Jesus Fought for Me

I was watching a movie with my family the other night and beyond all the special effects and high action scenes, there was a human story about an absentee father trying to relate to his estranged 11 year old son.  At the emotional arc of the film, the frustrated father exasperatedly asks "What do you want from me?!"  To which his son responds, with tears in his eyes, "I want you to fight for me, that's all I've ever wanted."

Isn't that the truth?  As humans we long to be fought for.  We want to know we're valued enough for someone to risk their comfort, safety, and security for our own.  Whether it's a chivalrous gentleman defending our honor or a friend standing in our corner, we want someone to tell us we're worth it.  I know I do.

As I pondered this fictional son's heartbreaking request to his father, I was reminded of all the beautiful and valiant ways Jesus has fought for me.

When the doctors said I wasn't supposed to live past the age of 10, Jesus fought for me.

When fear crept into my heart and tried to overcome me, Jesus fought for me.

When there were more tears than laughter, Jesus fought for me. 

When financial provision seemed impossible, Jesus fought for me.

When I was so entangled in my own sin that I could not see His light, Jesus fought for me.

When I thought I was an orphan and alone, Jesus fought for me.

When I was heartbroken, Jesus fought for me.

When I ignored Him, Jesus fought for me.

When the world told me there was no way, Jesus fought for me.

When I felt rejected, Jesus fought for me.

When I told Him that I didn't need His help, Jesus fought for me.

When I was too weak to stand, Jesus fought for me.

When I was dead in my sin, Jesus fought for me.  Bled for me.  Died for me.

And He fights for me still.  Ever present and eternally faithful. 

Perhaps God created us with this need to be fought for so that when we see Jesus once again - riding on the clouds with blood on His robe and fire on His eyes - we would know...

He's coming for His Bride.

He's coming for me.  

He's coming to fight for me.

Straight-A Daughter

"I would send you a bouquet of newly
sharpened pencils if I knew your name and
address."  Tom Hanks in You've Got Mail

As of last Tuesday, a new semester has officially begun.  Aside from giving up reading for pleasure, free time, and sleeping in, I really love going back to school.  I love the structure of it.  I love buying new books with hopes of mastering their contents.  I love reading syllabuses and planning assignments.  And I've always secretly wanted to receive a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils during  the back to school season

Actually, I've loved learning for as long as I can remember.  I recall sitting in the backseat of our Toyota hatchback on long drives and asking my mom to quiz me with math problems and spelling words.  When I'm learning, it's like I can actually feeling my brain neurons firing and making connections.  Learning, growing, expanding.  I love that feeling.  Challenging my intellect is one of the things that makes me feel alive. 

This feeling simmered in my heart as I moved back home in 2010 to finish my undergrad.  I began taking classes, writing papers, and giving presentations, all to my heart's delight.  But there was something more beneath the surface than my pure love of learning... I had a record to keep.  You see, I've never gotten a B.  School has always been defined by one letter for me: A.  Luckily, academics came easy and I excelled.  But as middle school, high school, and my first couple years of college scrolled by with straight A's, it became more than nice fact or accomplishment.  It became my identity.

Isn't it funny how we, as humans, love to keep track of perfect records?  No cavities, no speeding tickets, no B's.  There's something in people that desperately wants to earn approval based on good behavior - me being chief among them.  I was so terrified of breaking my record and getting anything less than an A, that I would sacrifice relationships, sleep, and ultimately sanity to focus on my studies.  (Bursting into tears over 20 page term papers as if my world was crumbling can not be deemed sane in my opinion.)

The breaking point came last spring semester.  I was taking 18 credits at school, a Hebrew class on top of that, working 25 hours a week, and volunteering for a non-profit.  People would look at me in amazement when I described my schedule.  I was often asked, "How do you do it?"  Or boosted with the occasional, "Well, if anyone can do it, it's you Chelsea."  I would always respond with a light hearted laugh, shrug my shoulders, and say "Oh, you know" with a sparkling smile, as if it didn't phase me.  But in reality, I had stretched myself so thin that I was snapping in every direction.  The end of the semester found me with straight A's, but little else.  I was exhausted, burn out, and hadn't read my Bible in a month. 

One night I finally asked the question, why am I so terrified of not getting an A?  Almost immediately I recognized that "4.0 Chelsea" had become my identity.  Over the years, I knew that I wasn't the funniest girl or the prettiest, but I was smart - I knew I was smart.   I had built my world around that one fact.  And if I got a B (a grade I felt would brand me of average intelligence),then who was I?  What made me special?  It was that fear drove me to over work, over extend, and over achieve.

But then Abba came and whispered,  

Be a Daughter.  

Being a daughter doesn't require anything of you.  

You do not earn the title based on your own virtue, rather it is bestowed on you simply because I am your Father.  

Daughters are at rest. 

The Father's sweet words gave me freedom and purpose.  He continued on, I've sent you back to school for more than straight A's.  You are to bring my Light to your campus.  Chelsea, I'd rather you get B's because you were spending your time sharing the gospel and praying for the sick, than get A's because all you did was study.

I was completely overwhelmed.  He blew my box wide open and faces of the 60,000 students on my campus flashed through my mind.  I began to weep as compassion overtook me and all I wanted was for each of them to know the glorious love that eclipsed my heart. 

Now, at the beginning of a new year and new semester, I smile in light of all the Lord has done.  I am more passionate about the gospel and evangelism than I have ever been in my entire life.  And while I still want to fulfill my coursework with excellence, peace - not fear - defines me.

"In the place where it was said to them, ‘You are not my people,’ they will be called ‘children of the living God.'"     Hosea 1:10

How would you like to join my Purpose Driven Life?

A couple of weeks ago, a co-worker asked me if I had found "the love of my life" yet.  I informed him that I had not and explained that I'm trusting God to divinely ordain that situation.  Additionally, I explained to him that I have pretty high standards.  I want to spend my life with someone who wants to live the same kind of international, faith lifestyle I do - committed to fighting injustice and shining Jesus' glorious light.  Aware of my extreme moral convictions, my unbelieving co-worker looked at me quizzically and matter-of-factly replied "Geez, you're never gonna find anyone."

Thankfully, his words did not pierce, but simply afforded me a good laugh.  It's true, to a world who has not known the beautiful and faithful love of my Father, my romantic future may look bleak.  But in my heart, there is perfect peace. 

Let's just hope that when God does bring my husband along, that he NEVER uses one of these pick-up lines!  Yikes!

  

I just don't feel called to celibacy.

For you, I would slay two Goliaths.

You are so unblemished that I would sacrifice you.

At points in my life I have been referred to as Samson.

The word says "Give drink to those who are thirsty, and feed the hungry"  How about dinner?

I didn't believe in predestination until tonight.  (personal favorite)

I believe one of my ribs belongs to you.

I can be your Boaz.

My spiritual gift is my good looks.

Is this the transfiguration.. because you are glowing.

Mark Driscoll takes up 35% of my ipod memory.  (I would actually be OK with this...)

I have many sponsor children - one in each developing nation.

Now I know why Solomon had 700 wives... because he never met you.

Is that a thinline, duo-tone, compact, ESV Bible in your pocket?  (I have that Bible!)

How many times do I have to walk around you to make you fall for me?

How would you like to join my Purpose Driven Life?

Let me remove my sandals before I come any closer.

Feel free to meet me at the threshing floor.
 
I have a bible verse tattoo.  It's permanent.  It's also in ancient Greek.

Have you died before?  Because that looks like a resurrection body to me.

I mentioned you in my testimony.

Laughter is the best medicine...

Airplanes are No Place for Tears

Wonderful New Years Eve dinner with Spokane Friends!

2012 is officially in full swing.  This reality seems to be crashing in on me today, it being my first day back at work after the holiday and school starting up again in just two short weeks (yikes!).  Part of me wishes that I could just squeeze my eyes closed tight and go back to holidays and vacations.  My holidays were spent with my lovely family, but for New Years, I charted my course northwest!  For five days I enjoyed the love and conversation of treasured friends in beautiful Spokane, Washington, only to force myself onto a Denver bound airplane yesterday and make my way home.

As I looked out the window of the plane at the outline of Spokane, organized on the ground like children's building blocks, tears filled my eyes.   My heart had come alive in the presence of friends and the company of beloved community.  Now, I was leaving a home to go home - and conflict wrestled in my heart.  As my tears increased and began blur my vision, I suddenly remembered crying on an airplane almost exactly four years ago. 

It was a cold January day in 2008 and I was going to Cyprus for the first time.  I had just said goodbye to my family, knowing I wouldn't see them for six months, and boarded a plane headed half-way across the world because I had read a website and heard a whisper from the Holy Spirit.  I felt scared and uncertain and just sat in my seat and let the tears flow freely down my face (it wasn't even a soft gentle crying - it was my ugly cry - complete with face contortion, mascara running, and sharp inhaling).  After a few moments, a sweet older woman claimed the aisle seat.  She took one look at me, her eyes full of compassion, leaned over and said, "Sweetheart, airplanes are no place for tears.  I don't know where you're going or who you've just said goodbye to, but there is a great adventure waiting for you."

Little did I know at the time that she was so, so right.  I eventually stopped crying and those next six months in the Mediterranean were some of the most adventurous, beautiful, and wonderful of my life.  All those warm memories flooded my conscious yesterday as we soared over the Continental Divide on our way to Colorado.  I reminded myself that although it was heart wrenching to leave the friends and community that have become so close to my heart, that my Father was calling me onward.  He has great and immeasurable plans for me in this season.  I don't want to miss them.

A pastor friend of mine says that the very nature of the call of God is upward.  I have found solace in that truth yesterday, last night, and today.  He beckons me to move forward, upward, onward.  So rather than lament on what I have left, I will set my eyes ahead of me - focused on His call and attentive to His voice.  After all, how am I supposed to see Him and what He wants to do in me with all these tears clouding my vision?

Here I go.