Robot

Two weeks from today I'll really be done with this semester. It's kind of hard to believe, now that this semester has been such an odd one. Beginning in January, I had plenty of new and different responsibilities so I knew I would take a couple of weeks to adjust and settle in to those. However, it didn't help that I had missed the training for most of them. So I had to hit the ground running... so run I did.
A month later, just as I was beginning to feel like I was falling into a routine, I headed out to California for the weekend. You can read more about that trip and how it discombobbled me a bit here. I returned to Champaign only to head out to Colombia three weeks later. After a week in Colombia, I was back in Champaign for a couple of days before heading out to Canada. Ten days later, I was back in Champaign ready to finally "get into a routine." Nevermind that the semester was more than half way over.

And so I went through most of the semester feeling as though it had never truly started. I kept feeling like the reason I felt out-of-touch was because it was new and different... which after nine weeks of classes, it most definitely wasn't.

And finally, last week Lucas showed up in Champaign for a wonderful week. It was a fabulous surprise and it was exciting to see him once again. I was thrilled to have him enter this world while I was still part of it. I was eager to introduce him to everyone and to show him my everyday life here. We headed up to the Chicago-area for the weekend so he could meet my grandparents and some extended family as well. It was a wonderful, wonderful, wonderful week =]

And now, classes are almost done, due dates are approaching and exams are just around the corner. I've realized that with so many tasks to do, projects to complete, papers to write and logistics to figure out, my body and mind are turning into robots. It's like someone flipped a switch and I suddenly am simply trying to get through the next two weeks. I'm constantly visualizing my to-do list and hoping that each time my mind pulls it up, it somehow has gotten shorter.

It's true. I've become kind of robotic. I wake up. Shower. Eat breakfast. Devos. Class. Lunch. Class. Work. Class. Dinner. Study. Sleep. And though I know I'm alive, I don't truly feel like I'm living. I hate that feeling... quite a bit.

I want to laugh and find joy and rejoice and let gratitude be my dialect in the midst of my busyness. I want to thrive and flourish in every season-- not just the fun ones.

I want to cry out and thank God every single day. 

I don't want to be a robot.

Just One Second

Give me your eyes for just one second

Give me your eyes so I can see

Everything that I keep missing

Give me your love for humanity

Perhaps you've heard this song by Brandon Heath on the radio before; it was quite popular a couple of years  ago. I must admit that I only kind of liked it when I first heard it. I found it quite clichéd and too easy of an out... okay, just sing about caring. Maybe it had to do with the contexts in which I always heard the song: riding in a friend's car, enjoying summer and fun and comfort... and privilege.

And why in the world just one second?

But sitting in class yesterday and then later talking with friends made me realize why he was just begging for one second.

I pray that I can view the world with spiritual eyes. I truly do. I pray that when I see the hurting and broken and those who are seemingly-fine, I pray that I would see the unseen. But sometimes, I just don't. I walk by them on my way to class. I simply watch documentaries. I may get online and donate some money here and there. But quite often, I just don't see with his eyes.

And as I sat in my two-hour lecture, where our professor told us about the "silent genocide" in Darfur I began to feel overwhelmed. He made references to the Balkan islands, off-handedly mentioned the civil war in Chad, talked some about Cambodia and Zimbabwe and I felt my head swimming. I try to stay on top of humanitarian crises, but there are too many. There are too many things messed up in the world for my heart to feel deeply for all of them. I actually can't stay updated on all of them, I can't research every past crisis and I certainly can't become intimately involved in trying to alleviate the suffering in each one. I can't do it.

And what if I really did have Jesus' eyes? What if he gave me eyes to see everything that I was missing?

I surely wouldn't be able to handle more than a second of it.

How would I handle seeing souls instead of faces? How would I manage to see hearts instead of scars? How could I see blindness in the middle of plenty? How could I see starved hearts? How could I see trapped souls? How could I see the fierce grip sin has on this world?

Would I see borders and governments and politics? Would I even care about the things that I care about now? Would I worry about class schedules and summer plans and jobs and buying that new computer? Would I complain about feeling sleepy after a filling meal? Would I cling to my money realizing that two losses were involved? The loss of those who are hurting because of my lack in giving and my personal loss at not experiencing abundant grace that comes through becoming unattached to the material things we see so clearly?

Surely, one second would be enough.

Only an infinite being with infinite capacities to love and and feel compassion could have those eyes for more than a second.

And yet, only one second would be so overwhelmingly enough to compel my soul to act and to intercede and to do for a lifetime.

Ah, give me your eyes for just one second.

Crucify Him

"One of you will forsake me, following your own ambitions, chasing after the world."

"Surely not I, Lord," I heard myself repeat along with the rest of the congregation. The pastor continued with a string of accusations. And with each one, I whispered, "Surely not I, Lord."

Surely not.

But just as surely during this Easter season, I felt so out-of-touch with God and so unappreciative of his sacrifice. My mind had minimized Christ's incredible descent from glory to humanity, and my sin had elevated myself into thinking that surely, if I stood on my tippy toes and if Christ leaned down, then maybe-- just maybe-- we'd be at about the same level.

At times I think that the longer I walk this narrow path toward my heavenly home with Jesus by my side, the less sin I'll see in me. And though, I know that he has begun a sanctifying work in me that he will complete, I don't think that's quite true. I've come to realize that the more time I spend in my savior's presence, the more aware I am of my wretchedness. I am more aware of my own depravity and my haphazard efforts to climb out this deep pit called sin. I am more aware-- not less-- of my pride and selfishness. I see how sin has marred my intellect and emotions, causing even my reasoning to be flawed when I think and process through issues pertaining to God.

Not only this, but the longer I walk with Jesus, the more I see his incredibly holiness. I am more aware of his incredible nature that truly is beyond anything my mind can understand. I see his love that is without compare; I see purity without a rival. I cannot find an earthly match.

And so, the Gospel and it's significance in my life actually gets bigger... it takes root and grows in my heart.

I felt quite disenchanted by the state of my own heart this weekend. I knew that this weekend was a time to rejoice and be amazed that our Lord is RISEN... he has conquered death, sin and the grave. And instead, I was so aware of my own sin.

It took me a while to realize that these thoughts weren't completely contradictory. Christ didn't come for the righteous. He came for the sinners. He came because I was unable to save myself. I'd never, ever-- even if you gave me a million years and a thousand self-help books-- fix myself. He came precisely because I'd never truly understand the great depth of his sacrfice because of sin's profound impact on all of me. Christ had to die because of my sin. However, instead of fixing my eyes on my own sin, I had to turn and fix my eyes on my precious savior.

Our pastor continued on with the service...

"What should I do with this man?"

"Crucify him!" we called out in unison.

"What should I do with this man who opened the eyes of the blind?"

"Crucify him!" we urged.

"What should I do with this man came to set the sinner free?"

"Crucify him!" I distinctly heard my voice cry out from the crowd.

Ah, he came to set the sinner free... the same sinner that accused him from the crowd... the same sinner who'd betray and deny and abandon him. He came for the sinner who'd mock him. The sinner who'd be ashamed of him. The sinner who'd turn away. The sinner who'd fall.

Yes, for the sinner... he came for the sinner.