Act Your Wage!

Image courtesy of stock.xchng. ©2013 McGoo84

While on my lunch break earlier this week I noticed a bumper sticker on a little truck as it passed. Usually bumper stickers make me laugh or I’ll roll my eyes and shake my head. This one was a little different and I found myself puzzling over it for the duration of my afternoon rest.

Act your WAGE! it read. As I looked a little closer my heart sank into my toes. It was promoting a course from a well-known Christian Financial Councilor.

I can appreciate that the intention of the message is to encourage more people to live financially responsible lives rather than going into debt. As someone who has to follow a strict budget, I’ve learned the value of living within my means. However, the wording just didn’t sit well with me for some reason. So I sat down at a park bench under the trees with my sack lunch and I thought about it.

The first thing that came to mind was the word ACT, which is a both a behavior and a mindset.

If I act my wage and that wage is considered in the poverty level, does that mean I have to behave like a beggar who can only dream of nice things from afar all while knowing I’ll never be able to own them? And if I have been blessed with a generous income does that mean I should act rich and flaunt my success with all the latest and greatest?

I can’t speak for everyone, but either lifestyle seems achingly empty to me.

When the bulk of a conversation is focused on wages, it quickly turns into a debate about the “haves and have-nots” rather than life’s blessings. It can also create a mindset self-centeredness rather than looking to the needs of others. From that standpoint, acting my wage can do more to create a divide between me and my neighbor than bridging a gap between one another.

The second thing that stood out to me was the word WAGE, which is our attempt to put value on services rendered.

If I’m honest though, some of the hardest workers I know earn the smallest salary. Some are okay with that. Some are not. So again, putting all our stock in money only creates a sense of emptiness. Anything I earn and purchase in this life as the result of my labor is temporary. It’s not something I can take into eternity. Furthermore, my eyes can’t focus on the Great Provider when they’re set on my income.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the past couple of years it’s that even the most secure career isn’t a guaranteed bet in the long run. I have no idea what paths life will take me down and little control over what tax bracket I fall into from one year to the next.

In the end I realized that what really bothered me was that as an organization that claims to espouse godly principles on how to manage money, I don’t believe their bumper sticker reflects a godly viewpoint at all. Enjoying the fruit of your labor is by no means bad, especially when done so in a responsible manner. But our focus should never be about the money.

Rather than acting our wages, shouldn’t we be encouraging each other to invest in the talents we’ve been given? And instead of focusing on what we should or should not buy wouldn’t it be more beneficial if we were to come alongside and mutually encourage one another during the times of plenty and the times of want?

After spending a couple weeks living alongside people in a truly impoverished nation I came away knowing that many of us in the United States (myself included) have little idea just how incredibly fortunate we are. Our society is by no means perfect and life here is by no means “fair,” but we really do have some of the best things this world has to offer.

When I look at it that way, I’m very rich indeed.

 

Reflections over Water

©J.E.Lindsay 2013

After several weeks of coming home, tossing my things aside, and doing my best to close out the world because I’m too tired to handle any more I decided this weekend would be best spent trying to pick myself up and clean up a few messes.

That said, when the aquamarine sky beckons through windows and you have two pups who have been feeling sorely neglected, it’s hard to justify staying indoors any longer than necessary.

So off we went on an adventure in my own backyard. Being there wasn’t anyone else around, I let the boys run ahead and behind greeting each bush, tree, and shrub with a casual sniff and a wag of the tail before they moved on. My feet knew their way, so I just followed them while letting my eyes take in the varying shades of greens and my nose inhale the sweet and spicy tints of the air.

Our short journey took us through a maze of underbrush tangled in tendrils of blackberry thorns to a secret place where I spent much of my youth playing, imagining, or hiding from the trials only an adolescent knows anything about.

Ahead of us the steady rhythm of water racing through its course of sandstone and rock broke through the branches attempting to impede my forward progress, the same as it always has.

But emerging through the pokes and spines it was clear that after a quarter a century of elements battling through the four seasons the scenery had changed once again. If this was anyplace else, I’d be crushed at the sight. But not here.

Each time I visit my old haunt there is something new to see. The bend in the water’s path has straightened. A tree I once climbed has fallen. The remnants of an old child-made dam has crumbled or disappeared completely.

But there is one thing that remains constant in this land of constant change. The sense of tranquility.

I’ve forgotten how incredibly peaceful it is down here and why I spent so many hours of my childhood along these banks. If I’m still enough for long enough will the water stir up traces of laughter, cries of Marco Polo, and pleas for understanding from its dark depths? Will it reflect images of smiles or cast ripples from tears?

In this still place life intertwines with death with such simple beauty and grace. I can’t help but feel the tingle of thrill and despair all at once. And after a week of hearing so many stories of heartbreak, anger, and loss I am reminded once again why in the midsts of life’s storms this place remains an anchor for my soul.

In a world of chaos, this creek offers sanctuary. Here I can dream without limits, sit without thinking, or find a soothing balm for an aching soul.

Then, like a thrown pebble thrashes the mirror-like image of a pond, the moment is over and it’s time to make the trek back home. But like the creek bed, I am reminded, though the scenery that makes up my life may have changed drastically over the years, in essence some things remain the same.

 

Variety may be the spice of life, but it sure keeps you hopping!

Visiting with some of the children of Zana our first day in Uganda. ©2012 Bruk Marsh

I realized the other day that it’s been over a month since I last posted on here and it’s been about as long since I wrote in my journal. After weeks of trying to find ways to utilize all the time on my hands I’ve gone to the opposite extreme of having to schedule some personal down time. And I can’t complain about that!

God has really opened the floodgates in terms of work these past few weeks. I spent almost three weeks transcribing interviews for a doctoral thesis, which was one of the best paying jobs I’ve had in over a year and when I finished I’d typed the equivalent of a novel and added a few new entries to my list of words never to use again.

At the same time I also took a crash course in retail management and got to run the counter of my favorite comic and gift shop while the owners, who are friends of mine, were at a convention in Portland. Amazingly enough, the store was still standing when they returned and they’ve already slated me to run the shop while they’re at their next weekend convention.

I have to admit, I really enjoyed having the chance to fully embrace that particular aspect of my life. It’s one thing to have a casual interest in a particular subject, but getting to really be a part of it is something else. I loved getting to know the people who I’ve seen browsing the latest titles when I’ve gone in to pick up my own reserved copies and it was amazing learning so many new things.

I no sooner finished the aforementioned jobs when I finally got a call from the school district about an application to work as a substitute teacher’s aid. I’d started the application processes back in December and after weeks of quiet figured I was out the money I’d spent on background checks and fingerprinting. Currently I spend many of my mornings tutoring reading, writing, and math at two different elementary schools.

So far I’ve liked all the kids I’ve worked with, but I’ve grown particularly fond of the little boy I’ve been working with this past week. He’s brilliant and his favorite thing in the world is Dragon Ball Z. His imagination is one of the richest I’ve seen and I hope that as he grows it’s something he never loses. His disposition is also incredibly loving and sweet. I really wish that more of us were more like him. Saying goodbye on Friday afternoon is going to be very difficult.

Today, I was presented with a job opportunity that is a little more permanent and like the other jobs I’ve worked the past six weeks, it allows me to care for the needs and wellbeing of others. I’m really excited about this prospect, but a little nervous as well. It was a completely unexpected offer and it brings me back into a field of work that I thought had closed to me nearly ten years ago. At the same time, it offers a bit of flexibility and I’m looking forward to where it could lead.

They say variety is the spice of life. I’ve got enough spice right now to fill an entire cupboard and it’s been incredible watching everything unfold without any control on my part.

So. Where does that put me with returning to Uganda?

This question is always at the forefront of my mind. I miss the people. I miss the culture. And I look forward to returning. Bruk and I are still planning to go and we are still putting money aside. However, as first one potential departure date has passed and another is about to, we’ve realized we were more focused on the time frame than we were on anything else.

After a lot of prayer we’ve come to the realization that we’re not the ones who are supposed to be determining the day we leave. We’re just supposed to be ready to go the moment God places his hands on our shoulders and says, “It’s time.”

We both have a little bit of debt we feel needs to be fully paid off before we step on that plane, and so we’re doing just that right now. The good thing is, they’re small amounts that can be paid off pretty quickly. In that way, when we go there will be no concerns over student loans or anything else. We can completely focus on our work. We also feel that it’s important to fully have our expenses covered prior to leaving the country, which is completely different from our last trip in which we bought our tickets believing everything would be covered by the time we left. And it was!

One of the most important lessons I’ve learned through all of this is sometimes God calls us to step out in faith. Other times He asks us to wait in faith. Knowing the difference, though, isn’t always easy.

We still firmly believe our trip will take place this year. The when just hasn’t been revealed to us. I have to be honest though — looking at the picture on my desk that was taken on my first day in Zana last October, I can’t help but whisper, “Lord, please let it be soon!

 

Uganda-Bound…Again!

©2012 Bruk Marsh

Last October I embarked on the most amazing journey of my life. After years of dreaming, I finally went to Africa and spent two weeks in the village of Zana. There I had the great privilege to hear in person the testimonies of God’s work in the lives of the men and women I’d longed to meet for so long. I heard of healing from HIV without the use of medication, of the infirm regaining the ability to walk. I saw hearts freed from demonic clutches and a passion to spread the good news that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God and Savior of the world.

Since returning to the US I have not been able to stop thinking of my time there and my desire to return has only grown with the passing of weeks. Now God has opened a way for me return to Zana with my friend Brooke Marsh for a period of three months. While there we plan to live alongside the women there, chronicling their life’s story and how God has changed them from who they were to who they have become. We would then like to compile each of the stories into a book that would edify and encourage the saints back here in the US, and perhaps spur them on in their own spiritual walk.

I firmly believe this is a project God has placed specifically on our hearts and that He has some incredible lessons He plans to teach us along the way. We will both be traveling as individuals rather than as part of a mission organization, which means we are fully responsible for all of the costs that this trip will incur.

Our housing has already been provided for thanks to the generous offer of Pastor Daniel Kagwa and his wife Erica, whom we served alongside during our previous trip. The monies we still require are for travel, visas, food, and ministry costs for the three months we are there

These are funds neither of us has readily at our disposal, requiring us to look outside of ourselves and to the Lord. We are convinced that if this is truly the work we have been called to do, God will provide for all of our needs. We are also in need of a constant prayer covering as we plan and prepare for our trip, and during our time in Uganda. We’ve seen first hand that when God’s children answer his call, Satan is always there poking his nose where it isn’t wanted, sowing seeds of doubt and distraction.

We ask prayer also for the people we will be working alongside. Pastor Daniel has informed us that Erica and other women in the church have already begun planning for our arrival and making preparations for us to work with women’s ministries and possibly orphans as well. Pray for the Spirit to lead them to the work He has already prepared for us.

Jen

P.S. If you would like to contribute to the financial needs of our trip, we have created a page on gofundme.com. We will also be creating a Facebook Page to update our friends on our progress and our travels, and I will also be posting updates here.

 

The Impossible Sacrifice: Letting go of Unrealistic Expectations

Photo Courtesy of sxc. ©2006 winjohn

Several years ago I was re-introduced to someone I’d met during my summer camp days in high school. High School Me never gave much thought to him and he never paid much attention to me. Post-College Me was a little different.

At first I met up with him and a group of mutual friends a couple of times a month. In time it became a weekly event and eventually, as our group paired off or pursued other interests it was down to him and me. By that point he’d become an adopted member of my family and we were working together in youth ministry.

Somewhere along the line I went from viewing him as the punk from high school to someone I could envision myself marrying someday. It was a subtle thing, one that I spent months trying to ignore, and years wishing I could just turn off. But it happened all the same.

Though we were close friends and had a lot of people in the background watching us the way they do their favorite TV couples, our friendship never went beyond friendship.

Then came the day he left to pursue his Masters at school more than half a country away. To say I was devastated is an understatement.

I long-ago lost track of how many nights I lost sleep because the sobs wouldn’t stop and I couldn’t push aside the most painful, empty ache I’ve ever known. I filled journals trying to work things through from every angle. I pestered God relentlessly to change my heart or change his (always with the unspoken, preferably his).

I continually questioned how God could bring someone into my life who would become that important to me only to take him away again.

It wasn’t fair.

Then came the day I realized I had to do the unthinkable. I had to let him go. So I sent him a note saying that I wasn’t cutting him off but I needed to take a period of time without talking to him. Fortunately he was very understanding and agreed to honor that decision.

I thought that by not talking to him things would eventually improve. In some ways they did. In others they didn’t. I might not have been in contact with him, but he was still continually on my mind. And I was still praying that God would use this time in school to transform him into the man He created him to be.

Fast forward eight months later.

Two wonderful girlfriends of mine have found themselves in similar situations and we’ve developed a closer relationship because of it. As we’ve shared our struggles, our fears, and our doubts some amazing things have come to our attention as well.

I woke to a text from one of my girlfriends this morning saying that she’d come to the realization that she needed to let go of her expectations of the young man she was interested in. And that single word caused me to take a hard look at something I’d been aware of, but like my friend in high school, had paid little mind to.

All these years I had been looking at my friendship through the wrong direction. I kept looking at him when I should have been looking at me.

As I lay in bed considering this, the story of Abraham and Isaac came to mind. Isaac was a child long promised to this old man, a child who God said would be the first in a line of descendents too numerous to count. And Abraham spent years with his eyes fixed upon that promise.

Then came the moment that God too asked the impossible of him: To lay Isaac on an alter of stone (Genesis 22).

As a God who condemned entire nations for human sacrifice and other atrocities, I’ve always had a difficult time reconciling the fact that God would request such a thing even if He did ultimately return the son to his father and provide another sacrifice. It seemed cruel and in many ways heartless.

But what if it wasn’t Isaac himself God was asking Abraham to sacrifice? What if it was his expectations of who he thought Isaac was supposed to be? What if, without meaning to, Abraham had saddled his son down with a future that was far too difficult for him to live up to?

I know there are other theological explanations for this event, but what if the alter is also a symbol of letting go of something internal rather than something external?

Without intending to, I now understand that’s exactly the sort of burden I placed upon the shoulders of the person I claimed was my best friend. Expectations of what our relationship should be, what our futures should look like — it was a weight he’d never been intended to carry.

Worse, in doing so, I never really considered him or his needs. I was single-mindedly focused on my vision. My purpose. My desire.

All these years I claimed in my heart to love him. The bitter truth, however, is that I was in love with an image I’d created — who I wanted him to be instead of who he already is.

What kind of love is that?

Eight months ago I thought I was supposed to give up a friendship. Ultimately it was my motives I needed to place on the proverbial alter. It wasn’t him I needed to let go of, it was me.

It was me all along.

I count myself so fortunate that despite everything that has happened to this day, our friendship, though distant, is still intact.

 

The Facebook post that shattered my pride

I am a proud woman.

I don’t mean that I’m confident in who I am and what I want to do. I mean, I’m incredibly stubborn and the last thing on earth I want is to appear weak in front of others.

I smile when I feel like crying. I try to share only the good happening in my life. When I do share about struggle I tend to put a positive spin on it. I choke on the word “Help” because it means I’m incapable of handling something myself.

This past week served as a painful yet beautiful reminder that when I present a completely polished and put together person I’m actually doing myself more harm than good because I’m insisting on handling a burden that was never intended to be carried alone. Worse, I’m robbing others of the opportunity to share their strength.

As much as I hate to admit it, I’m one of thousands of American’s who have lost their job because a poor economy. I have a degree, I have experience, I have the desire, but I still have been unable to find permanent work. And I have looked all across the country. Fifteen months later, still nothing.

Like many, I’ve kept myself afloat doing odds-and-end jobs. I’ve been an end-of-life caretaker, I’ve worked in temporary hospitality positions, I housesit, I’ve freelanced. Each little job has ensured that I can take care of my basic needs each month, and my parents have been gracious enough to loan me a couple of rooms in their home for as long as I need. For all this, I have been incredibly thankful.

This month, however, I had no work. Last weekend while visiting with my sister I noticed on the calendar that the first was quickly approaching and I had no resources with which to meet it. My savings had been drained, and my checking wasn’t far behind. I tried desperately not to panic, but the all-to-familar stabbing pain just below the lungs and just above the stomach was starting to spread to my cheeks, my fingers, and my toes.

As I looked over my situation, I realized the only thing I could do was cry out for help. Then I got weepy and my sister’s shirt got snotty.

Each morning this past week I woke and thanked God for His daily provision these long months. I thanked Him for remaining faithful to me when I was often so unfaithful in return. I thanked Him that in all the time I’ve been unemployed, not a single bill had gone unpaid and that though my account had little in it, it had never been empty.

Then on Wednesday I said something I didn’t expect: “Lord,” I said, “Even if my bills do go unpaid this month, I still will trust You. Just show me in what direction I need to go next.”

Later that day while in the car it seemed as if a voice said, “Share what is really going on with your friends online.” My immediate instinct was to respond, “I am not complaining about my situation on Facebook. I hate it when people do that.”

“It’s not complaining when you share a legitimate need,” the non-voice replied.

“I’m not a beggar. If I post that people will know I can’t take care of myself.”

“Exactly.”

With that one word I felt like I’d be physically slapped. It wasn’t until that moment that I realized my problem wasn’t that I am unable to take care of myself. It was that I was unwilling to let others come alongside me and help. I couldn’t even let my sister buy me a $2 coffee the weekend before without feeling upset and ashamed.

It wasn’t strength I’d been relying on all these months. It was pride. And that pride needed to crumble.

When I got home, I stared at my profile page for a half hour and prayed about what I should share in my update. In the end I submitted the following:

This is really humbling for me to write, but most of you know I’ve been out of permanent work since December 2011. I have been blessed that in the time since I’ve been able to meet my financial needs through odd jobs, however, I have not had that opportunity this month so for the first time I’m facing due dates with an empty bank account. Since there really isn’t anything I can do about this, I would like to ask for prayer that work would come my way and that I’d continue to be able to meet my (small) financial obligations. Thanks!

Not five minutes passed before people started responding en mass. Promises for prayer, words of encouragement, a note from my favorite barista telling me I had better keep showing up at the coffee house, and another from the owners of my favorite comic shop saying they had a couple projects they needed help with if I’d be interested.

Then came a phone call from an angel asking to know the exact amount I was short this month. Yesterday while I was working at the comic shop, a courier delivered an envelope to my parents with a cashier’s check that covers everything for February. I’m still crying, but today the tears are different.

Three days later, people are still adding their encouragement to my Facebook post. One comment this morning said, “Perhaps it isn’t God challenging you. There were too many little links that made a perfect chain. I think God was allowing us to share your burden.”

In this I’ve been reminded of Solomon’s words in Ecclesiastes 4:9-12. When it comes to facing struggles, it’s better to have many than one. Yet I have been insisting on walking all this way alone. I don’t know what February will hold for me, but I do know this much: I’ll be far better equipped to meet whatever it is head-on if I allow others to walk alongside me.

Thank you, my friends. I’m sorry I kept pushing you away for so long.

 

The Water Pitcher that wouldn’t Empty

Sometimes life’s biggest lessons come from the smallest, simplest tasks.

Last summer I had the opportunity to work at a seasonal lodge for a couple of months. It was the first time I’d ever held a job in the service industry and I found it to be both exhilarating and exhausting at the same time.

I was hired to work in the kitchen during the breakfast shift. Since the guests were generally fishermen and rafters, my mornings started long before sunrise. The most time-consuming of my tasks (after washing all the dishes) was filling the water goblets that went at each place setting.

On one particular day I had over thirty guests coming to breakfast and the pitcher I’d been using since my first day filled four glasses at most. Having recently sprained my knee I was acutely aware of how much walking I was doing refilling my water pitcher every morning.

That’s when I remembered seeing a large stainless steel pitcher hidden on the back of one of the shelves in the kitchen pantry.

Based on its size I estimated I could fill all of my cups in two trips instead of five or six, and I marveled at my brilliance. Little did I know I was about to have an object lesson play out before me that has stuck with me ever since.

I loaded my tray with the first ten water goblets, filled them with ice, and then added the water. A glance in my pitcher showed that I could easily fill another five to ten more, so I set out the glasses, came back to my station and started again. After filling the next set, I looked in the pitcher expecting it would be time to refill it.

There was still a quarter of a pitcher of water left.

I was stunned. As I set out my second load I wondered how many more glasses I was going to get out of that one pitcher.

One. Two. Three…Seven…Eight…Nine….

Each time I poured a glass I checked the water level and could not believe there was still something inside. And with each filled glass I became more and more amazed.

That pitcher has served as a constant visual reminder that it’s in our lowest moments that our biggest blessings are usually found.

In it I was reminded of the widow who had only a handful of flour and a little oil when Elijah approached her and asked for some bread, and how that handful of food was replenished every day until the end of a devastating famine (1 Kings 17).

I recalled another impoverished widow whose sons were about to be taken from her and sold into slavery to cover her debts. Elisha told her to gather as many pots from friends and family as she could find then fill them with what oil she had in her one little jar at home. The oil didn’t run out until she had filled every single jar, and so her family was saved (2 Kings 4).

And then I pictured a little boy in a crowd of more than five thousand who stepped forward to share his two meager fish and five tiny barley loaves, and whose gift resulted in enough food to feed everyone and still leave enough leftovers to fill twelve baskets (Matthew 14).

That’s when it hit me — I am so much like the pitcher.

I often feel so drained that I wonder how on earth I can be of any help to others and yet, when I consider the past year, I realize I have never witnessed so many moments of fullness coming out of the supposed emptiness in my life.

And that right there is the point:

Pitchers don’t fill themselves. They are filled from a source so that they in turn can fill other vessels.

I will never find fulfillment in myself. I daily have to choose to tap into the Life Source. It’s from that connection abundance flows out of my life and into lives of others (John 4:14).

Like the widows discovered, sometimes it takes a moment of virtual emptiness to realize just how incredibly blessed my life really is. I don’t have to sit waiting for the right opportunity to come around to make a difference in my world. I can be that difference right now regardless of what life is dishing out.

Just as a pitcher can’t fulfill its purpose by sitting on a shelf, neither can I. And like the pitcher, I don’t have to be overflowing to fill a single glass. 

Going back to that day at the lodge, by the time I set out all 30 water goblets I had enough left over to fill three more, and still there were a few drops left at the bottom of that pitcher. I had all I needed for the day, plus some!

In the months that have passed I’ve witnessed the same event occur in every aspect of my life. Just when I think I have nothing more in my bank account or in my energy reserves, God causes me to look again. Not only has He given me what I’ve needed for my daily needs, He’s given me a little extra so that I can do something unexpected.

God doesn’t just bless me in doing so. He blesses everyone who is watching, and everyone He uses to add a little more joy to my heart.

Lord, I thank you for the continual lesson of the water pitcher. I pray that I would never stop expecting You to reveal Yourself to me in incredible ways and that I would never look at myself as empty with nothing of value to offer. Thank you for being my provider, my life source, and constant help. Thank you for my times of emptiness and for using them to reveal just how full my life really is because of Your amazing love. Amen.