Today I felt inspired to share my journal entry from last Easter. Even though I penned this 365 days ago, it’s relevant and true as ever for me today. “What and how you remember will determine if your broken, dis-membered places will re-member you in your broken places. So, how to continuously re-member? To re-member your broken and busted heart, remember Him crucified and who you are and your real name: the Beloved.” - Ann Voskamp This weekend on every other year, I have gone to church on Friday and Sunday. I have sat around dinner tables eating a fancy spread surrounded by family. I have sang in choirs and heard sermons and worn my best. But this year, I sit at home in my pajamas. This year, we are separated from some of the people we love most. This year, the choirs are silenced, and the Sunday-best is dusty in the closet from weeks of neglect. And it hurts, it hurts to be apart on such a special weekend. But could it be that the sting of separation I'm feeling gives me a better taste of the cup that Jesus’ swallowed so long ago? On that dark night, Jesus felt the sting of separation too, as He cried out, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” It hasn’t been the best of weekends, I have to say. My car broke down, our oven caught on fire, and I’m missing my families. I’ve bit my lip and sniffled back tears several times. But right now, I shut myself away to re-focus and remember what this is really all about. Because I know Easter isn’t defined by sermons, choirs, and dinners. I know the first Easter took place with a small group in a small apartment during desperate times, too. And in all of this I can't help but think, maybe this Easter is the closest I’ve ever come to experiencing it like Jesus did. Ann Voskamp says that to properly re-member my broken self, I first need to remember Him crucified. That puts everything into perspective, does it not? And suddenly life isn’t centered around my broken car and burnt oven; it’s centred around my broken Saviour. I can see Him hanging there on that cross so that my broken heart could find wholeness through the breaking of His. Why do I so easily forget that? “The measure of your willingness to be given is the willingness of you capacity for communion.” Jesus was willing to be given - given unto death - and He is the embodiment of communion, of Koinonia. I feel as though I’m starving for true Koionia, for true oneness, wholeness, abundance, and somehow, this happens in breaking and giving. Father, teach me to break and give of myself. And Father, in the quietness and simplicity of this Easter, let me remember, and let me be re-membered because of it. I know You see the cracks in my heart. I know you hear my plaguing questions that I’m too afraid to ask out loud. I know You shoulder each burden I carry. I want to walk like You, I want to talk like You, I want to love like You, I want to break like You and give like You so I can commune with You, forever. Father, help me remember, and in doing so, re-member me.
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We are living in strange times. No, this isn't the first pandemic this world has ever seen. We have survived many wars, many diseases, many disasters before. Still, that knowledge doesn't eradicate all the anxiety around the current Corona Virus and its highly contagious nature.
In this strange time, I'm seeing a side of society and community that I have never seen in my corner of the world. People are afraid. Humanity's selfishness is rearing an ugly head as people hoard mounds of toilet paper and canned beans. Anxiety is heightened as we ask "what happens next?", and more events are cancelled and more neighbours are quarantined. I've noticed the panic mindset has started to affect me and I need to make a conscious effort to not let my mind drift to the worst case scenarios. But the other day I had some experiences that challenged my thinking and reminded me that I actually already know how this pandemic will end. Let me explain: I ran some errands the other day and had two very different experiences. I was at the store in line for the check out. As the cashier served the man in front of me, he began yelling at her for the way she handled his groceries. He continued to yell and disrespect her and while I watched him I could see the panic in his eyes as he madly packaged his goods and left. The cashier was fighting tears, and all I could do was encourage her while she assisted me for a few short minutes. From that short encounter, it seemed clear that this man was battling fear and struggling in this time of uncertainty. I also stood in line at the pharmacy for a new inhaler (yay for asthma). As I waited, a man struck up a conversation with me about the craziness of the stores. After some small talk, he mentioned his church was cancelled until further notice. "Oh really?" I responded, "My church is also changing it's services." Then the pharmacist piped in, "my church is cancelled too!" The three of us paused and smiled at each other after realizing we were all Christians. "I'm not afraid," the man stated, "I've read the last page and I know how this ends; God wins." I've read the last page and I know how this ends; God wins. Those words haven't left my mind since that day. So yes, COVID-19, I know how you end. I know how all wars, sickness, pain, and sorrow will end; God wins. While this doesn't take away the severity of the virus or the need to take responsible actions such as social distancing or quarantining, it does take away the fear, the panic, and the anxiety. It takes them away because I have a hope that lasts beyond the grave, and regardless of the chaos around me I can rest in perfect peace. So Christians, are we living like we know the end? Or are we panicking or paralyzed with fear? The way we respond will send a message to the world. What message are we sending? I don't know what the coming months will hold, but I know Who holds the coming months. I have read the last page; I know how it ends and I am not afraid. God will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain. All these things are gone forever. - Revelation 21:4 “There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear.” - 1 John 4:18
As I look out over the past year and a half, I have faced a lot of fear. Fear of losing control, fear of surrender, fear of giving up my dreams, fear of loving, fear of being known. There was a time where I was so afraid and my walls were built so high, I almost shut out the people that loved me most. I distinctly remember one night last January: I was sitting on the couch, a fire blazing in the fireplace, a blanket of snow outside on a chilly night. Tears were rolling down my cheeks as I told my Mom of how deeply I was wrestling. With such grace and truth, she looked me straight in the eye and said, “Ashley, you are being controlled by fear, and you need to give your fear to God.” I didn’t like hearing it, because it sounded so weak. I felt so weak, like any word could just break me in a moment. I wanted to be brave, I wanted to be confident, I wanted to be fearless, but I just wasn’t. I was so afraid I was paralyzed, unable to move forward. I was stuck, and I was wounded. Situations from the previous months had left my heart worn, and I didn’t know how to recover. I felt broken, and I thought I needed to get my life back together before I could move forward. But maybe I was wrong; maybe my brokenness served a greater purpose. Ann Voskamp said that wounds can be openings to the beauty in us. She said that maybe we become more abundant because of the terrible moments, and that maybe somehow our hearts were made to be broken. Broken open. Broken free. Maybe our deepest wounds birth deepest wisdom. That’s what the past year has been for me: a time of being broken open, all my ugliness spilling out. And somehow, as I wrestled through my many questions and sat in my deepest pain, love found me. Love sat with me on those long nights, love wiped my tears when they spilled over, love prayed over me when I couldn’t utter the words, love held the hope for me when I was too weak. And as the days went on, Perfect Love cast out my fear. My heart is still broken, but it isn’t broken in a wound anymore. It’s broken like a stained glass window, letting the light seep in and cover all the dark and dusty corners. And what used to be a source of pain is now the birthplace of praise and worship. What was once a valley is now a mountaintop, and an Ebenezer in my life of how good my God is. And all the questions that stirred in my mind have been stilled. All my doubts have been put to rest. All my fears have been chased away, because Perfect Love found me. For the past few months the “white saviour complex” has been on my mind. It started back when I was labelled by Instagramers I don’t know as a “white saviour” due to my posts about Zambia. Although their harsh comments were uncomfortable and in my opinion, misguided, they did get me thinking: Do I have the white saviour complex? After a few months of mulling it over I came to the conclusion that while it is something I need to carefully monitor, no - I don’t have it. But perhaps that is not what I portray online. I love to share images of my experiences in Africa because they have touched me deeply, but I feel it necessary to make a few things clear:
Everything I say applies to me first, and I'm continually sorting through these realities. As you probably know, I am passionate and involved in foreign missions. I am not discouraging foreign-aid or bashing missionaries for a second – rather I am encouraging everyone to learn about privilege, oppression, power, and colonization because they do affect you and the people you encounter. Read books like When Helping Hurts and do research on the country you’re going to before you get on the plane. Learn the customs, norms, and values so you don’t unintentionally offend the people there. Ask questions but try to listen more. I am no expert on this, but these are thoughts I have been wrestling with for a while and I felt it was time to write and share it. It is beautiful when people with different cultures and upbringings can unite for the purpose of the Kingdom – and that should happen – so let’s try to participate in a way that is respectful for all people involved. ARTICLE LINK : https://afropunk.com/2018/06/white-savior-your-volunteer-trip-to-africa-was-more-beneficial-to-you-than-to-africa/ Sawubona. Is that a word you’ve heard before? It is a traditional greeting in Zulu that means “I see you.” Not hey or how’s it going, but I see you. When I first read about this it stuck out to me. This greeting is much more than acknowledging someone’s physical presence. Sawubona says I see your personality, I see your struggles, I see your dignity, I see you.
This greeting got me thinking: when was the last time I looked at someone and really saw them? When was the last time I saw past their clothing choice, gender identity, ethnic background, or economic status? When was the last time I looked at someone and saw their their passion, spunk, creativity, strength, and resilience? This Zulu greeting is much deeper than “hello”. Sawubona sounds a lot like compassion. Compassion comes from the Latin word “compati”, which means “to suffer with”. Compassion is allowing someone else’s pain, struggles, and difficulties to touch you. Compassion, like Sawubona, says I see you. I see your pain, I see how hard things are, and I’m going to walk through this with you. Seeing people is hard. It’s hard to look at someone and allow their hurt to affect you. When given an out, we usually take it. Any of these circumstances relatable? 1. You’re waiting for the traffic light to turn so you can cross the street when you notice a man sitting near you with a sign asking for money. He looks homeless and his clothes are torn and his figure is unbecoming. You know you have money to spare but you still turn away and pull out your phone to distract yourself until you can cross the street. While you do this, you begin to come up with a bunch of excuses to justify yourself: I don’t have time, they’re probably just lazy and that’s why they need handouts, someone else will give them a few bucks…. 2. Your friend tells you about the need in your community for foster and adoptive families. You have the finances, you have the space in your house, and you love children. But welcoming someone else’s child into your home? What if it’s hard? What if they don’t like you and you’re miserable? What if their pain becomes your own? So you pull out your list of excuses: I’m not qualified for that, it would be too hard for me, what would my family think? my career is too important right now…. 3. You live in a community that has a lot of immigrants. Their culture is different from your own and instead of welcoming them and trying to learn about their ways of life, you keep your distance and hope their “weird” customs don’t interfere with your life. Even though you can imagine that moving across the world and leaving family behind is difficult, you make no effort to make things easier for them as they adjust to their new home. Some excuses may be: we have completely different religions, how will we get along? I’m afraid the language barrier will be too awkward, I’ve never interacted with that culture before, what difference will I make?.... These are just 3 made up scenarios and obviously homelessness, foster care, and immigration are just a few of many opportunities to get involved with. But the point is this: if you were in these scenarios, would you take the out? Would you pull out your phone and excuses and walk away? Or would you say Sawubona, and have compassion? Compassion isn’t something that just magically comes to us. We have to choose to show compassion. And don’t wait for compassion to feel comfortable, because you’ll be waiting forever. Truly looking at someone and walking with them through their pain is quite simply, painful. It can feel uncomfortable, awkward, and scary, but as Christians we are called to be compassionate. There are countless examples of Jesus showing compassion while he was on earth. He sat with the tax collectors, ate with the prostitutes, and advocated for the little children. He healed the sick and disabled and mingled with Samaritans (a huge no-no for a Jew at the time). If you want to know what compassion looks like in a practical sense, learn about Jesus, and you’ll see it. Jesus was so full of compassion He looked for people in pain - that’s quite the opposite of taking the out. So how do you start having compassion? Start Sawubona-ing; start seeing people. If you’re afraid you have nothing in common just remember you’re both human, so you have more similarities than differences. You both feel joy, excitement, sadness, and fear. Connect over that. Do you have a favourite colour? They probably do too. Challenge yourself to look for people with pain (like Jesus) instead of running away from it (like we tend towards). For all you know, someone’s entire life could be changed just by you showing them compassion and saying I see you. and there will be feelings that are hard to shape into phrases and there will be memories that are difficult and weighted, and there will always be grace pushing through you all the more...reminding you that even here there is still much more in store. – Morgan Harper Nichols As 2018 comes to a close I am once again shocked at how fast 365 days can pass, and how much can happen in just one year. This year some of the biggest highlights included my sister getting married, my best friend getting married, my return to Zambia, starting social work, and my engagement. 2018 has been quite the wild ride; it has brought me to some of my highest mountain tops and to some of my lowest valleys. Recently I was sharing some struggles with a friend and in their response they said, “It’s so comforting that we serve a God who specializes in messes.” And they really couldn’t have put it better. Quite honestly, a lot of 2018 felt like a mess – I felt like I was a mess. I have gone from feelings of deep love, excitement, and hope, to feelings of heavy guilt, confusion, and sadness. Through all of this if there is one thing I kept learning over and over throughout the past 365 days, it’s that life is a lot more colorful and complicated than I ever could have expected. Many times there isn’t an easy answer or quick fix. Many times your emotions are a whole lot more intricate than you thought, many times you are left with unknowns, many times your wounds take longer than you want before they heal, and all of that is OK. As I reflect on the year behind me I cling to the fact that nothing in the past year has surprised my Father; every change of plans was held tightly in His hands. Everything that was meant to happen, happened. Everything that was meant to end, ended. Everything that was meant to begin, began. Another lesson I learned is that big feelings aren’t bad feelings. It’s OK to be real, it’s OK to feel it all, it’s OK to take time on this journey. My Father doesn’t expect perfection from me so why should I? So yes, 2018 felt a bit messy, but still I see that every single bump in the road only brought me closer to Him and reminded me of His never-ending faithfulness. He never promised me an easy road but He did promise to walk it with me, and that is more than enough. Beyond that, 2018 also brought me some of the greatest gifts - a partner to live the rest of my life with, a growing and loving family, and new opportunities to grow and learn. So as we enter a new year I want to remind you that your mess isn’t too messy for God. Bring every spill, crash, and mishap to Him before you try to fix it yourself, because our messiest days, months, and years, are an opportunity for Him to prove Himself strong and do what He does best. 1. The dusty and fun-filled field at Lifesong in Kitwe, Zambia
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