His Cherry Blossom

  Plodding along the narrow trail head bent against the cold mist and rain, hands buried deep in my hoodie pocket - I wondered if this was all worth it. I was the one who had suggested we go hiking in the mountains. My sister, Susanna, and Aunt Carmen had been excited to get out in the crisp mountain air to see the foliage. When we started out, the weather was a little chilly and damp but it seemed promising that the sun would break through the clouds. The drive up to the Cherohala Skyway whispered of autumn colors and harvest time.  As we pulled onto the historic mountain road, I began to notice the darkened pavement and mist on the windshield. Pretty soon, we were driving through swirling clouds round one bend after another. Where had the sun gone and the promising views of fall foliage? Where was the perfect hiking weather I had been picturing in the mountains of Tennessee?  The trailhead we were looking for was supposed to be between two lookouts. The only thing we sa...

  I stood gazing out over hundreds, if not thousands of miles of Pennsylvania farmland. Patches of light green fields nestled in between pockets of forest green. Houses and roads dappled the countryside and thin ribbons of water tied the scene together. In the distance, blue, rolling hills stretched out as far as the eye could see.  I wondered what the first settlers saw when they looked from this point... the Native Americans... and all the people who have stood on this rock before me? I thought about what it's like driving on those twisty, country roads past shimmering fields and cozy homes, prosperous businesses and neatly trimmed yards. Each carefully positioned "Welcome sign" and brightly colored potted plant - each piece of architecture and impressive farm equipment - each idyllic cow pasture and rolling field - was an outward expression of a human desire. To me, the countryside represented a peaceful place full of creativity and endless opportunity.  This is what d...

 "There is a satanic lullaby over the church in America. I want to go back to Iran," said a Christian Iranian lady to her pastor husband after living in the States for several years. How is that she would choose to go back to a life of persecution and oppression when she had the opportunity to live in this "land of freedom"? I think the satanic lullaby voiced by our Iranian sister is the mindset that what we do and who we are doesn't matter - we can become rich and famous, we can squander our life, we can be poor and miserable in the ghetto, we can be imprisoned for some misdemeanor and none of it matters because no one cares - but there is Someone who cares. What does it look like to release a song that breaks the satanic lullaby over this nation - specifically over the church? What does it sound like to live a life of influence and hope rather than reactionary to what is happening?  I've been having a lot of conversations lately with people my age who are ...

  "Hope does not disappoint us" - these words come from a song some close friends of mine wrote a couple years ago. It's been one of my favorite songs and I often find the chorus running through my head. Recently, as I once again heard the lyrics in my mind, I found myself thinking bitterly that it couldn't be true. After all - is not the very nature of disappointment the experience of things not working out as you had hoped? Isn't disappointment a hope gone wrong? So how is it possible for hope not to disappoint? The chorus goes on to say in reference to the Lord - "You are faithful! You are good!" Ahh... now we're getting somewhere. Hope on its own will disappoint. But hope in the One who is faithful and good does NOT disappoint. What does this mean? Our hope is built on the character of God, who never changes, not the outward circumstances surrounding me.  For example - this summer, I directed an eight-week clean up/beautification project in the m...

  I've noticed this strange phenomenon - that when I give a command, people obey. I'm just doing my thing and they come to me asking what to do next or for advice on what they're doing. Why do they come to me? Why do they ask me for answers? Who do they think I am? Sometimes I want to run away from the responsibility of knowing what's going on. I want to bury my head in the sand - pretend I don't know anything, pretend I don't notice the changes needed in my home and my neighborhood, pretend I don't have access to all the riches of heaven. Sometimes I just want to point the finger at someone else and say it's all their fault - it's not my problem! Yet, something deep inside of me stands at attention before the command of the Lord. He said before ascending to the heavenly realms - "All authority in heaven and earth has been given to Me. THEREFORE, go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of...

 I thought I knew what honor meant. I thought I understood the cultural inference, the delicate dance between one ethnicity and another. I thought I had left shame far behind when that little girl was dunked in the pool declaring my allegiance to the King of kings and no other. I thought all these things until about a week ago.  I had been working hard all day, fighting a nagging head cold and extreme exhaustion. My mind was fatigued from hours of brainwork on the computer. Then, the afternoon rolled around and I was using every ounce of willpower to move mattresses, an obstinate grill, and tools and wood up and down flights of stairs. The day felt like it would never end. Meanwhile, I was aware that a team of individuals had come out and were working with Tina in the garden, but honestly I had no desire to meet them and I felt filthy and gross. My final errand required me to walk out past them as they congregated to head out. Forcing myself to be hospitable, I stepped ou...

 A deep maroon carpet with golden designs covers the floor of the mostly empty room. Large, embroidered pillows line the wall set on a matching foam cushion on the ground. Curtains drape across the large, barred windows peaking out from the cement fortress. Lingering scents of cologne and spices float through the air as the AC endlessly drones on. A girl of about 13 yrs old sits curled up on the cushions - her hair pulled back behind a bandanna and her legs neatly folded under a brightly colored skirt. She's deep into a book - unaware of the world around her.  If you took a step outside of the house and the four walls of the courtyard, you would see that she is not like the others around. She doesn't really fit in and yet this has always been home. Her temporary home is in a land that does not recognize her King and so she strives to live a life that demonstrates a kingdom different from that around her.  If you look closely with me at my younger self, you'll see the titl...