Sovereign

I have always been a planner. My agenda and never-ending checklists are my closest inanimate companions. I like prioritizing my tasks and making the most of my time. It's hard for me to sit down, relax for a half hour, and enjoy a TV show. If I do, you bet "Netflix" will be scrawled on my list, right after, "shower" and "eat dinner." Ha. I think it's that feeling of accomplishment, that I have been productive, even with menial, daily life tasks, that I find so satisfying.  On a larger scale, I like to know where I am headed, and I like to figure out how I am going to get there. But recently, plans haven’t been working out at all the way I thought.

It certainly was not my plan for Dan to break up with me. Even though I knew one of two things could happen - we stay together or break up - I did not envision this season in Houston panning out the way it has. It was not my plan to have to move to a different growth group. I did not plan on making my own autonomous routine in this massive city. It was not my plan to go a different grad school from the one I had mentally set my sights on for the last year. Yet here I am - single, in a new growth group, and committed to the University of Canterbury instead of the University of Otago. 

In regards to my planning tendencies, I have adopted the philosophy of “palms up” over the last few years. When your hands are open and facing up, you hold something, but you also offer it over in surrender. A huge part of my life story is that the Lord replaced a lot of my innate worry with supernatural joy. I am not very high strung; over the years, I have learned to relax and roll with the punches pretty easily. But I still have a Cinderella fit for that Type A glass slipper. I cannot flip an internal switch and adopt some Bohemian lifestyle. It’s just not how I am wired or who I am. Being proactive is a good thing. I think it is okay to have goals and ideas for what I want to do and where I want to be next. I just have to be “palms up” with those plans.

Because, as the book of James teaches, I cannot boast about tomorrow.

Come now, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such a town and spend a year there and trade and make a profit”— yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes. Instead you ought to say, “If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that.”

Though I was submitting my ideal plans to God, trying to have open palms for everything in my life, the reality is that I was starting to hold them too closely. I knew nothing was guaranteed, but I felt pretty secure with my post-graduate two-year plan.

One of the first bible verses I ever memorized was Jeremiah 29:11 - “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord. “Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” In many ways, I had disregarded that promise, focusing and depending more on my own decisions. As long as they glorified God, I figured, He would be pleased with whatever I do. I think that is true; God does not give us a fixed blue print for the rest of our lives. That would make life pretty boring, and it would retract the necessity of faith. But even without those set instructions, I am learning that He is still in charge.

Given my changed circumstances over the last month, God’s plans are clearly different from my own. And hard as it is to believe it, I know they are also far better. When you’re still suffering from the loss of something good, though, it’s just hard to give it up for an unknown great. But I expectantly anticipate whatever future “greats” those are. Be it boyfriend, education, profession, location… really anything that life throws my way, I am putting my trust fully back in the Lord’s sovereignty.

I am still glad I get to leave in December, but the last month in Houston really hasn’t been all that bad. There is no way around it - breakups just really suck. It is new territory that I don’t know how to navigate; from what I have experienced so far you just have to bear the spikes of pain and sadness until they pass. But the hurting does fade. It is becoming less powerful. Eventually, some beautiful combination of time and Jesus will heal it completely.

Apart from post-break up blues, though, this season has still been really good. This is not my first loop around the one-semester-adventure merry-go-round, and I don't think I'll be settling in to a place longterm anytime soon. Even though I knew I would only be in Houston for the fall, I decided to dive all-in and make the most of my time here. I have not held back because of the brevity of my stay, and now I am reaping the fruit of that attitude. It still amazes me that in such a short amount of time, routine establishes itself. I have only been living in H-Town three months, and it actually feels a little like home. Without even really realizing it, I have a life here. I have community. I am surrounded by new friends that love me and are so fun to be with, and I am rediscovering and embracing the freedom inherent in singleness.

Some of God’s better plans have already begun to reveal themselves, too. Last spring I was satisfied with the idea of being a coffee barista during this stint in Houston. Instead, I ended up working for Boosterthon. Everyday I go to a job that I not only enjoy, but one that spurs on growth, service, and leadership within me. My first growth group was great, but being a part of this second one feels very providential. One of the leaders said they had been praying for one more spiritually mature person to join the group. “At all costs,” she joked. But three weeks late, I roll in, and I am definitely supposed to be there, both investing in and learning from the great folks in that group. The grad school curveball was pretty stressful; I had to choose the University of Canterbury rather than Otago because I was coming down to a time crunch. It turns out Furman, where my sister goes to school, doesn't even have an affiliate study abroad relationship with Otago after all, so Georgia and I would not have been able to live together in New Zealand. UC's program also emphasizes diverse learners, which I have an interest in. And hey, it's still New Zealand! I don't know what this next adventure will be like, but I am excited to embark on it in just a couple months.

Though my time in Houston has not at all been what I thought it would be like, it has not been bad. Hard as it is, it was right for Dan to break up with me, and I am grateful for the life I have established here apart from him. It has reinforced the notion that I really can live anywhere. (After all, it can only go up from Houston, right?! [Sorry Houstonians, I know you love your city.]) No matter where my life journey continues to meander, there will be new people and the promise of community and purpose. I would like to figure out the next steps in my future, but I know I need to let experiences play out for themselves. My plans are not my own. My life is not my own. It is the Lord’s. Even when I don’t understand, He is still sovereign, and I entrust myself to Him.

October Picture Journey

Since my lack of discipline managed to keep me off-the-blog-grid in October, here is a picture update of the last month:

Booster Baes Pumpkin Decorating

Still not fall, but it was 75 degrees. Plus Audrey is one heck of an awesome friend.

I LOVE MY JOB...

Even when I get pied in the face

Weekend jaunt to Dallas. They may not be related by blood, but they're family nonetheless.

Sweet Sarah

Joey Pierce: My dad's Citadel knob's son.

Family Reunion round 2! So grateful for a little bit of fall weather with the Compton Clan

Boosterthon Halloween Costume Party was a blast. 

When your job description includes dancing, and you multiply it by 20 people that also do that, and you take your job's sound system and disco balls for the evening, it's bound to be a good party. These people are my people.

So. Even though life is not at all what I thought it would be, here's to still enjoying this special season and making the most of my last month in Houston!

A Valuable Letter

Words. They are so powerful, so permanent. Nouns and verbs and adjectives strung together that do so much more than just make grammatically correct sentences.Words make art. And while they can be lyrical or literary, I really value the loving ones. For the last few years, I've held on to any note or letter that someone writes me to remember all of the people that care for and value me somehow, who took a few minutes to throw a few special words my way. As I pulled out the expanding Five-Star Spiral where I glue them all to add a couple more lying about, I stumbled upon a longer one tucked in the manila divider. In a classic, carelessly perfect script was a letter from one of my best friends, Lizzy, the September after we had worked together at camp in 2012.

After that summer of community and joy rooted in Christ, I had a 24-hour stress breakdown within the first three weeks of returning to school, and this letter arrived shortly afterward. Two years later, as senior year draws nearer and those same anxious feelings of over-commitment begin to simmer in my gut, Lizzy's words are providing renewed affirmation of how I ought to live, particularly when I am at school -- not in the suffocating confinement of achievement and people-pleasing, but in the freedom, confidence, and peace of the life Jesus already provides. It was such a good reminder for me that I wanted to share parts of it here. Perhaps it offers some encouragement for you, too. Thanks, Lizzy. Your words did, and still do, mean more than you know.

Jessica,

I'm so thankful for a friend to be writing to right now. I'm really in a state of praise for a moment to just be restful and not feeling the busy-ness that has had me so worked up lately. I don't want to flaunt that, though, I know you might easily be in a place of stress with a laundry list of things to get done. You're good at it though Jessica, you are good at using your time in the best way, so don't fear that. My heart for you is just wanting you to feel at peace no matter how crazy your surroundings are...

We have an omnipresent God who can be your refuge. PRAISE! There is a truth that the Lord has been teaching me for a while now: that he is in everything at all times, waiting for me to call on him. I guess it's so elementary, but really understanding that God's presence doesn't change from the times I wake up and have quiet time to the middle of the day when I'm trying to find a spare second to do homework, edit photos, and shove a bite of food in my mouth. Even in the latter, I shouldn't have to worry about how God can "fit" into my day, because he's there, doing the whole routine with me! and you!...

I just want you to know how much you are loved and that I look forward to doing life with you for a long time...Keep serving and loving and doing all the great things you're doing that are so pleasing to Him.

With love,
Lizzy

Are We All Animals?

Last night I had the great pleasure of attending a John Mark McMillan concert.

 I like John Mark; he's a musical and lyrical genius, but his style has changed a lot since the first concert I saw of his back in tenth grade. For me, the most entertaining part of the night was witnessing my friend Thomas. John Mark is one of his favorite artists, and he and his brother Jenks stood front and center, just below John Mark's towering stature. 

The one in the plaid with his mouth wide open.

He looked like a kid on Christmas day. Or a tween who just got Taylor Swift's autograph. Maybe it was a mixture of the two.

Thomas belted every word to every song. That is, when he wasn't dumbstruck. Or so in awe that he covered his face and looked up again just to make sure it was all real.

I could not stop laughing. But this is all just a funny side note to a very good night.

John Mark's tour is called "Are We All Animals?". Before singing Borderland, he posed the tour title question to us. If the end of the world was happening, do you think you would band together and support one another, or would you lie, cheat, kill - do whatever it takes - to ensure that you make it out alright? John Mark sees, and lives in, both camps. I think most of us do. We are innately selfish creatures. We can act like animals - unthinking, instinctive, just trying to survive. But we also have a great capacity for sacrifice, for community, for love. 

When it comes down to it, the question is: 

Are you going to survive, or are you going to love?

 This is a very real, very daily choice, and it's hard. So often I find myself in the selfish, survivalist camp. Cain regularly asks "If I wanna" give him a back massage, posing it as an ideal option, rather than a request. It's never a convenient time (No I don't want to! Nothing has changed in the last 24 hours since you last asked me!). It's hard to love other people, especially to love those you're not sure love you back. There is a great risk to it, too. As C.S. Lewis says, 

"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.”

Vulnerability increases the risk to be hurt. I don't like to have my heart wrung. I've never really had it broken; I've given it to those I trust, and I've been hurt a little bit. But I have been playing it safe. Sure, even if I don't give Cain a massage, I'm pretty good at loving my family and close friends. Most people are good at that. But who are all the people I am not loving? How do I turn my gaze away from myself, moving it upward and outward? How could I love more?

A verse in Borderland goes:

Are we all animals?
Are we all animals sharpening
Our teeth and claws?
Stocking up on cannonballs
Living like nobody knows
They can’t hold on to love
And live by the law, the law of the jungle

John Mark concluded that we're not going to survive, so we might as well love. Jesus gave us the choice to follow Him and to love as he does. Fortunately, with his resurrection, he also gave us grace when we fail. So we keep trying to love. When we do, we become so much more than animals. 

Persevere to the Dawn

IJM's Global Prayer Gathering began over a decade ago with a few dozen people meeting in a room together to pray for the work of justice. Today, it is a full weekend held at the swanky Gaylord Resort, with over 1,200 attendees and room to grow. As an intern, I had the true privilege to serve and participate in GPG this year. These are the reasons this past weekend was awesome.

5. Testimony

All 18 international Field Office Directors pause their work abroad to take part in GPG. There is nothing like hearing a story firsthand from the people actively engaging in the fight to protect poor people from violence.  Christa Sharpe, the FOD in Cambodia, is a force of positive energy and action, and her update was especially exciting. She shared that a decade ago, the Cambodia office faced rampant impunity – acts of violence went unpunished, so perpetrators disregarded the law Christa shared that police are actually protecting underage girls from sexual exploitation. Today, it is difficult to even find cases of underage sexual exploitation anymore, and rehabilitation centers there are some of the best in the world. The Cambodia office’s next long-term goal is to eventually pull out and allow the country to handle sex trafficking crimes independently.

Griselda, a former Guatemalan client who now works at IJM, even came to share her story personally. After such hardship, she still beams with joy and confidence, grateful for the work IJM has done on her behalf.

Both Griselda's renewed life and the fact that the Cambodia office may be nearing its end after only ten years are incredible – evidence of a mighty God moving forcefully through the world.

4. Hard work

I recently learned that IJM doesn’t do GPG at a more convenient time when more people could come (like the summer) because they so heavily depend on interns to pull this huge event off. That’s alright with me, though; I thrive in long, laborious days in which I am freely serving and contributing to something far greater than myself. It's great bonding time, and there are even pockets of fun to be found, like riding on hotel dollies at the age of 21. After a week of GPG prep, the interns packed up, played real-life tetris loading everything into one U-Haul, unloaded countless boxes, set up prayer rooms...and then did all of those tasks again in reverse order. Fortunately, the exhaustion didn’t hit until GPG was over, so I had Sunday to recuperate.

Go to all measures - including the floor - for GPG

Show us how you really feel (She's actually a good sport...I just think this picture is funny)

GPG planning extraordinaire

Preparing journals!

Luggage dollies: Useful for moving: a) luggage b) GPG boxes c) people d) all of the above

Planning a big event takes a lot of organization

3) Community

If you step out of your group, you’re bound to meet some cool people at GPG, and all of them shared stories of great things God is doing in their lives. As I set up the Rwanda prayer room, I met the FOD and was later able to give him a small prophetic word of encouragement. My neighbor during the Thursday evening dinner happened to be the former mayor of Tennessee, who wants to use his retirement years to confront sex trafficking in America.  There is a couple from Texas who were integral in a race benefitting IJM, which, ironically, I had been using to create a toolkit at work. The list goes on. In each interaction, I got the sense that they were, if not ordained, at least affirming the way the Holy spirit moves in other people’s lives.

Post-dinner: Room for a dang lot of people

2) Worship

I love worship because I'm able to glorify God with lyrics far more artistic and full of truth that anything I could come up with in prayer. It’s a good time for processing and personal reflection, too (more to come on revelations and my future plans soon!). Plus, Sara Groves has an angelic voice, and she was kind enough to take a picture with the interns. As another intern said, I’m “practically famous” since I’m standing right next to her. J

Yes, that is Sara Groves. Yes that is me on the left.

 1) Justice re-calibration

When I'm in the thick of IJM for eight hours a day, it’s easy to miss the bigger picture and lose sight of why I do the work that I do. Or why I care about justice and advocate for it at all. In Gary’s opening talk, he said that we must use God’s light to Shrink the Shadows, Dispel the Darkness, Melt he Mountains and Call Forth Healing. I’m not going to go into the metaphorical details of each of those steps, but GPG is a reminder that God invites us into a monumental challenge that we cannot accomplish by ourselves. Not only does He want us to be a part of it, but He wants us to ask Him for help. We have prayer as a real tool that bears results far greater than what we ask or imagine.

My prayer in the Rwanda room

Even after the work of justice is well underway, Gary discussed a final step: we must Persevere to the Dawn. This applies literally to casework in the field, to keep moving forward in tough cases and convict criminals, but ultimately to press on until all things are made new. Persevering to the dawn is for all of God’s people, too, though. We are to persevere in remaining close to the Father through His word, and persevere in talking to Him about His work. We will rejoice in hope, be patient in suffering, and persevere in prayer. I'm already looking forward to GPG next year!

Unguarded Earnestness

When Jesus says to “let the little children come to me,” He seems to be calling His followers to certain attractive “child-like” qualities – humility, wonder, joy and unguarded earnestness.

In anticipation of the Global Prayer Gathering, IJM staff have corporately been considering the idea of entering next weekend in a posture of Unguarded Earnestness. What does that mean? What does it look like? I think of “earnestness” as utmost sincerity, approaching something with the fullest intention of doing it well or treating someone with lavish kindness. Perhaps you’ll still mess up, but your intentions and efforts reflect a desire to give your all.

For me, “unguarded” is the scarier part. That translates to straight-up vulnerability – being totally open, able to be at best molded into a truer reflection of Christ and at worst trampled upon, left seriously hurt and wounded.

It’s that vulnerable sincerity, though, that turns prayers into true faithfulness. When we approach the Father, our prayers should not only be honest and genuine, but our petitions should be, as we say at IJM, crazy pants prayers – “big, hairy, audacious” ones that only a loving Father far more powerful than ourselves could answer. There is no way we could make that prayer happen without God, so we come to Him fully dependent, with unguarded earnestness, faithfully believing that He not only hears our prayers but answers them also.

I’ve been thinking about the way unguarded earnestness could transform more than our prayers. What about everyday life? Our actions toward others, our work, our after school activities or the strength of our relationships would all be transformed! It looks like having an “all-in” attitude, combining the belief that what you do matters and not allowing anything to hold you back from giving it your full efforts. Giving friends your full attention because they matter more than the task at hand demonstrates your value for them. Not half-assing a project because you believe that your contribution makes a difference. Believing you can break 20 minutes in your next 5K or that you can make a goal at the next game brings more diligence and purpose to your practice. Even in a relationship conflict or marital problem – wholeheartedly devoting yourself to righting wrongs because you believe that the other person is worth it. All of this from a posture of unguarded earnestness.

At the same time, we don’t want to be “childish” – foolish, immature, irresponsible, unstable, silly or naive. If I run a 25 minute 5K, just hoping that it will be 20 minutes next week would be irrational. There are nearly 30 million slaves today. Praying that injustice will be eradicated tomorrow would show a lack of analysis and reason. Just imagine Stephen Colbert and Tina Fey making fun of the Global Prayer Gathering. Right. 1200+ people are going to get together and pray, and as you stand there and worship the sky, people will be brought out of bondage. Ha!

It’s easy to be cold-hearted and have fears of judgment of being naive about very serious, big issues. But the posture changes the approach. If we approach prayer or our everyday life issues with the child-like quality of unguarded earnestness, we come knowing that prayer does work and our interactions with others will shift. We come desperately needing Jesus’ grace and abundant life. We come eager and expectant for His power, attentive to Him and fully devoted; strengthened, refreshed, fully present and utterly grateful for every good gift the Holy Spirit gives. We’re not worshiping the sky. We’re worshiping a God with an unchanging character – One who for all eternity has heard the cries of His children and longs to bring life and freedom. 

Right By Me

Tonight, I have a story to tell you. On the surface, it is about where I am headed in mere days and what I will be up to, but more importantly, it is a testimony of depending on God and watching Him come through. I won’t hold my plans for the end; I’m too excited to craft that suspense. As some of you already know, rather than returning to Roanoke this Spring like most students who have already studied abroad a semester, I will be headed to Washington D.C. to participate in the Lutheran College Washington Semester, in which Roanoke is one of several affiliated schools that is a part of the program. LCWS sets up everything for us – housing and roommates, night classes, weekly field trips…they even help many students find an internship. This semester, I am living in a pent-house apartment in Rosslyn, taking both a Public Relations and Global Agenda class, and, most exciting of all, working as a full-time marketing and event planning intern at the Headquarters of InternationalJustice Mission!

This is how it happened.

In the fall of 2012, my friend Evelyn and I sat in the back of RC Admissions making money doing homework and not giving tours. She said she was going to do a study away semester in D.C. that spring, and she encouraged me to join her. The application deadline was only a few weeks away, and I already had a lot of campus commitments that year, so I opted not to join her. She got me thinking, though. Aside from finances and too many classes, the primary reason most students don’t study abroad is because they love their school so much; I understand that. If I went to Clemson, king of football tailgates, school spirit, and community, leaving for a semester would have been a lot harder, even if it was for an unforgettable world experience. But Roanoke and I don’t share that same bond. Our relationship is improving, but I could count on one hand the things I would really miss (my best friend Kayla, small group, Restoration Church, hiking, the English department). Two close friends chose to end their misery and transfer, making the possibility of a year away all the more tempting. I didn’t, and still don’t, loathe Roanoke enough to permanently leave, but why shouldn’t I go? I would be taking advantage of the opportunities Roanoke offers and encourages. By Christmas break, I was in planning mode.

Slavery, one of the world’s worst and most ancient injustices, is more rampant than ever before. Several years ago when I became aware of the estimated 30 million people enslaved today, I began considering a future career to help combat human rights oppression. I still have no idea what form that could take, or even if it is where I am still headed. I do know that, with God’s help, the staff at International Justice Mission already successfully seeks justice, freedom, and protection for thousands of powerless people. IJM is a non-profit human rights organization that protects the poor from violent forces of injustice. Comprised of Christian attorneys, social workers, criminal investigators and support staff, IJM partners with local law enforcement to rescue the poor. Case by case, over 10,500 victims – families toiling in brick factories, young girls imprisoned in brothels, widows whose land has been stolen – have found freedom in the past five years.

To learn more, you can check out Suhana's beautiful story of redemption.

Once liberated, many of them receive counseling and guidance in aftercare homes, a crucial aid as they begin a new, restored chapter of their lives. IJM goes on to prosecute the perpetrators and ensure that the local public justice system is working properly, bolting oppressors behind bars and enabling communities to prevent future abuses. With each rescue, IJM is proving that justice for the poor is possible. I have wanted to be a more active supporter of their work for many years, so when I decided to go to D.C., I also began researching the possibility of an internship at IJM.

I made it, I will be joining 19 other interns in a week, but through the whole process, God kept me on a string, teaching me at each progression that this would work only through His will, His power, and my submission to Him.

How? How do I know this was God and not some retrospective bias or my hard work or just coincidence? The past certainly does clarify the way the Holy Spirit has already been moving, but I know primarily because I barely made it. Too many things went wrong; I should not have been able to even apply. Something would still go right, though, and in a small, uneventful way, the Lord would pull through yet again.

Summer gives you the feeling that you have plenty of time before you. Even I, Miss List-maker herself, inevitably put off to-dos for another day. My three tasks for August: work, IJM application, pack. I think I can handle that. I kind of kept thinking the application was due toward the end of August. Turns out the initial, very lengthy application, as well as all references and paperwork were due August 14, and I realized it a mere week ahead of time. Fortunately, a week is just enough.

On August 7, I journaled:

I guess this application process is teaching me that it’s all in Your hands. It’s not by any act or will of mine. Thank you for saving the opportunity and still allowing just enough time to have everything submitted.

And that kind of thing just kept happening. I was so interested in this opportunity that I saved the application to my computer last winter. I later filled it out, worried that the references that had to be mailed wouldn’t make it in time. I did not realize for several days that the file had since been updated. The references and transcript could now be e-mailed. Whew.

My first interview went pretty well. I didn’t really know which intern position I wanted. I’m a competent, joyful worker, but I still lack a specific skill set, and I had been praying (and worrying) a lot about what kind of career I might have someday. I remember the interviewer saying, Well it sounds like you have a good bit of experience with event planning. Would you be interested in that? Um, heck yes. That sounds perfect for me. Why had I never considered that before? So with the first interview, God laid aside, at least temporarily, some of the typical young adult worries I had carried of late.

I get placed for a second interview as a marketing intern. While the description to “assist with projects that help further the movement of IJM, raise public awareness of IJM's mission, ongoing work and fundraising efforts” sounded good, the details of working with a lot of Google statistics and analysis did not. This isn’t event planning! I thought. Do I even want to do this? Should I look for a different internship? I prayed and considered it for a while. I still felt like this was the place; the possibility of working in that kind of environment for a cause I cared about was too good to pass up. Besides, I could learn some new skills.

I was well into my time in Italy when the second interview was finally scheduled.We decided to talk over FaceTime Audio, and I was to call at an appointed time. I was a little nervous, but prepared. I had tested out the audio with my roommate to make sure I knew how to use it. All seemed well. I called the number. It didn’t work. My heart started beating significantly faster. I am not trying to create an impression of irresponsibility here! Ahh! This is not happening right now. I e-mailed immediately. Fifteen painstakingly slow minutes later, the interviewer called me back on a landline the old-fashioned way. She sounded wonderful. I was frank and told her I don’t know much about Google stats, but I’m willing to learn. She tells me there have been some departmental shifts, and that is no longer part of the marketing intern description. It really would mainly be event planning. Hallelujah, praise the Lord! Quite literally. She goes on explaining everything and it honestly already sounds like I have the job. I get a little confident inside. At the end of the interview, she says she still has a few more people to talk to, but that the department should make a final decision shortly.

Dear goodness. This process has been so long. When we get off the phone, I am still seriously depending on the Lord. I ask for prayers from the gals in my Bible Study in Italy. Please Lord. I want this. If this is right, help me.

I’m supposed to get an e-mail by October 15. It comes and goes. I keep praying.Two days later, I check my school e-mail just to make sure. Low and behold, there is an e-mail from several days before with my status. They invited me to join the team! I need to accept or decline in the next two days. Once again, it worked out. It almost did not, but it still did. I accepted with enthusiasm and apologies for my slow response.

I was, and still am, stoked. On January 1, my family and I are hopping on a nine hour train ride to Washington, D.C. to help me move in, and orientation at IJM will begin next Monday. Even though I won’t be working with Google statistics, I still don’t have the details about what I am jumping into. This I am certain of: I will be with good, professional, hardworking Christians who believe that human rights for the poor are worth defending. I will be working far harder this semester than last, but I am eager to regain more purpose on a day-to-day basis. Once again, I will be in another new environment, but just like the whole process of heading to D.C., I know I will have a good God by my side and in my soul.

And I know that if you made it to the end of this, you have either contracted WVBS (Winter Vacation Boredom Syndrome) or you must actually care about me. If it’s the latter, I would appreciate your prayers as I enter one more new environment. Please pray for the work of IJM - for victims to be rescued and oppressors justly prosecuted. Pray for the international field offices and those working in D.C. Personally, please pray that the work I do will be effective and helpful. Pray that I rely on the Lord, seeking His guidance, renewal and provision. He really is a good God, and He has shown me that He is there, in my struggles at Roanoke, in my adventures abroad, in the barely-made-it interview process. He is right by not only me, but all of His children. He is right by you, too.

Beggars Can't Be Choosers

I've made a decision today.

I don't really do well with beggars and homeless people. You can't give to all of them, so many people choose not to give to any. Plus, what are they really going to do with that money? Are they going to get food and support their family, or are they going to buy more alcohol.
On my way back from Spoleto today (yes, like the Spoleto Festival in Charleston - we have a sister city!), a greasy-haired gypsy woman came through the train with a picture of her (/a) family and was asking for change.

First time: I saw her out of the corner of my eye and did not turn my head, playing an extra intense game of candy crush. She stood there in a whiny complaining voice for an unnecessarily long amount of time.
Just go away! You are so annoyingly persistent. I don't know if I should give you anything or not. You're not supposed to even be on this train. Jesus says I should love you. What does that even mean? Am I rejecting Jesus right now?

She finally walked away. I've always told myself that I would give homeless people food if they needed it. Oh crap. I realized the lobbyist at Hotel Charleston I had dropped by to meet had given me an extra slice of pizza. I still had it. I had food I could've given that lady, and I was so uncomfortable with her hovering, unwanted presence that I didn't even think about it. Lord, please bring her back by again.

Second time: Five minutes later, a simple prayer is answered. I gave her the pizza, she took it, and then proceeded to pester for money. I shook my head. She rambles about feeding her children. I point to the pizza and the girl in the photo. Another long, hovering presence. She finally leaves.

I still can't get her out of my thoughts. Is it right not to give her any money? I don't know. I felt an innate sense to say no. I realize I also happen to have a pack of crackers on me. I should give those, too.

Third time: She swoops in again. The woman has unashamed persistence, I give her that. I offer her my crackers. She shoos them away; she doesn't want them, only money. That kind of ticked me off. The phrase "Beggars can't be choosers" immediately came to mind. Sure, it is only a pack of crackers, but I'm trying to give them to you, and you won't accept them. So how badly do you really need money after all?

The whole scenario reminded me so much of Peter.
"Peter, do you love me?"
"Lord, you know I love you."
"Feed my sheep."

Three times that happened. And later, Peter denies Christ three times also.

It was like God gave me three chances to love that woman. I denied her once, fed her and then was rejected. I'm not certain if my actions were just or if I should be more generous in general. But, like I said, I've come to a decision. Beggars are not going away. I'll be living in D.C. next semester and I'll face a lot more of them there. They are people, and I will not totally deny their dignity. I won't give them money, but I will intentionally carry granola bars with me. I will put it in their hands. Accept or reject. I'll let you be the chooser.

Surprises in Noisy Silence

Paddle boarding through a mangrove swamp. Check.

Yoga with running water trickling in the background. Check.

Thirteen ziplines over a luscious, impenetrable rain forest. Check.

Horseback riding on muddy jungle trails and white sand beaches. Check.

But 60 kilometers of ATVing in the high mountains? Yes, during our Costa Rica vacation several weeks ago, we did that too. It was there, doing something new and unplanned, that I encountered God again.

Our tutorial - none of us knew what to do!

This whole four wheeling gig is highly out of character for the Comptons, because my parents have long considered the vehicles a source of unnecessary danger. But, the folks who provided the horseback riding also offer ATV tours, and after a week and half of exploration, we had pretty much ventured on every excursion we had hoped to do. There were still three days to kill before our departure, though, so Hoffa signed us up for the following day. I was hesitant. It seemed like a waste of money and time. I just saw four wheelers as loud, dangerous gas guzzlers. What’s the point of riding on one all day? I thought hanging out at the house or beach reading The Two Towers would probably be a better use of my diminishing days of vacation.

I don't know about this...

But, as I often am, I was wrong. ATVing provided many surprises. Now that we’ve been back a few weeks, we have already begun reminiscing on this summer’s family vacation, and almost all of us – I included – agree that the quad tour was especially memorable.

How the Comptons feel about four wheelers now

If you recall from previous posts, we initially struggled to navigate the twisting, unpaved roads surrounding Nosara. Because we didn’t rent a car, we had been walking everywhere for the past week, and even the Compton girls were gaining some sense of direction. My first surprise began as, bend after bend, we quickly departed from the unpaved Costa Rican roads we had come to know. Blindly following our jovial German guide, we entered remote villages, and I began to see glimpses of a more authentic Costa Rica – the tourists’ Pura Vida mask, the false presentation of luxurious paradise, was stripped to its origin. Everyone still smiles, the mangos are still sweet, and the jungle still pristine. But here, despite our swift pace, I noticed the difference. Impoverished farmers struggle to provide for their large families. Sons escape reality on the soccer field. Mothers seek solace in the church. Skinny pets scavenge to survive. Life is hard.

Without an ATV, I would’ve missed this. True, these two weeks were a vacation, but I’m grateful that I have not returned as another tourist oblivious to the economics which prevail most of the country. I had seen this kind of life – and far worse circumstances – in Cambodia, but the more poverty you witness in different places across the globe, the more you realize your own blessings.

While our indirect encounter with poverty was good, it was my second unanticipated surprise that makes this excursion so memorable and precious. High in the Costa Rican mountains, I had an authentic meeting with the Lord. Ever since traveling to Cambodia, I have struggled in my faith as I never have before. (For more on that, check the archived blog titled Jesus? Oh, Jesus). I walked with a childlike faith well into college. Even when I faced challenges at Roanoke, I held on to the relationship and experiences he and I shared together from my youth. I knew his names, and I continued to call on him, even when I didn’t necessarily feel his presence. Jesus - the Beautiful Savior. The Holy One, Beginning and End, untamed lion and sacrificial lamb. He is a heart healer, miracle worker, and grace giver.

Though he calls us to have a childlike faith, God has brought me back to the basics this summer and taught me that that is just what our faith should be – childlike. Not the belief in God that children hold when they are six and have grown up in the church. Most kids believe because they are taught, and they accept the authority of their teachers. They flourish off of the spiritual milk they are given, and while they are still children, it suffices.

Adults, however, must grow up and face the world’s challenges. We’ve got adult minds; we’re skeptical realists. We face the hardships of life and sometimes we say, “Where are you God?” What’s worse, a lot of times there is silence. Sometimes even more hardships are piled on top of the perceived silence. So we conclude that our Sunday school teachers were wrong. God must not be here after all. When we face those obstacles, we can’t function off of milk. We need wholesome spiritual food, consisting of worship, prayer, fellowship, scriptural meditation, and repentance. Only then can we defend the Gospel, as we’re called to do*. As we depend wholly on a gracious father, we return to our childlike faith. Our God’s promises do not fail; he gives good gifts and desires to speak and work through his children. We are his beloved.

Intermittently this past year, I have swung on a self-serving, schedule-filled pendulum which has made it hard to wholly accept those truths. Perhaps in my head. Yes, I chose to believe. I deliberately chose, despite not really “feeling” God’s presence, to hold on to things which had proven to be true in the past. Unexpectedly, Dark Nights of the Soul still came charging, and when they did I felt lost, alone, and confused. I now knew and understood the doubts others had described to me before. Though I appreciated the perspective, I felt like I was supposed to be the solid Christian who is attuned to the Spirit and showing people the Lord’s love. My own doubt both frightened and frustrated me.

Just as those dark moments crawled into my heart, unforeseen and uncalled, it was atop a strange ATV in the bumpy mountains of Costa Rica that I suddenly began to experience God’s good love as I once had.

Most people like four wheelers for their utility – being able to drive cross country where no other vehicle can go. My favorite part is the noisy silence it offers, inviting conscious contemplation. It was amidst this white noise of revving engines that I began to worship the Lord. A quad is too loud for conversation, so even though I was technically with my family as I had been for the past two weeks, I did a lot of solitary looking, thinking, and listening. As we climbed into the mountains, the landscape transformed into grand canopied mountains. The forest boasted countless plant species and shades of green.

Our conversation was simple. Finally being able to hear his voice again, and know that it was him was delight enough.

God, look at this! Unreal! I love your Creation. I love that I can be in it and enjoy it. Thank you for this treat.

I love you, Jessica. This is a gift from Me, and I am here with you. I will not leave you.

Each curving bend brought a new view, which kindled another prayer of thanksgiving. Prayers on prayers became worship, an intermingling of song and conversation. I noticed how many of the songs I sang in my head were about repentance and return.

So I come, straight into your arms

I’m coming back to the heart of worship

Lord, I come to you

We will run to you, turning from our sin we return to you

Even now, here’s my heart God

Yes I shall arise and return to my Father

Ever since the Fall in the garden, humans have naturally sought their own desires. One way or another we have become lost and destitute, and we yearn for redemption. So we have Jesus now, one who never did turn away. He is a shepherd who cares for his flock, and he seeks our hearts. After we have done it our own way and it doesn’t work, we turn back.

On that ATV, my heart, over my mind or will or desire, began turning back to God’s own. I felt his radiant presence, his delight when I called him my only, my worthy One, and the Holy Spirit filled me with a divine joy. You might be thinking, Jessica, you’re a pretty joyful person all the time. This was not the same. It was unearthly, contagious joy resulting directly from returning fully into the Lord’s realm. It came from a denial of the self, of giving him complete praise and telling him that I am his, and everything I do is for his glory. When that offer is earnest, he loves it. 

So I want you to know this: if you’ve been having faith struggles of your own, I get you. I am not some holier-than-thou church-going gal that you can’t relate to. Doubt sucks. I am following God’s command in Joel 2:12 – “Even now,” declares the LORD, “return to me with all your heart, with fasting and weeping and mourning.” I am choosing to return to God’s love, and I am trusting that it is real and enough.

When I straddled the ATV that morning, all I felt was reserved anxiety. I never expected to encounter poverty or the geography of the mountains, much less the most holy encounter with the Lord that I’ve had in a long time. That’s our God for you, though. Many times he is most present in the unexpected. He is always there when we return to him, and he truly delights when we worship him. Hallelujah, praise to a good God.

* But in your hearts honor Christ the Lord as holy, always being prepared to make a defense to anyone who asks you for a reason for the hope that is in you; yet do it with gentleness andⁱrespect  -1 Peter 3:15

Playing in Nosara

A few updates:

Monkeys

If you have no experience in Central America, it turns out our mystery animal from the previous blog is indeed only a howler monkey, and they sound much more intimidating than they actually are. Had we kept going a bit longer on the trail, the worst thing that would have happened is a possible groping of a testosterone-filled monkey or some poop droppings from the trees above. That’s their weapon, and honestly, I think it’s a more effective tactic than straight on physical attack.

Jesus

Bible study with my sisters (and now mother!) has been going really well. As in, it’s actually happening, regularly. We’re praying for each other and talking about faith issues together. I’m struggling to go beyond that, though. I know I need to start acting on my faith, but I am consistently held back. After yoga class, we walked along with Eleanor, our yoga instructor, and she said she moved from Canada to Costa Rica for emotional healing, mainly from the pains of relationships and previous men in her life. As it was happening, I felt the tug – she needs Jesus. She’s like the Samaritan woman at the well. Talk about Jesus. Pray for her. I could envision my friend doing it. “You need healing?” he would eagerly ask. “Here, let me give it to you.” And then he would pray for her and talk as long as necessary about this good new life, and there would be a big celebration in heaven. I saw the opportunity coming, and already I knew I would not act on it. Why? Am I really that afraid? I don’t think so. It’s more a matter of boldness and confidence. I want someone to lead me. I want to heal alongside others more confident and experienced than myself. I know it happens, I’m tired of not being a part of it, and yet I do not act.

Mojitos 

The new favorite summer drink for the Comptons is a homemade mojito. The first day we were here, we stopped for lunch at a beach front restaurant, where Mama ordered one. That minty hankering hadn’t quite left her when we took a very expensive trip to the grocery store. At the checkout line, she raised her pointer finger and exclaimed, “Oh! Mojitos!” With the very little Spanish she knows, she talked to the locals to figure out what ingredients we might need, and proceeded to race around the store for mint, lime, club soda, and rum. We get home. We have the ingredients, but do the Comptons strike you as expert drink makers who spend a lot of time at home mixing up concoctions? No, all Hoffa wants is a cold beer and a colder glass. His Spanish consists of “Hola!,” but I think mojito might be a Spanish word. Using a lot of hand gestures and repeating “mojito” incessantly, he invited our jovial taxi driver Louis to come inside to make and drink mojitos with us. Louis speaks little more English than Hoffa does Spanish. He came, though, and half an hour later, we’ve got three Hispanic workers – a taxi driver, a plumber, and a delivery man – and five of the six Comptons sipping on mojitos.

Paddle Boarding 

We’re here for a while, so the padres are trying to spread out our activities, but we have one down. Despite our ability to do it anytime on Shem Creek in good ol’ Mt. Pleasant, Mama was really interested in paddle boarding here. When we started talking to the locals about this idea, they all responded in the same persistent way: “Oh, no, we don’t go to river. Many crocodiles. Eat our dogs. Eat us.” Well that scared Mama off for all of twelve hours. “Let’s just go to the Experience Nosara place and talk to them ourselves. Surely they wouldn’t get all of these high reviews on TripAdvisor if tourists were dying on the river.” Well that’s encouraging, Ma. What do you expect them to say? Like any good tour business eager for customers during the low season, they assured us that it was completely safe. The next morning, Eight-pack Alan (as I secretly called him) came to pick us up. He is the most ripped thirty two year old I have ever seen. He also has a cougar. When Hoffa told me that, I asked dubiously, “What? You have a cougar for a pet?!” No, Jessica, his wife. She’s eight years older than him. Dang. You go for it Alan. At any rate, our day on the river really was enjoyable, and though we did see a few crocodiles, they did not bother us. Mama was satisfied, and the rest of us enjoyed the excursion.

Walking

My favorite exercise is the kind that isn’t intentional exercise. Yesterday, after the intentional run in the morning, I also ended up playing in the ocean for two hours, walking five miles, and doing an hour of yoga. We weren’t walking just to walk, but to actually get somewhere; I love that. I take back what I said about winning a walking contest. It turns out Mama and Rosa Marie can put the spring in their step when they want to. I was the one falling behind on the way to and from the free community yoga class at Harmony Hotel on Playa de Guionnes. It gets dark around 6 pm here, and they walked even faster on our return, a little alarmed by the dark. Are you surprised that we still got confused about how to get back?

Stay tuned. I am working on a pretty funny post. It involves boobs and hugs, so get ready.

Jesus? Oh, Jesus

I thought about the former days,
    the years of long ago;
I remembered my songs in the night.
    My heart meditated and my spirit asked:

“Will the Lord reject forever?
    Will he never show his favor again?

Psalm 77:5-7

During our stay in Sihanoukville, Courtney and I went out to dinner, where an older Englishman sat at the table next to us enjoying a beer by himself. Had he been some wildly attractive young man, the guy most twenty year olds would try to talk to, he probably would’ve intimidated me, and I would have left him alone. Alan, however, was in his sixties, so, being me, I engaged him in conversation, and we ended up spending dinner together.

“Traveling will change you,” he said.

I wrote about a lot of my experiences in Cambodia, but I must confess that I haven’t been entirely forthright, either. I was already writing more than normal, and I’ve needed time to process since then. I spent 21 remember-forever days in a country in which 95% of the population is Buddhist. I spent 21 incredible days on a trip with eleven other Americans that I normally don’t spend time with at school. I spent 21 days without corporate worship, without regular prayer, without any spiritual guidance. My quiet time dissolved to writing time and adventuring. I felt like I was the only Christian left in the world, that there soon may be none. On the night of May 21, while everyone else went to eat dinner, I sat on my hotel bed for an hour in Siem Reap verging on a quiet, existential panic. It’s dangerous for me to sit and brood by myself without any outlet. I began wondering what topic I would write about next for the stem due the following morning. It quickly spiraled to much deeper thoughts, questioning Jesus, His power and grace, and the authenticity of my relationship with Him. It ended with this journal excerpt:

“Have I just eaten religious food they’ve been spoon-feeding me my whole life?”

Before the trip, people had said they were so excited to hear about what God did in Cambodia. Lying on that bed, I thought to myself, What about what He’s not doing? Where are you, Lord? Where is the power of the Holy Spirit? Where is my courage? Where is my belief?

Where was He? Well here’s the thing –

When I was in Cambodia, I might as well not have been a Christian. I was only some twenty year old gal lugging around a Christian identity and some good values. Everyone on the trip knows I am a Christian. One day when we were all packed up waiting in the lobby, I was holding my journal with gold-lined pages and Lauren asked if it was my Bible. While that was stowed in my backpack, I almost took pride in retorting, “Nope,” I’m not just a Southern Christian hanging onto some foolish beliefs in which I find comfort. But…maybe I was. I yearned to pray with someone, to have someone reaffirm my beliefs. I felt like every day they were stamped out a little bit more, being replaced with some kind of worldly humanism. I talked about it some, but in a more academic, this-is-just-what-I-think kind of way. I didn’t get wasted every night, I didn’t cuss every tenth word, I asked one girl about her religious upbringing and said if she ever had any questions about Christianity, I’d be happy to talk to her. After her mom died, I offered to pray with Liesl, who also goes to IV and lived on my hall this past year. Later she said she’d like that. It never happened. Why did it never happen?

I felt stuck in a state of lukewarm falsehood. I did not know how to truly demonstrate or defend my faith. I didn’t want to offend anyone or be the annoying Christian always bringing the conversation back to Jesus, but I also didn’t want to be living like the Bohemians I met or a lot of other people on the trip – sex with acquaintances, black out drunk parties, gossip, and self-centeredness. Their beliefs ranged from a Baptist PK who “just likes to keep it between me and the Big Man,” to no religious upbringing, to secular humanist, to church attendee with the family on breaks. I didn’t want to let go of my beliefs or lifestyle, but I was spending time only with these folks for 21 days, and I wanted to befriend and relate to them.

I was surrounded by Buddhist temples and monks, I didn’t think they were right, but I also found it beautiful. I loved the culture, I loved witnessing the gracious giving of alms every morning and seeing a society which has found structure and support in religion when the government (massively) fails. But what about the Great Commission? If I really believe this, if Jesus is my savior and the cornerstone of my life, shouldn’t I “go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything Jesus has commanded me?”  I felt like I should, yet I had no desire to do so. It seemed so wrong to try to change this religion. Yet you have Life to offer, Jessica!

Whatever I was in Cambodia, I didn’t have the freedom of fully embracing sin (which can, for a time I think, be a fun lifestyle), but I also was not being filled by the Father, operating out of His love and infinite might. So I was just empty and longing, raw and numb, gnawing for spiritual food that I know is real, but I couldn’t quite access. It was awful, and it scared me. Was Alan right? Had traveling really changed me? Had it stamped out my faith? Traveling is something I am passionate about, and I really am considering teaching English abroad for a few years after college. How would my faith in the future?

I was also worried about coming back home. What if I really have changed? What if I just like my Christian friends and my Christian life and don’t actually love Jesus? What if all of this gets pushed under the rug? Oh Gosh. I’m telling you, I was freaked out. I’m glad I had the internet and a small connection to home. Toward the end of the trip, one of my best friends, Lizzy, posted a blog about her weekend jaunt to Charlotte. She was filled with so much joy, talking about the amazing things the Holy Spirit had revealed that weekend and how they had prayed for her aunt’s back and the Lord healed it. That’s all it took for me to remember this good Lord I serve. It didn’t wipe out all of the questions and doubts, those Dark Nights of the Soul John Donne writes of, but it reminded me that when you call on Him (which, really, I had not been doing), He answers. He comes through.

I’ve been back from Cambodia for about two and a half weeks now. As I talk to friends, I’m reminded that it’s probably a good thing to be challenged. I should probably be highly skeptical of those whose faith is always fine and dandy. I’ve been as candid as I can be with those I’m close to, and many of them “get it” more than I anticipated. When I relayed my Cambodia faith experience to my friend Drew, whose wisdom and discernment I admire a great deal, he emphasized Lizzy’s story and the remembering. Just like Psalm 77, I can question, but I can remember the good things God has done in my life and community. The answered prayers, the prophetic words, the healings, the grace, the joy.  He has answered many times.

I’ve also realized my family and I can be growing together. We’ve been caught up in our own world of graduation festivities, camps, work, and overloaded schedules. Ever since last summer, I’ve wanted to come home and disciple my sisters. Rosa Marie and I have had a few quiet times together, but it is way harder to do than I anticipated. This Tuesday the Compton Clan is headed to Costa Rica for two weeks, though. Mama deserves a much needed break, and I look forward to being able to focus on the Lord with my family. It’s time for the Secret Place, where we can grow and really begin listening to Jesus’ still small voice. I still wonder how this is all going to work out in the end. The doubts are not over, but the faith is not crushed. I’m learning, and I am confident in this one true God.