Preparing for Death

Tomorrow's Thanksgiving, and my week has overflowed with snowy adventures - rare for Seattle, particularly this early in the year.

Last weekend, my housemates and I headed out to the cabin on Guemes Island. There's something so sacred about the space there, and the power of what it is to get away from the city far enough to hear God's voice rumbling over the deep.

As we crossed the water on the ferry late Friday night, rain falling out of the dark suddenly and spontaneously transformed into glistening flowers of white cotton falling on the water in the inky black night. Mari built a fire when we got to the cabin, and we laughed around the flames in our pajamas. The whole weekend was magical.

Sunday morning, I took a long walk on the island's shore. The sun hung like a round, fluorescent light-bulb glowing behind the opaque white sheet of sky huddling close to the ocean's stoic, stern ripples. I was anxious about many things -- as usual, plans for the future dominated my mind and churned in me until I became fearful to the point my breathing was impacted.

Over breakfast the morning before, I shared a bit with my roommates about my time in Nepal and Uganda, the process of becoming involved in YWAM, the way I perceived and obeyed God's call to "missions," and the subsequent transformation of my beliefs and values surrounding words like "mission" and "calling" in light of God's imminent return.

I spoke of contentedness and community -- of laying down the lust for adventure in return for what I believe is more valuable, digging deep roots and committing to one place for the long-term in reflection of Jesus' incarnational ministry. Focusing on people as the ultimate adventure instead of place -- walking through the ups and downs of life in a single place instead of skipping across the nations in seek of the new and the fresh.

I spoke of the glory of ordinary life lived before the face of God -- in any neighborhood or community, even ours. I spoke of missional ministry in the grocery stores and restaurants and banks and work places on equal level with learning a new language, running through the mountain villages, pioneering through the hill tracks, assisting women in the birthing process in the rural middle east.

And I believe all those things are true. But I'm honestly struggling a lot to lay down some of my dreams -- because I fashioned so much of my identity around going to proclaim the freedom of Jesus in places that no one would go. In my present life, I feel a strange reticence to speak of those dreams (regardless of how real and pervasive they have been in my life for many years) . . . and yet I also feel it unbelievably painful to relinquish those same dreams.

I keep returning to the same question: am I trading my inheritance for a pot of stew?

I also have a tendency to look at things very linearly -- like the whole weight of choosing between two entirely different lives is all falling on my shoulders. Do I want the beautiful life of becoming a wife and a mom, serving in my church and knowing all my neighbors, having kids from school and neighbors from the community over for dinner every night, living ordinarily and loving extraordinarily . . . OR do I want the life of throwing all comfort and self-reliance to the wind, abandoning myself to this crazy life of mission, going to the middle east and drowning in the culture, getting to know the language and inviting women over to my house for tea, raising kids with them and having them all over for dinner -- to laugh and share about the powerful work of Jesus, assisting with healthcare and baby birthing and childhood development ... with always the risk of prison and persecution hanging over my head?

The funny thing is, I feel like those two pictures of life are actually so similar in so many ways -- just different places. To be honest, even though I see that the need for God's Kingdom in Seattle is desperate, I still feel a strong draw to go where no one is going (because the need is great everywhere). In Seattle, the need is great and the risk is small. Not so in the Middle East.

These are the biggest driving fears that keep me from going: Will I have strong Christian community to lift me up and point me back to Jesus when I am afraid, broken, and undone -- or just complaining about my lack of security/comfort? Will I be using the gifts that God has specifically given me in the most useful way by going to a place where women are literally swallowed by society? Will I EVER be able to find a man that wants to serve the poor and the broken with HIS WHOLE LIFE -- even in a place as crazy as the Middle East -- and also wants to lead, love, and shepherd a family? And if not, can I believe the Bible enough to trust that Paul was right when he said that singleness is not a curse but a GIFT that releases me into a life totally devoted to Christ?

Jesus, can You husband me in a way that satisfies every need & desire in my heart -- even today?

ANYWAY, all these thoughts were muddled in my head as I walked along the shore on Sunday morning. And I just began to proclaim the truth of who my Shepherd is and how He leads me, how much I know His character and His voice, because His sheep hear His voice and can discern between false voices and anxieties inside. I began to proclaim His promises and rejoice in His goodness and His truth until I stopped in front of the ocean and just started weeping, overwhelmed by the power and the beauty and the glory of who God is and how much He loves me.

And through all of that, I heard only these words from Him:

Prepare for your death.

Prepare for your death.

PREPARE FOR YOUR DEATH.


I don't know exactly what that means, but I know it's from the Bible.

Galatians 2:20 -- "I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself for me."

Colossians 3:1-3 -- "If then you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your mind on things that are above, not on things that are on earth. For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God."

Matthew 10:38-39 -- "And whoever does not take his cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it."

What does that mean, then, to die to myself?

To die to my dreams -- to die to my control -- to die to my ideas about the way my life will look -- to die to a kingdom that is about me, to relinquish my kingdom for Christ's. To die to my comfort -- to die to my security -- to die to my plans and treasures and fears and joys -- to die to all my relationships, at least in the sense that I would give them all up for the sake of Jesus and what it means to follow Him.

Lord, who can honor this Word? When I really look at what it means to DIE to myself, I am terrified at ANYTHING that might mean. Help me, Spirit, in Your great grace, to obey.

I die to these eyes. I die to these hands. I die to this mouth. I die to this heart. And by proclaiming that, will You make it true, Jesus? Will You come in and wreck me, LORD, and use this shell for Your Kingdom and Your glory? Help me, Lord, to set my mind on the things that are above, not on things that are on earth.

I am but a handmaiden of the Lord -- may it be to me according to Your Word. Amen.