"Martha, Martha! How Does Your Garden Grow?"

Gardens are not made by singing, "Oh, how beautiful," and sitting in the shade. - Rudyard Kipling

Living here in Nashville, I've been perplexed and saddened at the overwhelming sense of individualism and self-centeredness. I see it most prominently, unfortunately, in the eyes and walks of those who profess the same faith I do. Their relationship with Christ, like every other relationship in their lives, is theirs -- you will have no access to it unless it is at the volition of the individual. They set the rules for how long or deep it will go, of how deep they'll let God move or impact them. And of how comfortable they are in making Him visible/tactile in their lives. Like every relationship, they determine and set the guidelines for how they encounter God and how/when they meet with Him. I'm learning in my own life that I have done the same. (They say you will see your deepest sins in the people around you.)

There are days when I want to ask people what Christ, His death and resurrection means to them because more often than not confessions won't match character and actions will deceive words. We all want to say that we believe Him, but only when it's convenient.

I'm not saying that we need to be fanatics (I certainly am not one!) or that we need to be clanging bells with our faiths (definitely not) but there is concern when faith/belief is expressed so subtly that it could easily be overlooked and missed. Forgotten.

I am relearning that I need to have Christ at the center of my life and every relationship whether "Christian" or "secular." If He is not, than I am lost to my heart's emotions, the waves that crash and break and disrupt the stillness and confidence He provides, the dark thoughts that flood my mind in times of utter loneliness. I will drown in disillusionment, in the expectations of myself/others, in the brokenheartedness and foggy, sludgy mire of a life not focused on Him.

I need Christ. I need for Him to matter.

Some may read this and think me pretentious, haughty, naive, accusing, judgmental or lofty, but this -- this need to have Christ drive every moment, is me -- this is what my heart longs for and needs to survive. This is the air that fills my lungs, the strength to take another step, the courage to stand. This is how I must tend to this garden. This is how and where God will take plow, shears and hoe to hand to remove the weeds of selfishness, self-reliance, doubt, fear and worry. I need for my heart and mind to be more intentional and proactive in their actions. (I fail at this. Daily.)

There's a lot of work that need to be done here. A lot.

Reflections of the Way Life Used to Be...

Today is Easter. It is also the first holiday I've spent away from home since years ago when I'd gone to an Urbana conference Christmas/New Year's week. It was full. I am drained and wondering how I'll function in the morning, but would not trade it for anything in the world.

Pulling into the church parking lot, I prepared myself and legs for a long trek, but was happy to find someone from the earlier service pulling out as I was turning the corner. Knowing I was 20min late I assumed I'd be standing like Danny and I had to do weeks before and was second-guessing the wedge heels I'd worn. I'm no fan of blisters or sore feet. By the grace of God (really!), I found a seat up in the front and made myself comfortable around my fellow brothers and sisters. Everything was right for once.

We had a very celebratory time of reflection and worship today at church.

Shortly after the special choral program, a few volunteers participated in what was dubbed "The Cardboard Testimony". One by one, each person went up to the front holding a large sheet of cardboard and on it was posted their deepest secrets and hurts - the "before", if you will. Slowly and joyfully, they flipped the sheet to reveal the glorious "after", the ways in which God had brought restoration, forgiveness, healing and redemption. I was floored and could not help tearing up throughout the entire presentation.

A few of the stories hit close to home for me and for a friend of mine. I thought of him and his many hurts and my heart ached for him to be at church with me to witness this; to be reminded once again of the great, unfathomable, unsearchable, unending love of the Father. To know that He was not alone in his hurts, that others had suffered and overcome them, and that he could, too.

As I reflected on these lives, these hearts turned whole and full by the grace of forgiveness and mercy, I was struck silent, at once both thankful and heartbroken, in unease and yet happily at peace. Reflecting on where/who I once was and where/who I am now: A work in progress still. Ever growing. Ever faltering. Forever loved and forgiven. Accepted even when I am not. His and not my own.

Once Upon a Time...

Per the request of Yellowinter, here is my abridged testimony:

I grew up in what I thought was a typical Korean-American, Christian home. My dad was an elder at our church, my mom a member of the choir. Although we went to church every Sunday, God and Jesus were rarely mentioned in our home.

I first came to Christ when I was about 7 yrs old while attending a VBS at a friend's church. The speaker asked us to raise our hands if we wanted Jesus to be our friend, so I did, and was led through the "Sinner's Prayer". Since salvation and the work of the Cross were rarely taught at home or church, my knowledge of the person of God was limited to Old Testament stories of a wrathful God who punished those who were bad. I feared God as the great
Discipliner and Punisher, but was ignorant of God the loving Father.

It wasn't until a fateful night at an overnight camp that I finally learned of the loving, patient, forgiving and sacrificial love of God. It was then that I was taught about God's unconditional love for me; that though I wronged Him in so many ways and was so undeserving, He sent His one and only Son to rescue me, to restore my relationship with Him. Like the beaten man on the road to Jericho, I was dying in my sin until Christ came and healed me, washing me clean of my sins. Even more astonishing to me was that He came and took my place on that road, taking my beating and my shame, allowing His clean robes to be bloodied and stained for me.

My faith was shaken, however, when my parents suddenly divorced during the summer leading into my freshman year of college. Secrets of my dad's repeated infidelities and lies surfaced and rocked my trust in him and in my heavenly Father. I was angry, bitter and confused. I couldn't understand God's reasoning or plan for all the pain He'd allowed to come to my mom, brother and myself. I couldn't let go of the dad I knew and was unable to accept this stranger who resembled my father, but who didn't seem to have any interest in remaining in the lives of his children. His infrequent visits became more and more sparse. Many nights were spent in angry, hot tears as I, in my furious and helpless state, challenged God to bring about good through all the chaos we [my family] had now found ourselves in.

Slowly, God has been revealing His father's heart for me. He's showed unending patience and compassion while I struggled to walk again. His promise to be a "father to the fatherless" has brought a silent and still comfort that have brought me thus far. He's remained faithful to His
promises and has honored the prayers whispered in desperation. He has taught me about the meaning of restoration, and has opened His heart He calls me His beloved, His daughter and His precious child. And I am so thankful because, honestly, I have no idea how or why He could sometimes.