next six years, that fear controlled me.
    When my best friend Joanna came to visit from Alaska, she really wanted to ride horses. So I arranged for us to ride horses with Terry, a good family friend. I had ridden horses occasionally over the past six years, but always very tense and afraid. A few weeks later, Joanna and I met up with Terry on the wide open prairie with the red gyp hills and broom weed as a background. For the first part of the ride, I sat nervous and tense as the three of us ventured down canyons and through cedar trees.
     Once we made it back to the open prairie, Terry taught Joanna how to gallop. And that's when I decided: I was not leaving until I had galloped. It took some time, but I finally did it-and LOVED it. I finally galloped on a horse and by doing so had conquered my fears.
     Dear fears...
     You. Don't. Own. Me

Living Vs. Being Alive?

Death is more universal than life; Everyone dies, but not everyone lives. ~Alan Sachs

I love that quote so much. There is a world of difference between living and actually being alive. Because everyone lives, but not everyone is alive. Let me illustrate by sharing a recent story. The other day I went around town and dropped off flyers for those interested in learning piano lessons. A few hours later, I received a phone call from a Dad whose three daughters were interested in learning piano. A little bit into the conversation, he questioned, "Would you be interested in teaching a forty-year-old man piano?" Taken by surprise, I managed to stutter out a reply. Thankfully, he was a very talkative man and quickly explained himself. In September, he explained, he'd fallen from a thirty-foot window mill and had literally died. The doctors, however, had been able to bring him back to life by inserting a metal tube into his heart. The tube was the only thing currently keeping him from bleeding to death. It was sort of a experiment, the Dad explained to me. And even though he was stable at the moment, he honestly had no clue how long he would live. He could live to be old or could die anytime. Because of that, he wanted to enjoy every moment and learn new things-one of which, happened to be piano. He concluded: "When I'm lying there dying, I wanna be able to say, 'I did it all.'" That blew me away; I was so inspired and touched by this true story. This brings up a question: why do we live our lives assuming we'll live to be old? Not too long ago, a teenager around here was killed in a tragic car accident. Even though I didn't know him, I remember feeling affected. He was seventeen when he was killed me-the same age of me. If I died right now, would I be okay with it? Part of me says yes. I cannot wait to meet Jesus, walk with Him in heaven, and climb on His lap. I can't wait to meet the brothers and sisters my Mom miscarried before they ever had the chance to live. But at the same time, I know there's still so much I want to do here, now, before I die. That's part of the reason I started a bucket list and try to be so intentional about making memories. I don't just to live. I don't just want to live for a check list or get wrapped up in the busyness and worries of life. After all, relationships are the only thing we can take to heaven. At the end of the day, our checklists don't matter one bit. All that matters at the end of the day-all-is relationships. Our relationship with God  is of utmost importance followed by our relationships with those around us. When I die, no matter how old I am, I want to have nothing left in me.

      Nothing. 

      I want to have spent everything-my energy, my time, my money-investing into my relationship with God and my relationships with the people God has graciously surrounded me with. I really like how it was phrased in a Bible verse I read yesterday-something to be degree of being poured out like a liquid offering. When most people think of 1 Corinthians 13, commonly referred to as the "Love Chapter", they often think, "Love is patient, love is kind..." But I love the first couple verses of the chapter. Check them out! It basically says that without love, we are nothing. It doesn't matter if we give all we have to the pour, if we are martyrs, if we can speak in tongues...Without love, our lives are nothing. 

     So. I encourage you guys to go out and BE ALIVE. Live life to the fullest. That's why Jesus died. Go pour yourself out. Die to yourself. Love. Leave it all on the playing field. Stop making excuses. Relationships are the only thing that matter-don't forget it! 

God, help me. I don't just want to fight to survive.

I want to experience what it means to be fully alive.

That Which Does Not Kill You....

     Everyone always says that change can be a good thing, but honestly, I'm baffled as to how something so painful could supposedly be good.  Most people would probably generally agree with me that change is often a painful experience. I honestly cringe when I imagine my sister and best friend, Bethany, leaving for January and then me eventually leaving for college. I get sad to think about the end of years of NCFCA and my youth group. I hate thinking about saying goodbye to people, knowing that some relationships will never be the same. And I get scared knowing that I will step from what is comfortable into what is unknown. My head knows that in the end change has the power to strengthen me, but my heart doesn't believe it. It's so hard pouring and investing so much into friendships and relationships knowing that before I know it, everything will lead up to the goodbye. Part of me wants to deny that that everything will change and pretend this will last forever, but I know that's not fair of myself. Instead, I want to let change strengthen me and make me a stronger person. As the popular quote says, "That which does not kill you will only make you stronger." So the question I've been wondering the past couple days is how? How do we let change strengthen us? If you have any answers or ideas, I'd love to hear your thoughts!
     Instead of denying that one day I'll have to move beyond the four walls of my little town and step out of my comfort zone, I want to live in light of that. My theme for the remainder of 2012 is this: make intentional memories. I want to make memories, do spontaneous things and laugh a lot. I want to love and pour into relationships, no matter how difficult the goodbye will be. I have to remember that bigger and better things are yet to come. As much as I love my tiny town, as much as I've enjoyed NCFCA, God created me for more. There's a world out there waiting for me to explore. I refuse to live my life in fear and in the safety of my comfort zone. Summary: change is inevitable. How will you respond to it?