After Navnights end the after parties begin every Wednesday night at UCCS. It's been a point of joy for me to connect relationally with so many students during these late night shindigs.
This past Wednesday night we piled into cars and made our pilgrimage to the iconic late night diner wooing us into the parking lot with the soft glow of its neon orange piping. Figures of cookies and cream milkshakes frosting over their cute glassy containers had been floating through my head all day. I'm pretty sure I mentioned I was getting one of these to every person I crossed paths with that day (strangers not exempt from this information).
Food and people, what better two combinations? Our small army of collegiates commandeered half the restaurant and began the orders of pies and fries and pancakes and did I mention milkshakes?? I sat at the end of a long stretch of tables with three freshmen that fill my heart with joy. As the night progressed it only solidified my love for them as we laughed over knitting and accents and other less substantial subject matters.
After dropping my new UCCS friends back off at the dorms I praised God for the opportunity to be a part of their lives; to be a part of their journey of finding and holding tight to Truth. Before I knew them, I was praying for these three students, and here they are, gifts from God.
Starting with milkshakes, moving into trust, and growing into people who love Jesus.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Where Your Pancakes are, There Your Heart will be also
Grabbing my wallet and keys I dash out the front door pushing through the river of delicious pancake smell that had wafted its way from the kitchen to the entry way. I leave behind a table of friends and cinnamon goodness being baked to perfection in quaint little circles easily devoured in three or four bites. Outwardly, a potentially wonderful morning, inwardly my heart mutters under its beats the familiar song of "mine" in g-minor.
Out of milk, a pancake breakfast staple, and watching my roommate dip the measuring cup into my personal stash of delicious oat bran pancake mix, churned within me the desire to dash through the kitchen with a sharpie and mark fat letters branding everything of mine. Driving down to the grocery store, I was appalled to think how irritated I was over sharing kitchen commodities with people so dear to me. It wasn't just the milk or pancakes that sent this mine alarm ringing, but a deep seeded sense of ownership that was reaching even the smallest of items in a pantry of possessions.
Reading though A.W. Tozer's book, The Pursuit of God, Tozer states so eloquently, "There is within the human heart a tough, fibrous root of fallen life whose nature is to possess, always to possess. It covets things with a deep and fierce passion. The pronouns my and mine look innocent enough in print, but their constant and universal use is significant. . .They are verbal symptoms of our deep disease." That morning witnessing my pancake mix being depleted and seeing my milk jug empty tugged on that tough fibrous root grown so deep within the walls of my heart and I realized how infected I was with the disease of possession.
Matthew 5:3 drives home why it is so utterly good to be void of all sense of possessing: "Blessed is the poor in spirit for theirs is the Kingdom of heaven." A verse breezed by in past readings now popped off the page with a font so big and bold there was no ignoring it. I feel as though if I had tried to turn the page the letters would have ripped through the other side. To be poor in spirit means to be detached from all sense of possessing. All things in our lives are surrendered to God, devoid of their power to grab our focus and our allegiance. To be poor in spirit uproots everything that we have so confidently and stringently labeled our own, including relationships, money, and material items, even pancake mixes, no matter how wonderfully tasty.
As we become poor inwardly, we are released from the slavery of things. Your emotions and decisons and thoughts are no longer controlled by your bank account or affirmation from certain individuals, or by your shoes or other beloved collections. When we possess, we are under the authority of those things. Our focus is shifted and on the throne of our hearts, where God should rightfully sit, is a shiny red ipod.
The very act of uprooting our possessions will be painful. The roots have grown tightly around our source of conscience and pulling on them will only create scratches and tears as they are extracted. But will we feel a sense of loss? Will surrendering all we have, giving it all over to God, will that hollow us out and leave us wanting? According to Matthew 5:3 the poor in spirit possess the kingdom of heaven. To possess nothing is to have access to everything. Just like the father in the parable of the Prodigal Son said to his son who complained about the lack of gifts, "Son, everything I have is yours."
Out of milk, a pancake breakfast staple, and watching my roommate dip the measuring cup into my personal stash of delicious oat bran pancake mix, churned within me the desire to dash through the kitchen with a sharpie and mark fat letters branding everything of mine. Driving down to the grocery store, I was appalled to think how irritated I was over sharing kitchen commodities with people so dear to me. It wasn't just the milk or pancakes that sent this mine alarm ringing, but a deep seeded sense of ownership that was reaching even the smallest of items in a pantry of possessions.
Reading though A.W. Tozer's book, The Pursuit of God, Tozer states so eloquently, "There is within the human heart a tough, fibrous root of fallen life whose nature is to possess, always to possess. It covets things with a deep and fierce passion. The pronouns my and mine look innocent enough in print, but their constant and universal use is significant. . .They are verbal symptoms of our deep disease." That morning witnessing my pancake mix being depleted and seeing my milk jug empty tugged on that tough fibrous root grown so deep within the walls of my heart and I realized how infected I was with the disease of possession.
Matthew 5:3 drives home why it is so utterly good to be void of all sense of possessing: "Blessed is the poor in spirit for theirs is the Kingdom of heaven." A verse breezed by in past readings now popped off the page with a font so big and bold there was no ignoring it. I feel as though if I had tried to turn the page the letters would have ripped through the other side. To be poor in spirit means to be detached from all sense of possessing. All things in our lives are surrendered to God, devoid of their power to grab our focus and our allegiance. To be poor in spirit uproots everything that we have so confidently and stringently labeled our own, including relationships, money, and material items, even pancake mixes, no matter how wonderfully tasty.
As we become poor inwardly, we are released from the slavery of things. Your emotions and decisons and thoughts are no longer controlled by your bank account or affirmation from certain individuals, or by your shoes or other beloved collections. When we possess, we are under the authority of those things. Our focus is shifted and on the throne of our hearts, where God should rightfully sit, is a shiny red ipod.
The very act of uprooting our possessions will be painful. The roots have grown tightly around our source of conscience and pulling on them will only create scratches and tears as they are extracted. But will we feel a sense of loss? Will surrendering all we have, giving it all over to God, will that hollow us out and leave us wanting? According to Matthew 5:3 the poor in spirit possess the kingdom of heaven. To possess nothing is to have access to everything. Just like the father in the parable of the Prodigal Son said to his son who complained about the lack of gifts, "Son, everything I have is yours."
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