Understanding Thanks

A year ago during this same holiday season, nestled between two incredible mountains, snow falling and settling in blankets all around and sitting in front of a roaring fireplace, I celebrated Thanksgiving in Vancouver, Canada. Despite the nostalgia that reminds me of what an incredible Thanksgiving that was, I am even more still in awe of what a year has brought to my life; of the things that God has done and the changes that have resulted in my heart and life. And while most days I am completely baffled and if I was being quite honest, terrified, I am really, really thankful. 

I am thankful that my identity doesn't reside in my past but only in the incredible name of Jesus Christ. My identity isn't defined by the difficult childhood that I lived through or the adult life that I almost tragically destroyed time and time again with my infinitely disastrous decisions. I am thankful that I have never had the resolve to give up or quit; by the grace of God it just absolutely never occurs to me. I am thankful to beat every statistic and every odd the world has stacked against a girl who comes from circumstances as I did, and do it with a laugh and a smile, instead of a bitterness and a cynicism that plagues so many with troubled backgrounds. 

I am thankful that I choose to make seemingly foolish, spur-of-the-moment decisions like saving up funds and resigning from my then job to travel through Europe for a month. I muse at the memory of sitting in a cafe in Paris, strolling through the streets, gazing up at the Notre Dame Cathedral or the breathtaking view of Paris from the top of the Eiffel Tower. I laugh at the expression on my face staring at the Mona Lisa and thinking how much bigger I thought she would be for one. And for two, feeling silly for thinking of how ironic it was for a girl like me to even be standing in front of the Mona Lisa at all. I remember the feel of air brushing my face, the smell of the water, as I traveled by trocadero or Italian taxi (boat) in Venice and having dinner on the canals of a truly beautiful city in Italy. I remember the rain falling in Rome and the bad timing of a terrible cold I caught, not stopping me from seeing this historic ancient city. I remember the long train rides between destinations and the strangers who sat beside me. I am thankful for the energy to climb the steps to Neuschwanstein Castle in Bavaria, Germany and the realization that I was standing in a room where Kings once laid. The adventure of Amsterdam and the culture of Prague in the Czech Republic still reside in the forefront of my mind as if it was yesterday, when the reality is that it was eleven years ago. I am thankful to have surfed the waves of Hawaii, hiked Diamondhead and taken in the view of the island of Oahu by helicopter. I love that I have combed the beaches of Mexico and skiied the slopes of Whistler, Canada just days before the winter Olympics. There is something majestic and almost child-like that happens in the midst of mountains and snowfall, I am convinced..

Despite having three universities on my transcript- one on the west coast, one on the east and one in the south (hey, they are all part of the adventure and play a significant part in who I am today), I am thankful that I choose to resume my college education at a later time in life, when again, no one would have doubted as to why I wouldn't. I am thankful to have the memory of walking across that stage and receiving my diploma at the ripe age of 29, realizing I was the first in my immediate family to have done so. I wish words could describe the emotions that welled up inside me on that day, the overwhelming joy and sense of accomplishment I felt at knowing I did it, I really did it. I figured out how to pay for it (well technically I am STILL paying for it), how to manage it, how to do it working full time and studying full time all while fighting the daily, and sometimes more frequent mind games of "you can't do this, just give up." I am thankful for the blessings in my career path that unfolded so effortlessly and the timing that seemed to know exactly when to present itself. I am thankful for the abrupt shift from corporate America to full-time ministry, despite my fleshly attempts at avoiding it each time I heard God whispering in my ear, "this way." I am thankful that God has designed me so that when I say I am going to do it, I absolutely know I am going to do it- come hell or high water, and quite often it's a combination of both. 

But what I am most thankful for, above all, above overcoming my past, seeing the world (which I must admit vehemently, changes the way you see everything) graduating from college, all of it, is the faith that I have been blessed with. It's a gift; I know it with every beat of my heart. My faith in God, in Christ, in the future, even though it is spectacularly difficult to trust sometimes, is a gift and not at all from within me, but all from my Father. I know without a shadow of a doubt that I couldn't muster an ounce of strength without the power of God. I am painfully aware of my weaknesses, and my inability to breathe, much less move without God calling it to be. And I am thankful for something that many are unable yet to give thanks for, and that is my story, my testimony. Every painful memory, every difficult trial, every last breath that has brought me to where I stand today and I wouldn't change a second of it, because I have come to realize that the view from the top of the mountain is much sweeter with the recognition of the sweat, the blood and the struggle it took to climb it. There isn't a climber in the world, a marathon runner, an Olympic athlete, who crosses the finish line or reaches the top of the soaring peak, and says, "it wasn't worth the fight." It's always worth the fight, everything worth having always is! Even more so is the realization that your story is for a purpose much greater than yourself or mastering the temporary things of this world such as success or material possessions. It wasn't until I set foot on Cambodian soil to serve orphans that I finally realized the reasons God had for allowing so many things to occur in my life. To hear girls say "you are like me sister" and to understand what they meant and how that encouraged them, literally changed my life. Since then, I have been able to use my story to encourage the orphaned in Zambia, South Africa, Ethiopia and Uganda and I know what God is calling me to do in the near future; it's only the beginning. It is scary, but absolutely exhilarating all in the same. 

You know, I used to wonder how Joseph did it. How he endured the unfair life that he was catapulted in by his brothers. How he lived through the loneliness of being abandoned by his own family, slavery, false imprisonment and just what that must have made him feel deep within. Even though I knew he ended up being in charge of the largest kingdom there was, I knew how his story ended, I still felt sorry for him because, well if I am being honest, I still felt sorry for me. Then one day, reading his story again, it all fell into place; it all made sense. He too had to go through the blood, the sweat and the struggle to see the view from the mountaintop. I no longer felt sorry for Joseph, or myself, I felt thanksgiving toward God for the stories He allows to be a part of and sorrowful for my finite mind and its painful inability to see the big picture. Now instead, I look up to Joseph for the way he humbly and gracefully handled every lot he was given in life, and second to Christ, aspire to be like him. Now I just look up at the top of the mountain and simply say, "i'm coming up." If my God is with me, then who or what can be against me. If my God is with me, there is nothing we, together, cannot do.  

Yep, my cup runneth over, and I am just plain thankful. 

The Number 26

It strikes me now, reflecting back, how routine, simple moments can have lasting impact if you live life with your eyes wide open. A few weeks ago, out on a simple lunchtime errand, I took a drive to my neighborhood drug store. As I was traveling down a busy road, cars flying by me in a panic to get to and from lunch destinations, I turned on my left blinker to enter the drug store parking lot- and there I saw him. He wasn’t famous. He wasn’t an old friend. He wasn’t someone I even knew. But, I saw him nonetheless. He stood on the corner under the traffic light, rain pouring down on his back, a sign clenched between his soaked hands and dripping wet with these words scribbled in permanent marker- “homeless, please help.” As I watched this man walk back and forth in the storm, anxiously looking into the eyes of passersby, it was as if I could feel his dignity vanishing with each step. Water splashing up on the curb, lightning flashing in the distance, nothing seemed to faze him; he was robotic. Despite my fixation on him, something else caught my attention in those moments. I began counting all of the cars that passed him by. One by one they flew, not even taking a second glance. Most of them were preoccupied on their cell phones, distracted by the rain, or realistically just looking for a reason not to notice the man. I could only count the cars that came at me, the ones I was facing from my intersection, but in a matter of seconds I counted twenty-six cars. If I were able to count the ones going the other direction, I’m certain that number would have more than doubled. Twenty-six, I was completely paralyzed with that number. Realistically, thousands of cars pass him by in a single afternoon and statistically, maybe a few gave him any assistance and probably even less took the liberty to smile or say hello.

Instead of focusing on the contempt and sadness I felt at how easy it is for us to neglect the people we see in need, I focused instead on him. What it must feel like to stand wet and cold in the rain, waiting and hoping to earn what little money you can. How with every car that passes by, every nervous glance of pedestrians and drivers, it must crush your resolve and deplete your strength. I wondered what it was like to be hungry, really and truly hungry, and be uncertain of when that feeling would come to an end. More than the physical needs, I wondered what it must be like to wish that people would look at you, actually just look at you. Even more so, how it must ache to long for a conversation, which must be painful to realize comes rarely, and even then typically comes wrapped in expectation- because often people don’t know how to communicate, much less love, without expectation of a certain reciprocation. A horn blew behind me and with a startled jump I eased my car into the drug store parking lot, leaving behind the man who had me captured. My heart ached for him.

What was I to do with this moment I was given? I look at everything as an opportunity to learn, an opportunity to grow and be more like Christ. So, what was it God? What I know is the man I saw that day is Gods son and he matters as much to God as me or anyone else. And despite our prideful ability to measure need out of our own limited mind, it is just as important to make sure my new friend on the corner has food, has assistance, in the same way I make sure I do. My friend has the same reason to expect human connection and love the way I do. The only difference between him and I is that he has grown accustomed to being ignored. And what I learned that day is… It’s not ok to expect to be ignored. No fancy words, no vicious rhetoric, it’s just not ok.