Continue reading “of risking it all”

when was the last time somebody asked you what you are doing with your life?  or maybe you’ve been asked, “what’s you’re calling?” and you haven’t even considered what that means.
Not gunna lie: whenever I hear these types of question I really just want to rip somebody’s neck off.
But not actually cause that is mean.  But there is something inside of me that cringes, looks away and plugs its ears when hear these types of questions are being asked.  Not necessarily because they are bad questions, but they always imply that either I’m not dong something worth talking about in the present or that I need to mature or learn this or that or something before I’m ready to fulfill my calling.
For the record, I’m pretty sure your calling has nothing to do with future events, but has everything to do with the right here and right now. Continue reading “of your holy calling.”

do you ever have it where you wake up in the middle of the night with a whole ton of creative energy and you don’t know what to do with it?  Or maybe you’re lying awake for hours on end imagining and dreaming and hoping and longing about things that are so wonderfully possible that it keeps you up until you roll over and see that it’s 2 am, and you have to be up in just a few short hours to start another day – where that dream, hope and longing doesn’t exist.

story of my life.

and usually it’s me laying awake composing the most thought provoking, inspiring piece of writing that I win nobel prizes for.

Well, I’ve never considered winning prizes for it, but let me tell you, they are usually pretty down right brilliant.  and then I wake up the next day and by the time I get around to writing, the creative magnificence has passed away, and I’m left to revel in the “could’ve been but never will be.”

so rather than laying awake any longer, I am going to try and get these thoughts out – despite the ridiculous hour of morning that it is and the fact that church starts in less than 8 of those hours.  (thank goodness my roommate is away tonight or else I would not have even dared to slip out of my blankets.)

last night I watched a production that was put together by a couple of the dancers and one of the musicians here on base called the ‘edison effect.’  the moment the dancers came alive with movement a feeling raged in my chest that often surfaces for air when a particularly beautiful piece of creativity is about to unfold.  That raging beast of a feeling is in fact no beast at all, but it is the memory of a beautiful, flowing, active, all-in-one-piece happy little girl.

And that girl was me.

Growing up I lived at the arena.  Every Tuesday and Thursday nights and Saturday morning I had figure skating lessons, while the rest of Saturday and Friday nights were spent watching my brothers play hockey.  There were even times when I would get stuck at their practices on Mondays and Wednesdays.

Being at the arena provided an area for much distraction – between the hope for blue slushies and the hockey boys to notice me I was constantly on guard.  But besides the obvious girlish distractions, I had figure skating.  And that was something that made me come alive.

Tonight I was out at a sporting goods store because I needed to buy boots, and once I found the pair that I had been looking for I wandered around the store, for no particular reason.  I was having some “me” time and had nobody else’s agenda to submit to, so I had the time.  I walked around the store, and a pair of flashy white figure skates caught my eye.  That feeling surfaced again and I couldn’t help myself so I approached the skates and just touched them.  In a rush the familiar life of my childhood came back to me.  The smell of the change room, with the unfortunate odour of boys’ hockey gear always lingering in the air; the colours – the red benches and grey walls – the rubber all over the floor so as to never hurt the blade of your skate.  The feeling of slipping your feet into that polished white figure skate – I still remember my first pair of “real” skates, the good professional kind that I had to buy once I got my own coach (whose name was Claire).  Lacing up those girlish boots with a blade for a soul was so familiar I never once had to think how it was done – it was second nature how tight I liked them, and the final tug up of the tights was something that was done to ensure no discomfort; I’d be in those babies moving and dancing for the next hour or so and to sense any sort of bulge between my toes or around my ankle would mean having to stop.  Those were precious moments that could not be wasted.  It was always the most refreshing experience to step onto that freshly zamboni’d ice.  That anticipation as we watched the ice cleaning machine make it’s final lap led to a tangible sense of excitement as we were all crowded onto the small mat of rubber leading from the changeroom onto the ice, and when we finally got to unlatch the door and step out onto the shining sheet of white it was like stepping into heaven itself.  The sound the blades made as they slashed through the soft ice was one of the best feelings that could ever be experienced.  The warmup was crossovers around the two lower circles – usually to the tune of “Mambo #5”.  You’d have to get in some little jumps and a spiral or two (at least one per leg despite the fact that everybody has their dominant) before stretching out at the benches.  Then you’d start into practicing your routine until you had your training with your coach for the day, who would critique your practice, help you add new elements, and then leave you to it til the next lesson.

I’d spend long afternoons (when I had the courage to be outside) and almost every snowday sharing the pond with my brothers, making up dances around them as they played one on one pick up hockey – usually ending our time together hoping they would watch the next bit of creativity that I’d invented (to which they would scoff, take the 4 wheeler and go home, leaving me alone and half insulted because they didn’t care to watch, but half grateful because now the whole pond was mine).  I remember one time I made up a whole dance to “Thy Word” (remember that old song?) and I was so proud of myself.  Inside the house I would repeatedly watch a figure skating version of “Beauty and the Beast” and constantly swish around the kitchen in slippery socks, making my mama watch me as I practiced to be the next Tara Lipinski.

That was bliss.  Pure bliss.

And I threw it all away when I was 13.  And for what?  Because it wasn’t cool.  Why wasn’t it cool?  Because a boy said so.

Girls.  Boys.  Anybody who is reading this:

Don’t ever throw away your dream because SOMEONE ELSE says it’s dumb.

Don’t.  Don’t do it.  You’ll likely lose that sense of joy for a long time, and by the time you realize what you’ve done, it’ll be too late to bring it back for what it was.

I remember the day I had to decide whether I was giving up my happiness or not.  A boy at school had been teasing me about it, and because I just wanted approval and love, I listened to him.  I knew that if I listened to him I’d automatically be cooler and more attractive – this boy held a lot of sway.  Later that night I recall entering the arena, with my dad, to sign up for another figure skating season – my second full year with my own coach and those darling new skates.  My parents and I had had the discussion about whether or not I would continue because figure skating is really expensive – especially with a coach.  But at age 13 there is no point continuing without a coach.  At age 13 I had to decide my destiny.  And we walked into the room and the pressure of not being cool and being a financial burden weighed so deeply inside of me, I told me dad I didn’t want to skate anymore.  And we left.  I dropped my innocence on that floor and walked away.  

Some days I still question if I will ever find it again.

I remember crying at some point that night – quite unaware that this would be the first of many tear filled nights that would lead to a hardening of my heart I didn’t even know was possible.

This week God has brought to light some things that my heart needs to purge itself of – some places it is still very set in – before I can move forward with more of the freedom that He so generously offers to me.  And the more I consider the things that I have wrestled with and how I got stuck in them, the more I see the correlation between quitting what I love, and opening up doors to a world that would hurt my heart and injure my soul, and quickly created a gap between the One I love and the person that I thought I wanted to be.

Don’t ever throw away your dream because SOMEONE ELSE says it’s dumb.  Trust that whatever they think is dumb is something that makes you happy because someOne placed that inside of you for a reason.  God knew what He was doing when He made you, and those things that make you JOY FILLED are there for a PURPOSE.  DON’T let them go.

My life fell into an organized and masked chaos, despite the fact I thought it was all normal.  Nobody know the destructive habits that I developed and how I learned to glean love and identity from the opposite sex.  It was easy – you just flash him the right look or say just the right thing, and he would submit to whatever whim it was that you wanted fulfilled.  You’d just put on the right outfit and walk just the right way, and he’d be prey under your pinky.  Easy, peasy.  I knew physically what I could do to really make him crumble – yet, looking back I see, by the grace of God and by the grace of God alone, I never made any such move.  In fact, in those moments when I considered gently brushing up against him or touching the small of his neck or just flat out grabbing his hand – I would get terrified.  My insides would squirm and my hands would start to sweat.  I wouldn’t do it.  Ever.  Never have I ever.  There was something about actually following through with any sort of physical act that felt so unnatural that I would simply never do it – despite the fact that it so naturally crossed my train of thought to do ever so often.

All by the grace of the Lord – let me tell you.  He redeems even our darkest thoughts and actions – or inactions.

I learned young how to manipulate and gain that control – but seemingly never to my true advantage.  It was likely the lack of physical action that prevented me from ever actually dating after I quit skating.  Or the straight up grace of God.  Probably more of the latter.  Nonetheless, the lack of prolonged attention fed my insecurities, and I in turn made more choices that led to more heartbreak on more occasions that are useless in attempting to account for.  Sure – the batted blue eyes and witty remarks allowed my ego to puff up for a time, but it was the quiet moments when everyone was left to their someone and I was left quite alone that really hurt the most.  The pain of not knowing love or joy or happiness led to a deep sense of loneliness that I carried with me like an old blanket that couldn’t be surrendered past infanthood.  It was constantly getting thrown in the dirt, muck and mud only to be lifted back out and brought along into life with me. 

Finally I experienced some freedom when I allowed that rag to fall away and let God cleanse me from all the choices I had made, and He allowed me to see just how much He had actually saved me from.  And why?  Because He loved me.

That was why?  Really?  It’s that simple?

Well, yes, it’s that simple.

He. Loved. Me.

There I was, stuck in a lonely pit of despair while the Lord kept holding His hand out for me to take hold, all the while I thought I could dig my out on my own.

Silly girl.

He loved me.

He loved me.  And all the while I’d just been looking for love in all the wrong places.

I was looking for love with eyes that were out to steal, kill and destroy – not with eyes that would see the healthy ground where a garden could actually be planted.

Then He showed me.  He led me away to a secret place planned just for me.  He showed me what it was to be loved so deeply – He convinced there was no other way, and breathed His last so I could breathe my first.  Then His Father breathed life back into Him, and we walked away together rejoicing – both white as snow and full of joy.

He taught me how to love again.  He showed me the little things that could bring life and peace in a world full of death and busy-ness.

the gentle whisper of the wind.  the bubble of the stream.  the warmth of the sun on my skin.  the sunshine, streams, rodeos, laughter, sunsets, sunrises, lakes – all natural beauty. 
hearing people’s stories, sunday afternoon football, playing games, knowing how much Jesus loves me, praying for people, hanging out with my youth kids, Bon Echo, music by needtobreathe, quiet times with Jesus, evening bike rides, sand in my toes.
good hugs, good books, long conversation…

It is here that I know to whom I belong, and the beauty of who He created me to be.  It is here that I believe. 

This is bliss now.  Pure bliss.

Do I ever long for that innocent girl back?  Yes.  I would be lying if I said I didn’t.  I still long to lace up those old whites (that no longer fit) and brace myself for the old familiar softness of a freshly cleaned sheet of ice.  To have a blank canvas ready for me to give life to is something I can only dream of doing.  I don’t even know if I could do any of my old moves anymore.  I know for sure I couldn’t accomplish anything close to a spiral.  With some help I might manage to “shoot the duck”.  Guess I will just have to wait til heaven and God can even be my pair – then it’ll be a real experience on ice (and you’re gunna wanna catch that show!)

But do I regret the rest of my life?  Not at all.  God has moved in ways that are immeasurable and He is the one who has redeemed and continues to redeem.  I am evermore finding pieces of the girl I turned into that need to be cut way and ripped apart – which is no pleasant process.  But I thank my Maker that He has done this, and that He is doing this.  That He is tirelessly working on my heart, mind, soul and body to bring restoration and life to areas that were once dead.  He is so beyond good.  Words will never be enough to explain just HOW good He is, and I pray you are also ever coming into this truth. 

But until then – don’t give up your God given, righteous and wonderful bliss.  Don’t give it up.  Don’t let it go.  In fact, seek it out all the more.  Chase it down.  Follow the sweet scent of his grace and see where it leads.  Breathe it in deeply and open your eyes wide to see it more clearly. 

Don’t ever throw away your dream, friend.  Don’t throw it away.

erika

there have been a billion and a half things on my mind in the past few weeks.  Buckle up.

a few weeks back I had read a blog post by one of my role models, who I have actually never met, but follow her blog and have read one of her books.  I’ve talked about Shellie before (check out her blog here, especially if you’re a single lady), and she always seems to hit the nail on the head.  In response to considering the term “Phantom Relationships” and what defines it, I responded with a bit of a lengthy email to her as I wrestled through what this meant in my own life.  She had me consider a few things in response to what she deemed a venting sesh (I thought I was being completely rational and logical and not crazy sounding at all.  She thought different.)  One of the things I had consider was “What is my bliss?”
Bliss being: supreme happiness; utter joy or contentment; the joy of heaven;  heaven; paradise.

I put off considering this, thinking I could just make up an answer.  But as I was feeling personally frustrated I decided to retreat to my favourite little spot on this base – a bench near this little stream.  It reminds me of home.  I like it a lot.  And while sitting there I considered my bliss.  This is what I ended up writing back to her:

And it is ever so true.  The next question she had asked was, “What will a man bring you that you don’t already have?”  And after considering my bliss…I honestly couldn’t think of anything.  My answer to that question was this: 

I couldn’t think of anything (besides the obvious – a child. ha!  but the good Lord has only just opened my heart to giving birth to one of my own in the past year…).  Maybe that is the wrong answer…and maybe I am just making myself single forever in that…but honestly as I reflected over the bliss list, I could only think that a man could bring me more of those things…even though I can content in them right now.  If that makes sense.  It’s like he will only enhance the things I have…he won’t bring them to me for the first time.  I don’t know if that makes sense. 

For real.  Think about it.  What can somebody else bring to your life?  Is it that they should present you with happiness for the first time, or should it be that they enhance the happiness you already have?  That may be a little off topic…but you know me and my tangents.

The other morning during breakfast prep as I was stirring the oatmeal, as I do every morning, I was getting lost in my own head considering what the heck I should do after SBS.  The more and more I think about it the more I feel like God has given me a blank slate and I can choose what to do with it.  I was weighing my options, trying to choose what I really wanted when I heard, “just look up.”  God has been speaking this phrase to me a lot since the spring, and as I did so this time I observed the rest of my crew going about their business.  Aran and Johanna working together to get the Canadian bacon fried up.  Erik chopping away at the green peppers.  Alex was cutting the carrots.  Natalie was helping Eirik and Chloe get the biscuits together with cheese and the already fried bacon. Taa was wandering about finishing up the little details of things.  Everybody was so intent on the task they had taken responsibility of.  Everybody was in their little zone.  And suddenly I was overwhelmed with gratefulness.  I sensed the smile as it spread across my face, and a few tears may have even blurred my vision for a minute.  Nobody noticed.  Nobody needed to.  and it was here that I knew: This is family.  This is where I belong.  This feels so incredibly right.  This is bliss.  This is happiness.  How could I get to so focused on the future and risk missing out on the present?  And as I watched I wondered why I ever worry or wonder about the future when I belong right here, right now.  It took a lot of pressure off my having to make anything happen now and even in waiting for God’s response to some things.  It doesn’t matter because I belong here, and now.  I kept stirring the oatmeal, and as the moment faded God whispered, “remember this moment.”  And I have no doubt that I will.  

Of course, this is so much easier said than done.  

I have been working on some things in regards to my future, but I won’t share what that is quite yet.  Don’t worry, I will share more as time progresses and something happens (or doesn’t), you will know.  And if you keep reading you may get a hint about it.  But in the meantime, I was laying awake last night thinking about a few things my heart is wrestling through.  Of course my big dream came up, and I felt God say, “What if I asked you to give up that big dream to pursue another dream – somebody else’s dream?”  I didn’t quite know what He meant by that…I am still not sure if I do.  I have some theories.  But the theories don’t really matter much.  The thing is…I am not sure if I could give up my dream.  I mean we all have dreams, plural, but out of all those dreams, we usually have one, ultimate dream that supercedes any of the others.

My big dream has never been to get married to the perfect guy and have lots of babies.  I’ve never dreamed of being a successful businesswoman who always gets to wear the heels and the nice clothes all the time.  I’ve never dreamt (realistically) of being that supermodel that everybody things is all that.  I’ve never dreamed of being a sports star – and that’s probably because I’m best at watching sports as opposed to playing them.  If these dreams ever crossed my mind, they’ve never lasted.  Do I still hope for other dreams?  Sure.  But do the set me on fire and give me heaps of passion?  Not quite yet – maybe never (I can promise you my dream of being a sports star, for example, will never pan out.  The supermodel thing though…?  (ha!))

No, my big dream for a long time now has been to pioneer discipleship programming on Christian high schools in Ontario.  I want to be that bringer of change.  It’s crazy and ridiculous and seriously impossible without Jesus.  Ultimately, I’d love to see a good portion of students graduate knowing they are loved, with some semblance of an idea of how to be a disciple of Christ.  I don’t expect them to ever have it figured out by the age of 17, but I hope for a better foundation.  Goodness sakes, I don’t know anybody who has it all figured out…but we’re all figuring it out, all the time.  And this needs to be the case for teenagers too.  I get so fired up when I hear, “well, that’s the church’s job” or “they’ll get it [rebellion] out of their system and come around to church when they’re older.”  For real?  How many young people do you know that have “gotten it out of their system” and are now actively following Christ?  And by actively I mean changing the spheres of influence in the grace and power of Christ, or trying to, they are a part of and not just getting up for church on a given Sunday morning.  I won’t keep up with this, because we all know that I could.  But that’s my dream.  And to give that up – to give up this passion that’s rooted within the very core of my being?  I don’t know if I could.

But ultimately, why wouldn’t Jesus ask this of me?  

Sound harsh?  I don’t think it’s even close.  What did He do for me?  He came, He was tempted, He experienced pain and suffering, and more rejection than I could ever imagine.  He served everyone He met – He healed, He cast out demons, He gave us His Spirit.  He has done so much, and I can’t even be selfless enough to give up my dream?

I know some of you are likely thinking, “But Erika, don’t give up your dream!  You’ve worked so hard and you have all this passion – and God gave it to you!”  Oh yes, I believe you.  Trust me.  I know.  I know this is from God.  If it wasn’t from God I don’t think I would even dare to dream it.  But if I am not constantly surrendering the biggest pieces of me to Him, what really will I have?  If I am not willing enough to do the thing that I don’t want to do, giving up my dream for someone else’s, how much of a servant am I?

I know part of being here is working on trust.  Trusting in God…trusting in people…trusting God and trusting people.  I know that is an element that God is working at in me.  And trusting produces a faith that can be so tangible…and I know God wants this to be so real for me.  And how can things be real if I hold myself back – if I hold onto anything that is about me, even my God given dreams – and am not having the faith that what He began, He will finish.

I read a quote the other day that resonated within me of everything that my heart is wrestling through:

I want to want nothing else, but alone God.  You alone.  Oh Lord, incite in me such faith to make each day something new.  To give myself over to You wholly and completely and wonderfully surrender every square centimetre of my being to You.  To remember my bliss – and not just remember it, but live in a way that bliss is the norm.  That I can be servant enough to surrender my dream to pursue another’s dream, and find bliss in that.  

That is the real challenge.

erika

straight up.

For those of you who would like to receive the more “technical updates” as opposed to listening to the ramblings of my heart, let me know your email and I can add you to that list.  In the meantime, here’s a sample of something technical: the way we learn to study the Bible here at SBS.  I did not include this in my update letter because…well…not everybody would want to read this.  If you’ve read this, I commend you.  and I will bring you home some m&m’s.  If you let me know who you are that read this…. anyways….

How do I actually study the Bible?  You may ask.  Well, let me tell you, and prove to you that I’ve not just sitting around in Montana making friends and eating too much meat and actually becoming a lumberjack. 

We use what it is called inductive study, or “The Method.”  

1. We first have to read through the book – whatever book we are on.  Right now we into Luke – out loud in one sitting (which we can do with a few others if we want).  This past Sunday it was beautiful so I took my Bible and say by a creek that’s here on base with my tea and thoroughly enjoyed those 2 hours of just leafing through Luke.  The only book we don’t need to this for is Psalms, cause hey, Psalms is huge, and they are broken up throughout the 3 semesters.  
2. We read through again and make 4 word titles for each paragraph in the book.  Yes.  Every paragraph.  and the titles need to be words words that are close to each other and in order…and of course have to do with the paragraph.  We also break up the book into manageable sections which we’ll need for late on.  At this point we also pick out a key verse, reason written and main idea of the book. 
3. Next we “Colour Code” by marking up nearly every sentence with pencil crayons (or coloured pencils as the fine Americans say), defining things like who is present, where they are, whether the speech is figurative, if the OT is quoted etc… There are about 30 different things we need to look for in this step.  By the time we’re done colour coding, we’ve read through the book 3 times.  
4. Next we complete any background research needed, like finding out the authorship and dating, as well as the recipient of the book and the original hearers of the text.  I received my very own Bible Dictionary and Study Bible in the mail today – two things I am thoroughly excited about like the a real Bible nerd.  ha!
5. Finally is the “real work”.  We have by now sectioned off all of our paragraphs into manageable sections, and we have to observe the text for what it is saying.  We ask questions that the text answers for us like, “who is saying….?” and “where are they when they say…..?”  And reference our answer with text.  Next we interpret the text, meaning we ask questions of the text that we are curious about, that we can likely figure out the answer to because of our background information.  For example, “Why does Paul call the Galatians foolish?” or something like that.  Questions that the text maybe indirectly answers.  Kind of like meandering through it, wondering why the author said what they did or consider how the original reader may have reacted to something.  Finally we do application, which is where we can look at the text and see the truth that is timeless and can be applied forever.  We take these truths and write about situations where they are/can be/have been applied and write about those.  This process takes HOURS AND HOURS as you are doing this for about every chapter of the book (usually more though).  
6. After all that is done, we do a final application and pray about a timeless truth where God was speaking to us specifically, and then pray about to do with that truth (eg. serving others, so I am going to clear everyone’s plates for them after a meal.  That’s simple and cheesy, but that’s the gist of it.

   This process has been extremely challenging because we are raised to take Scripture at surface level and apply it, as if it was written directly to us.  So it’s hard to get out of that mindset and get into the original readers and author’s and see it through their eyes, and then see what is left for us.  Scripture was of course written for us all, but not written to us.  It’s hard to wrap my head around that.  But anyways, it’s a lot of work.  I never imagined it would be this difficult.  But it’s really good.  Scripture is coming alive and it’s making sense.  It’s good.  God is good.

So that’s the little update.  I would say more things because trust me there is a lot going on in my heart.  It’s actually been a little odd…I mean being in the Word so much can sometimes feel like you’re just studying…it’s so important while here to be intentional about remembering what this Book is that I am studying.  That said it’s also super important for me to remember to take Jesus time, aside from the studying time.  Today I took a good chunk of time and just say by the creek (it’s most definitely my favourite spot here) and just journaled and thought and pondered and listened.  It was glorious.  And God was speaking.  He is pretty cool.

Well.  back to the grind.  thanks for reading about what I’m doing.  You’re so gracious.  and don’t forget to let me know if I owe you some m&m’s.

erika

I can’t even recall when I last wrote.  I don’t think it was terribly long ago.  But for the record…time doesn’t work the same here.  Life just happens.  I seem to like it.

I’ve discovered a new musician that I love.  Well.  a few.  1. ben howard.  for real.  He’s pretty solid.  I’m enjoying his sound.  Acoustic yummy-ness is what it is, is what it is.  2. Yiruma.  if you think that sounds Japanese, you’d be wrong.  He’s South Korean.  He plays the most beautiful piano I have ever heard in my all life.  Click here to here one of my faves.  Great study tunes.  You know what is a plus about studying in Montana?  Pandora.  and Spotify.  Serious wins, America.

today is Canadian Thanksgiving!  So a huge shout to my Canadian (and want to be Canadian) friends!  I miss you all dearly.  on Saturday I called home (well, Facetime.  I was thinking while I was Facetiming how amazing this technology is.  Seriously!  It was almost like I was there, except I couldn’t quite squeeze Joshy’s cutie-patutie little cheeks like I would have liked to!) and everyone was there (minus my boo) just sitting down for turkey!  I had real missing family moment.  So shortly after I Facetimed my boo (aka. my baby sis) out in BC and we were alone together 🙂  It was lovely to be in her presence. [does Facetime count as presence?]  It was great.   This afternoon all the Canadians on base (about 12 out of over 150 people!) got to have turkey dinner together in an actual home with real fancy plates and real turkey and stuffing and mmmmm-mmmm!  It was fantastic.

That’s all the Canadians.  Except a couple who came a bit later.  It was grand to talk about homey things like Tim Horton’s and not need to explain why their donuts are the best.  Beauty.  My heart is at home.

Well that’s enough of that kind of update.  Let me tell you what’s up for real.

Pretty right?  so pretty!  It’s getting more real!  So last week we finished up our seminar phase of SBS (class everyday, twice a day, homework all the rest of the time, basically.  Super overwhelming, but good.)  We were finishing up on study of Galatians which focuses a lot on being justified by faith and not by works.  As an illustration on the last day the guy who was leading the lecture, Nathan, decided to offer each of us a cookie.  Another staff, Ryan, also came up to the front to join Nathan in what we thought would be his left hand in handing out these tasty treats.  Nathan offered up the first cookie to the first student, asking if she would like it.  Of course, she responded with a yes (double chocolate chip with almond extract!? Yes please!) However when he handed her the cookie he turned to Ryan and said, “hey Ryan, can you do 5 pushups so Carolynn can have a cookie?”  Of course Ryan obliged.  Many people laughed, some people wondered, loudly, why he had to – Carolynn said she would give the cookie back.  Nathan moved on and asked the next person if they wanted a cookie.  He also responded with a “sure”, and Nathan again asked Ryan to do 5 pushups.  It was then that it dawned on me what was happening.  Nathan was going to continue to offer a cookie to each student, 51 in total that day, and for each student that said yes, Ryan would do 5 pushups.  Nathan got to the 5th student and she said, “No, I’m okay,” to which Nathan responded, “Okay, well I will just leave this here, and Ryan can you do 5 pushups so Leah can have a cookie?”  Well, there went my plan.  This wasn’t about Ryan’s pushups and Nathan’s cookies.  This was about this Jesus I follow and my life.  As much as I thought about what Christ had physically done for me, never had it dawned in me so realistically.  I sat there, in my seat, knowing Nathan would eventually get to me, considering how I would respond to his offer – all the while a thick lump was forming in the depths of my throat.  I thought about how I couldn’t even do my own push ups – just the day before I did some circuit training with my friend Amanda, and I could barely do 5 girl push ups, and I couldn’t accomplish 1 man one!  How could I do 5 per student?  How could I do 5 *good ones* just for me?  I couldn’t.  I knew I couldn’t.  When Nathan got to me and said, “Erika, would you like a cookie?” I couldn’t even speak.  I just nodded.  It was shortly after that as I stared at that cookie on my desk that the tears started to flow.

All I can ever do is offer Him my life.  And He loves it.  He loves me.  There is not enough *good* for me to do in this world that will earn myself my salvation, my justification, my life.

If grace is an ocean, we’re all sinking.  Drowning, actually.  But in a really good way.  Somehow.  As Syd would say, “it’s a paradox.  live in the tension.”

I left that room a bit of a mess.  I wasn’t the only one.  The real kicker?  Jesus not only gives us the cookie, but he wants us to enjoy it.  The only thing this illustration fell short on was the fact that we have something to celebrate about too- and that’s that Jesus rose again 3 days later.  He lives!  It didn’t end with His pain – but He did take ours, and we need to know.

on Saturday morning we had to read through the gospel of Mark since that’s the book we’re on this week.  The first reading of each book has to be read out loud, and can be done in groups of 4 or less (just in case you were wondering, cause I thought you might be ;)).  I sat down to read with two lovelies, and about halfway through it hit me that if I had to read the Crucifixion that I just didn’t think I could do it – yet somehow I knew in my soul that the story was likely going to be a part that fell on my turn of reading out loud.  Sure enough, Mark 15 came around and it was me.  I felt it coming when the words, “And when the sixth hour had come…” fell from my lips.  I made it to “…until the ninth hour.”  Then I stopped.  That same lump.  Those familiar tears.  How had this never been real before?  I knew the next words.  I’ve read this passage dozens of times.  I knew “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachtani” without even being able to see the words on the page.  But no sound came.  I was broken.  But not nearly as close to how much he broke – for me.  For you.  For those people you hate.  For those people you love.  For the smartest and not so smartest.  For the prettiest and handsomest.  For the down and out and the ones on top.  For the girls in the corner and the head cheerleader.  For the hockey captain and the chess pro.  His heart broke for all of us.  And my words through tears don’t even get close to the amount of love and blood he shed for me. 

Scripture has never felt so alive!

Why is it that the Bible has never felt real?  Why is it that it has always just been a set of comforting words and engaging parables?  Do we really get how real it was?  How these pages meant something real for somebody?  That – hey – it wasn’t actually written to us?  It was written for us, 100%, but we were not the original audience.  This morning we learned about the history and background in the book of Mark.  Goodness gracious!  Who knew!  It’s some awful, terrible, horrible stuff.  The things that our ancestors went through to get us this book, to share the gospel, to proclaim the name of Jesus!  It’s absolutely terrifying.  We took a few minutes today to imagine and put ourselves in the 1st century during the reign of Nero Caesar (this guy would put Christians into a coliseum than unleash rabid animals on them – and that’s the more pleasant end of things to share).  I couldn’t even imagine it…I opened my eyes and listened to the illustration because I knew if I listened I would likely have nightmares.  I still might.  I canNOT imagine living in a time when you don’t know who to trust and you don’t know if you’ll be dragged off – or your sister or your friend or you father – to their death, and you can’t do anything to stop it.  There was no safety in the Roman empire.  The Caesar’s were insane and felt no shame even in killing their own family – they certainly wouldn’t stop at you.  Awful.  Just awful.  And that is our heritage.  If you call yourself a Christian, that is what people went through, suffered through for you.  For me.  We need not ever be ungrateful to our Jesus for the lives we have.  These early Christians never backed down – they stood their ground and took the persecution.  It would have been so easy to deny Christ as Messiah – so easy.  All it took was regular trips to the Jewish temples.  But that wasn’t what Jesus had called them to do.  He suffered for them and they understood the implications of that.  He asks us to do the same – to surrender our lives to Him, to be His servant here on earth, to suffer for Him.

It’s hard.  Don’t get me wrong.  I know it’s hard.  And I know you can’t just force these things on yourself or on somebody else.  I know that – deeply, honestly.  I wish I could give you the formula for surrender – but there are no magic words or special codes.  Allow yourself to sit in the Word.  Allow each letter to land on your tongue and sink into your mouth.  Let them digest.  Don’t be afraid of waiting.

When you’re sick of waiting, keep waiting.  

When you don’t want to sing, sing louder. 

The more you take your eyes off of you and put them on others, put them on the who God is calling you to love, the more you will probably see God, and you’ll realize that you are surrendering.

I came to SBS because I wanted to know the Bible.  As it turns out, the Bible wants to know me.
and that’s transforming my heart in ways I just wasn’t expecting.

never has Scripture been more alive.  And I’m only 3 books in.  Pretty sure it will only get livelier.

We started with Philemon, which I had studied in July with my Teaching Scripture course.  That doesn’t really mean much – it just meant that I constantly knew the answers to my own questions.  Then we got into Titus.  Oh goodness.  Where to start?

As I may have previously mentioned (pardon my forgetful memory…I’ve been staring at the words in Ephesians and my computer for the past 10 hours.  Literally at dinner I did not know how to make conversation due to lack of human contact all day.) of been wrestling with what I am doing.  However, God has most definitely been speaking some things to my heart about why I am here.

A few weeks ago I wrote a post about needing help.  When I wrote that I was extremely humbled at the  having to ask for help.  I was blown away by how God spoke to people on my behalf, and how He continues to do so.

Since arriving here this concept of “need” hasn’t disappeared.  When I first stepped on base, and for the entire first week and half (which yes, that means until about 2 days ago) I was questioning every bit of why I was here.  I realize settling in to a new place takes time.  Making new friends takes time.  Yes.  I get that.  But what was making me feel so out of place was that fact that I was not needed by anybody.  There was nobody who had a burning question they needed me to answer.  Nobody needed my help with fixing their problems.  There was nobody who would need me.  There was no ministry I needed to be in charge or a meeting that I needed to plan and lead.  Here, nobody knows me.  I am just another SBS student: here to study the Bible, become best friends with this library chair, and ultimately go crazy (so they tell me).  I’ve rarely been asked what my story is or questioned about my life.  Nobody needs to hear those things.  Nobody needs to know about my friends or family back home.  Nobody needs to know how much I love m&m’s, or that my favourite place in the whole wide world is Bon Echo.  Nobody needs to know about all the ministry I’ve done and led, and the ways I’ve seen God work.  Nobody needs to know that I love Needtobreathe and how upset that I wasn’t at home and couldn’t go to their show with the guys last weekend.  In fact, nobody needs to even know who the guys are.  Why should they know?  Well, they don’t.  That’s the honest, hard truth.  And if I am being totally honest, more often than not I say and ask things with selfish motive.  I ask so I can be asked back.  I comment so you respond to me.  I want people to talk to me.  I want to be needed.  I might even say I need to be needed.  And that’s not selfless.  That’s selfish.  Plain and simple.  And it’s messing with who I am, and I realized that I’ve been placing my identity in being needed by other people, and that has been affecting the way I live my life and even the way I view people.  I live in way as if the other person needs me.  That without me, they wouldn’t last – that their life isn’t complete without me.

Well.  That’s ridiculous, erika.  Just sayin’
yes.  yes, it is.  And this is what I’m learning.

So how do I change the way I function?  With much difficulty.   And probably through reading the Bible…

God’s been challenging me to wait on Him.  Titus 3:7 says, “so that being justified by his grace we might become heirs according to the hope of eternal life.”  After picking apart the book of Titus, considering the implications on the original readers and what Paul was trying to say to Titus while he was in Crete, I was able to consider what I could take out of the book and apply to my own life.  This verse spoke to me about how there is nothing that I can do to save myself.  To change myself.  I am only justified by grace.  By grace I live, breathe, and have my being.

There is nothing I can do to position my heart towards Christ.  There is nothing that I can do to press in enough to draw near to Christ.  There is nothing I do to tear out my heart and surrender it to the Christ and know and love.  There is nothing I can do to save myself.  I can’t need me enough to change me.  People don’t need me.  God doesn’t need me.  I need God.  Nothing less.

And as I continued to ponder that this past week we, as a class, dove head first into the book of Ephesians.  It’s not too hard to notice one of the biggest themes that Paul is trying to get across to the believers in Ephesus is where their true identity lies.

Ironic?  I think not.

Last night we had worship outside (it was freeeeezzziiiingggg!  But awesome).  And as I tried to press in (whatever that means) I began to consider my need – my God.

*side note.  On Wednesday night we learned more about the history and background of the church, and the kind of culture that Paul was a part of.   For real – it was awful.  I mean hardcore, awful persecution.  We learned about Nero and his persecution of Christians, and watched a movie clip where Nero marched a ton of believers – mama’s, papa’s, babies, teenage sons and daughters – into a theatre where he then unleashed starving lions on them.  I couldn’t even watch.  When the video clip ended the door to the room we were in was busted open and some guys filtered in yelling at us to get up and get out.  Several people, including myself were terrified as 1. This had actually happened at another YWAM base in Colorado some time ago and 2. We have some students here from countries where persecution like this legitimately still happens – police bust in, guns blazing, inflicting much fear, trembling and even death on believers that are present.  Of course, this was all to give us an idea of what it would have been like in the early church, and after we were up we proceeded outside into the darkness where we watched a re-enactment of a man being “blessed” by the god Mithra – the god of war and morning – by being covered in the blood of an oxen (reality: dyed red corn syrup).  We were heckled by prostitutes from the temple of Artemis, yelled at by market sellers convincing us of the idols we needed; We entered the “temple” and watched as one of our own was wrestled to the ground (pretty sure he knew it was coming to him) and had a piece of [fake] flesh torn off by the mouth of a temple woman.  We were commanded to bow to Artemis and to Nero Caesar.  Nobody did of course – and our evening was abruptly ending in worship.  It was a good reality check on what the early Christians actually went through.  And it made me so incredibly grateful for the freedom I have.  I have no reason to ever not worship our God – to know that He is the same God that those early Christians lived for and died for…wow.  It puts a lot of my life into perspective, that is for sure.

Okay.  Back to the outdoor worship: As I stared at the sky, listening to the lyrics of the song (I can’t recall it now) I wrestled with what it means to need God, but also to express that need for him by serving people without getting stuck in making them need me.  For so long I’ve understood my ability to give to people as them needing me.  Well.  That’s crap.  My ability to give to people is based on my understanding of my need for God, and their need for God.  My job in giving to people is not to make myself – my words, my prayers, my hugs, my life – needed.  It’s to make God needed.  That’s the goal.

And so as I stood worshiping, with toes that were gradually getting colder, I looked up (another something God has been challenging me to do more) and I asked the Lord not where I was needed, but where I could give.  I was eventually given the opportunity to pray for a couple of girls, and offer one of them communion.  God gave me words to share, speak and ways for me to love.  But this was not about me.  Not one bit.  Not at all.  It can’t be.  It’s about learning how to shut down, shut out, and reject that needed to be needed, and learning to give selflessly.  To be obedient regardless of the fact that there will be no personal benefit.

Lord, if I can spend the rest of my life giving where you are leading, whatever that looks like, I will hope that will be a life well spent on You.

And I have no doubt in there that my needs will also be fulfilled.  But I can’t look at me.  I have got to look at my Jesus.  How good is the Lord!  How great is our God.  Seriously.

I hope and pray God continues to show me how I can be obedient, and never be needed.

Allowing God to shape in me a new identity is a process.  This is the start of the thaw I’ve been waiting for.  The first bit of ice on the stream has broken, and I can see the water starting flow.  The key is to keep waiting.

Amen and amen.

For the record, I’ve met seriously awesome people.  For real, it’s awesome.  Lots of honest, amazing hearts.  There are friendships that are being formed, laughter that is being had, tears that are being wept.  It’s good.  It’s going to continue to be an amazing experience of adding to my brothers and sisters, and I love it.  There is something very special about not being needed, but having the opportunity to be obedient and in doing so serving those around me who are longing to grow closer to our Father.  That may mean always asking the questions, and never giving answers.  It’s humbling, and it’s good.  The people here are good.  The God we’re all here to serve is great.  Thank you Jesus.

pretty simple, straight forward title this time around!  I’m here, people!  I’ve been settled in for about 5 days now, in a little cozy room that I share with one roommate.  Its like a real college experience!  Bunk beds, a desk, shared bathrooms, our own coffee maker/tea station (kettle yet to arrive, however), photo’s covering my wall and floor mates that are absolutely superb.  And my roommate?  She’s the bomb.  God knows what He’s doing.

The base here at YWAM Montana Lakeside (and you should all go and ‘like’ their Facebook page, and check out the video – you may see someone you know and her roommate :)) feels a lot like a camp.  I’ve also been privileged (yes, privileged) to receive breakfast prep as my work duty for the 9 months I’ll be living here (everybody has a different work duty around the base to help maintain all the spaces).  We had the opportunity to pick our top 3 preferences of work duties – of which mine were: 1. Snack bar (making latté’s? I’m pro!) or 2. Library (I can’t say the word, but hey! I love books and quiet time) or 3. SBS Hospitality (prepping the tea/coffee for lectures? – joy!).  And somehow, I get to be up at 5:30am every morning every other week in order to boil water and mix the oatmeal.  However, once I found out this was my work duty, I wasn’t resentful or upset.  In fact, I was quite ecstatic.  It didn’t take me long to realize that I had an awesome team to work with (we’re the A team. seriously) – and we’re from 6 different countries!  And there are only 6 of us, so hey, that’s pretty sweet!  Have you seen that youtube clip of all the nations singing “How Great is Our God”?  That’s basically what it’s like in the mornings with that group.  We’ve got a guy from Thailand and one from Norway.  Then there are 3 other ladies – a Korean, a Swede, and an American.  It’s awesome.  I feel like the luckiest student on base – early mornings and all.

As for school stuff – we’ve finished our first book already!  We started with Philemon and basically did all of our work in class.  For the first 3 weeks we have what’s called “seminar” where we learn the basics of the inductive method while also studying the first few books together in class.  We have seminar twice a day every day, but after 3 weeks we’ll split off into our different sessions (Red, White, or Blue (oh, hey, America!)) and then have lectures 3 times a week, with study time all in between.  Say hello to discipline, erika!

I’ll admit I’ve been working on really discerning where I’m at with being here at SBS.  It’s bizarre that I’ve been so fortunate enough to get 9 full months to invest in the most important relationship I will ever be a part of.  Yet – I’m feeling a little stuck.  The other day we had our first base wide worship to start the week off, and as I was worshiping I was hit with sudden feelings, similar to what I had experienced a few weeks ago and had written about (here).  Then as I stopped singing and just listened, hoping the Lord would speak and I would hear, I sensed Him saying, “Spring doesn’t happen over night.”

It’s true.  For the past year and half I’ve been in a season of winter.  This all came about when I really started over running (is this a term?) with ministry.  I was taking on way too much, and not taking in enough self care and love from my Father.  It took a conversation with a sweet friend for me to realize how much I needed to stop, and to realize just how much I was filling my life with the wrong things – all in the name of Jesus.  Hey – it’s great to do stuff in His name, but He also calls us to the pastures to rest (Psalm 23), and if we don’t stop and take that, life will become routine – ‘do and do, do and do, rule on rule’ as Isaiah (28:12-13) put its.  And that’s what my life was.  And to be honest – that’s what I need to break free from.  That season was comparable to winter – and the thaw that comes after winter doesn’t happen in a heartbeat.  There are mornings you wake up and smell the fresh spring breeze, the scent of rain clean on the grass and you know spring is coming.  But how do we know spring is ever actually arrived?  It’s hard to tell.  There are snippets and signs, but spring is in full bloom when we’re verging on summer.  Spring is a time of transition – a beautiful, new, bright, exciting transition.  Something to anticipate and experience often.  Long walks in rubber boots, splashing in puddles and getting way too muddy.  Early mornings where the sun is actually peeking through the clouds.  Nights that get later and get you pumped for long summer nights.  And that’s where I am.  A lot of my winter was brought on because of me – but I do not doubt that the Lord was with me, and was leading me through the blizzards, and He was the One who handed me the sunglasses when the sun was reflecting so brightly off the snow I could no longer see.  He was always there – speaking through friends, creation, times of rest, the moments of silence.  He was there.

And He is here.  And I do look forward to this next season.  It’s going to be crazy hard (reading each book of the Bible 5 times in 9 months? Yup.) but it will be good.  It will be something exciting, bright, fresh, beautiful – and new.  Just like spring.

“Spring doesn’t happen over night.”

And thank you for that, Jesus, or else we’d miss the goodness.

stay tuned, friends.

[ps. for updates on some more specifics, see the column on the right.  Contrary to what I previously wrote, I am posting the mailing address.  Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.]

Here are my final thoughts (for now) on the topic of “modesty”.  I don’t have much to say to really finish this little series off.  I hope you take into consideration not so much what you are wearing as so much as you wonder to yourself (and then take action) on why you are wearing what you’ve chosen to wear. I am looking forward to studying this topic” much more in depth over the next year or so, and I will make you all very aware of the conclusions when I make them!  In case you are just hopping in, I encourage you to read {part 1} and {part 2} before reading {part 3}.  I hope you’ve enjoyed these thoughts with me – I have certainly enjoyed all the conversations (and will likely continue to enjoy them!! :))

The Reason
The conversation still rings in my ears.  I was considering, with Holy Spirit, why this summer, like every other summer, I would choose to wear a bikini.

Holy Spirit: Why do you feel the need to wear a bikini?
                                                         Erika: Well because I like to tan my stomach.
HS: And who sees your stomach?
                                                         E: I do.
                              *silence*
HS: Congratulations, you just found the world’s thinnest argument.

    It was then that I first asked why. Why did I feel the need to dress in a way that showed off more of my skin to more people than the amount of skin my sheets saw when I crawled into bed at night?  And I just didn’t have an answer.  My response was weak and stretching to be justified, as if I had good reason for never having thought this out before.  Yet – a part of me felt freedom in the conclusion.  A whole wonderful, mysterious, seemingly new part of me actually got excited about the thought of covering up on the beach.  Not that I was prepared to wear a burka, but the prospect of swimsuit shopping to purchase a suit that meant I did not have to work out and get “beach body ready” sounded like a great plan to me!  So I set off with the goal in mind of buying a suit that made me look great, but still covered up that area of skin that I no longer felt the need to show.  It was as if I had been waiting my whole life to hear that it was okay that I did not express my “comfortability” by wearing very little material for a very expensive price. 
Right before I experienced this freedom I came to the conclusion with a slam of my latté down on the table that startled my friend.  In my mind, it all came down to being about me, God and my future husband.  As marriage is something I desire, would not it only make sense to dress in a way that my husband will respect?  If I am only dressing for me I can justify wearing anything, whether it is socially acceptable or not.  When I think only for myself and my interests, I act selfishly and in vain.  If I am only dressing for me and God I will likely fall into the traps the church has unfortunately laid for women that says your body is a distraction and men are too weak to deal with the sight of them, creating in me a sense of shame that was never God’s intention when He first clothed Adam and Eve.  He clothed them, I believe, to show them the depth of His love and the yearning for redemption in the area of relationship.  This is where respecting your husband, above all other men, comes in.
The fact of the matter is that every man will likely feel respected in a different way.  The challenge that I face is this: what kind of man would I like to attract?  If I am looking to attract a man who wants me to make sure the world sees what a looker he has got, I will make sure to wear outfits that attract him in the first place.  If I am looking to attract a man of God, I will dress in a way that keeps my God-given body shrouded in mystery.
Scripture calls wives to submit to their husbands as husbands submit to God.  Ephesians 5:22-33 talks us through how a man ought to love his wife, and it is repeated that he is to love “as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her” and that “husbands ought to love their wives as their own bodies.”  If, when I marry, my body is joined to his and we become one, then that means that the way I dress now is not just about me, but about me, God and my husband because my body belongs to them.
I have heard it said that “good things come to those who wait.”  Frequently we ignore this phrase because are not patient enough to wait and see what the good thing will be.  But when it comes to modesty I think we need to take time to wait and consider the implications of our actions if we remove the responsibility of somebody else’s sin and place the ownership back where it belongs.  This is a double edged sword as it does not give us free reign to do whatever we want, but own what is ours in turn.  That said, it is not possible to stop any man from lusting after any one woman.  However it is possible for each woman to dress in a way that honours the man she desires to submit to.  Through this act of humility she honours God with the motivation of her heart postured in a pure, selfless manner.  With this mindset I glean a sense of freedom in the way I dress as it sets boundaries that are respectable to me and hopefully my future husband.  It proves modesty to be a lot simpler than rules and slogans that only confuse young people, tricking them into thinking that modesty is only about one person, with no consideration of a God who sees their heart or future spouse who may be watching.  There is a freedom in modesty that needs to be redeemed, that needs to be fought for.  It is through selflessness that we will achieve such a paradigm, looking to the interests of our God and our husband.  As women this issue is something that will constantly be a battle we fight, but if we have our foundations rooted in the Christ of grace and love we will experience the freedom He came to bring us.

The Conclusion   
Dictionary.com defines “modesty” as:

1. the quality of being modest; freedom from vanity, boastfulness, etc.
2. regard for decency of behavior, speech, dress, etc. 
3. simplicity; moderation.   

A blogger I read referred to the topic by saying, “…modesty itself is a subjective socio-cultural construct.”  I would have to agree with what this author is suggesting – that modesty in and of itself can have its own wonderfully prolific dictionary definition, but we still find it hard to define.  One of my personal blind spots up until recently was how broad modesty is, and even when we talk about modesty in the way we dress there is something so much deeper and wider going on behind the scenes than a simple set of rules of things we can and cannot wear.  There is a beauty beneath, a mystery that is longing to be presented and solved, not by several people, but by one person.  If we can look to be people who live selflessly, who hope for good marriages that honour their spouse in every aspect of their life, including dress, and who can revel in the grace and love of Christ I think we will all do well in achieving modesty. 

Thank you so much to everyone who has graciously prayed for me in the past week or so.  I am overwhelmed how not only people have sought the Lord on this, but the amount of people that the Lord has spoken to in return.  It is so humbling to know that He is nudging peoples hearts and fighting for me in this way.  He is awesome.  Almost all of the finances have come together.  There will be continued costs throughout the year, so if you are ever led, the “Donate” button won’t be going anywhere.  Your continued prayers are also more than appreciated – and if you wish to be added to my prayer calendar there are still several dates that need to be covered!  Shoot me a text/email/FB message and I will get you some dates!  If you missed what I am talking about in all of this, check out what I wrote here.  On a side note, for those of you interested in having my mailing address in Montana, I will willingly get it to you via email or FB (and I hope to collect yours in return!) – I would rather not post it publicly on my blog, which I am sure many of you understand. 

On to some other things.  This past week was wonderful.  I was able to visit different friends and say my “see ya later’s” across the province of Ontario.  I enjoyed many long conversations, laughing fits and times praying with so many amazing, blessed, kind and caring children of the King.  I love being a part of this world.  I traveled from Whitby – Exeter – St. Mary’s through Stratford (beauty town) – Listowel – Ancaster – Burlington – Stoney Creek – Ancaster again – Mississauga and finally home!  I ate McDonald’s for the first time in over a year when I enjoyed lunch with my Grandpa – he had coupons and I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I try to avoid fast food (not necessarily because I don’t like it – more because once I start eating it, it’s hard to stop!!).  But he’s too precious to pass up time with, so I reveled in eating my McNuggets and crispy, salted fries and his retelling of old stories and his most up-to-date health ailments (he had just been at his Dr. that morning).  I love that man.  I could likely go on about all the other amazing people I was able to spend time with – either over poutine, KD, or tea; budgets approvals, thoughtful conversation or drawn out explanations.  I should say that I finally graduated this weekend as well, which is crazy since I never had any desire to graduate from University before – but I am an official Redeemer Alumni now!  When my grad was finally over, all the “congratulations” and “goodbyes” had been said there, it felt really odd knowing I didn’t have anywhere left to go but go home.  And so here I am!  After a day of rest and looking ahead to my final week home before jetting off to the west, I thought it would be best to give you all a little update, as well as offer you my next section of some of my thoughts on modesty.

I was encouraged by one of my Profs at the grad (and also in my final paper for him) that he is expecting a book from me [on this topic] at some point in the future – so who knows?  My first year at Redeemer he called me out on the first paper and mentioned that I should consider writing a book.  At the time I was blogging, but writing a book was never on my radar.  We’ll see how this year goes, and from there we’ll see if a book is written!  I will keep all of you faithful readers informed, and your prayers for this are always appreciated.  In regards to ‘hoping for mystery’, there is a section here entitled “The Men.”  As a woman I don’t often think about this, and so a lot of the thoughts there have been gleaned from conversations with guys, friends and boyfriends of friends, as well from different blogs written by men.  I hope you enjoy part two – and stay tuned for part three sometime next week!  (If you missed part one, I recommend reading it first by clicking here).

The Revelation
    Finally, after several long and drawn out conversations with friends about what to wear and what not to wear, I felt I had struck gold.  I was sipping on my caramel latté, laying out the issue of modesty to a sister in Christ, when suddenly I felt it all made sense. 
I had been wrestling with where respect came in if I am comfortable enough in my body to clothe it with what I wanted, when I wanted and where I wanted when I realized that I cannot just dress for me.  In fact, I do not even know if I can just dress for me and God.  One blog I had read over a year ago got me thinking that maybe God does not care so much about my wearing of a short skirt as much as He cares how the actions I took reflected my heart while wearing said skirt.  However, I felt strongly that if I just left it at all that I would still be missing a key piece to this seemingly complicated puzzle.  It was then I realized that I cannot just dress for me and God if I do not factor in the third party of this little group, the husband that I expect to have standards for my life.  On a personal level, I could stop considering what I wear at what makes me comfortable.  It would not be fair to stop there, though, because then I could justify walking around Wal-Mart in nothing but my “birthday suit” because “hey!  I’m comfortable with who I am.”  This is often where the reasoning stops in our culture.  We see women bearing all they have and other women and men applauding them for being so comfortable in their own skin.  We see people push the clothing envelope and dress in ways that are completely unacceptable to witness at any age – yet this is extremely commonplace, especially when it comes to the celebrities we all know and admire.  Most recently I was watching a video clip where two of the talk show hosts, both women, were critiquing an outfit that actress and singer Miley Cyrus wore to the Teen Choice Awards.  The younger, likely in her mid-20’s, of the two hosts says, “I thought it was way too risqué for the Teen Choice Awards and all of her young fans,” putting emphasis on “Teen Choice Awards”, to which her older, almost motherly, co-host responds, before Chloe is even done with her sentence, “Oh, Chloe, are you a church lady?”  If I stopped with modesty being about myself and my comfort, I sell myself short of the excitement of mystery that sexuality holds and that our culture has so tactfully destroyed.  As much as culture seems to devalue the mystery, they still seem to glean from the church that there is something about sexuality and modesty that is relevant and exciting or else they would never consider it a response to a comment about extremely revealing clothing.
    I am also not satisfied to limit modesty to being just about me and Christ, as I would again feel that I was selling myself short of the entire purpose of being modest.  That is to say that when it comes to God, as I mentioned earlier, I am not sure that He really cares about the length of my skirt as much as the actions I take while wearing the skirt.  He sees the posture of my heart and the intentions of my soul, and as the LORD says to Samuel in response to Samuel not understanding how David could be chosen as the next King of Israel, “The LORD does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart.” (1 Samuel 16:7)  I feel this concept is reiterated in Matthew 12:33-37 when Jesus is talking about being a good tree and bearing good fruit and that, “the good man brings good things out of the good stored up in him, and the evil man brings evil things out of the evil stored up in him.” (Matthew 12:35)  God sees whether or not we are doing things out of selfish motivation or vain conceit.  He knows whether or not I am wearing the skirt to get attention and distract or if I am just wearing it because I think it is cute.  Body type and proportions also impact our perceptions of modesty and the choices we make.  This happens quite often in high schools with girls and shorts.  I cannot count how many conversations I have had with young girls who are frustrated with the fact that their bodies, the ones that God designed and planned especially for them, cause them so much grief on the basis of what they chose to put on that morning.  I know many girls who honour God and love the Lord, yet feel so much shame because their legs are too long to wear a pair of shorts that would be deemed perfectly acceptable on a girl inches shorter than them.  It is awful to know that just as the secular world has carved the path of having no boundaries on the wearing of clothes, the Christian world has laid down rules and regulations on women that end up not freeing them to respect others around them, but bring shame and frustration.  In this the church also seems to apply a weakness to men that simply is not justified. (read a well articulated article on “The Myth of Male Weakness” here).  I believe there are men out there who are not weak.  I believe there are men out there that exist who can control their lust.  If men have the mental capacity to undress a woman in a matter of seconds, I would like to think that God gave them the mental capacity to dress them back up.  I believe there are men out there who will notice the girl on the beach with the one-piece swimsuit on and wonder why she feels the need to stand out when everybody else wants to blend in.

The Men
    In order to not make this a sexist issue and continue to suggest that modesty is all about the woman, I need to address where the role of men comes in all of this.  Again, it is wise to start at the beginning and take notice that God created man first.  From there we can read through Scriptures and come across dozens and dozens of stories where God entrusted men with tasks, jobs and responsibilities beyond their capacity to actually accomplish.  Throughout the Bible men are the ones who are called to submit to God.  Culture cannot sit around and tell me that man is weak and man will fall into lust every time when we men in Scripture encountered lust, came face to face with it and resisted it.  The most obvious example of this is the experience that Joseph had with Potiphar’s wife (Genesis 39).  I think men lose their sense of purpose when all around them culture dictates what they should be doing.  They get caught up in habits that are easier submit to, as visual beings, than to submit to a God who is unseen and a purpose that is unknown.  God wired the brains of men to be visually stimulated, and that as much as the eyes of man are “never satisfied” (Proverbs 27:20) we seem to give men very little responsibility to control that craving.  Culture plays a huge role in this from the ease of access to pornography, to allowing sexually graphic and explicit scenes in PG rated movies.  This sets men up to not even have to engage in relationship, cultivating commitment issues and unrealistic expectations that deflect them away from even asking a woman out to coffee.  This is a far stretch from modesty only being a woman’s problem because if men were not a part of it, there would not be an issue to begin with.  But to begin with, man was created and then woman.  Man was first given a high charge, being placed in the Garden of Eden and entrusted with the care of that great, wonderful, honoured place (Genesis 2:15).  Man was then given the opportunity to be exhibit integrity by following the command to not eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil (Genesis 2:16-17).  The Lord then called man to demonstrate responsibility in finding a mate by presenting every animal to him, and when no suitable helper was found the Lord put man to sleep (Genesis 2:19-21a).  It is here where men do not stop, like they should as the Lord calls them to, but plough through, looking for and finding the forbidden fruit.  With no thought of all the things he had been entrusted with, he takes and eats, as if nothing else ever needed to exist ever again except what woman offered.
    Maybe – just maybe – if man took more time to pause and settle in to their caring, honourable, integrity filled purpose that had admirable responsibilities attached to it, they would be patient, excited and grateful when the right woman is finally presented to them (Genesis 2:22-23).  And I think men are rarely called to this standard, and so with no standard to live up to men flounder in a culture searching desperately for the life raft that cannot be seen.