I've started, paused, deleted everything and re-started this post several times now.
It's not that I don't have anything to say.
I've always been open and honest about my internal struggle between being jaded and hopeful.
But I'm afraid that if I write now, my jadedness is going to whip out its trump card and give me a good scare.
There are days when I appreciate being an NF (Myers-Briggs) because its familiarity helps me navigate the waters of life and ministry really easily.
And then there are days when I hate, and am utterly disgusted at being an NF because it comes with baggage.
In the last few weeks, I've felt a passionate hatred and disgust at being an NF that has also just been slapped with a $5000 excess baggage fine.
To be completely honest, I was slightly disappointed after arriving here that Te Atatu Peninsula wasn't closer to the city-center. I love cities because I thrive on culture, creativity, and... depravity.
And then slowly, one at a time, the layers of depravity on the Peninsula got peeled back.
Don't get me wrong. We live in a broken but beautiful community. Except lately, I've seen a lot more brokenness than beauty, and it's making me wonder, God, why? And how long?
Chad started a sermon series last week on re-imagining, in preparation for our campaign for the Hub.
Imagine what it would be like if Kingdom does come here on earth as it is in heaven.
I'm having a really difficult time with this series. Every week for the last, oh, good little while now, something else is happening to one of us in the whanau (Maori for extended family), and suddenly it's no longer praying Kingdom come for someone else somewhere else.
It's right here.
It's close to home.
It's family.
The only reason I haven't given up on hope is because somewhere, there is a God that is bigger than the hopelessness and the depravity. And if I didn't believe that hope still exists somewhere out there, even if it feels really far away at the moment, I don't think I can comfortably make the claim that I believe in a God that is bigger and stronger than my present.
That is a scary place to be.
I've never known life without God, and I'm not sure I'm ready to even entertain that possibility just because in the frailty of my humanity, I've found it difficult to believe.
Just because my small mind cannot comprehend at this moment, it doesn't change the fact that God is.
That God remains.
The more seasoned missionary friends are saying that these are sentiments that are not out of the ordinary for being on my fifth month here.
That this, too, shall pass.
I hope they are right.
And the pain falls like a curtain
On the things I once called certain
And I have to say the words I fear the most
I just don’t know
And the questions without answers
Come and paralyze the dancer
So I stand here on the stage afraid to move
Afraid to fall, oh, but fall I must
On this truth that my life has been formed from the dust
God is God and I am not
I can only see a part of the picture He’s painting
God is God and I am man
So I’ll never understand it all
For only God is God
And the sky begins to thunder
And I’m filled with awe and wonder
‘Til the only burning question that remains
Is who am I
Can I form a single mountain
Take the stars in hand and count them
Can I even take a breath without God giving it to me
He is first and last before all that has been
Beyond all that will pass
Oh, how great are the riches of His wisdom and knowledge
How unsearchable for to Him and through
Him and from Him are all things
So let us worship before the throne
Of the One who is worthy of worship alone
- Steven Curtis Chapman
It's not that I don't have anything to say.
I've always been open and honest about my internal struggle between being jaded and hopeful.
But I'm afraid that if I write now, my jadedness is going to whip out its trump card and give me a good scare.
There are days when I appreciate being an NF (Myers-Briggs) because its familiarity helps me navigate the waters of life and ministry really easily.
And then there are days when I hate, and am utterly disgusted at being an NF because it comes with baggage.
In the last few weeks, I've felt a passionate hatred and disgust at being an NF that has also just been slapped with a $5000 excess baggage fine.
To be completely honest, I was slightly disappointed after arriving here that Te Atatu Peninsula wasn't closer to the city-center. I love cities because I thrive on culture, creativity, and... depravity.
And then slowly, one at a time, the layers of depravity on the Peninsula got peeled back.
Don't get me wrong. We live in a broken but beautiful community. Except lately, I've seen a lot more brokenness than beauty, and it's making me wonder, God, why? And how long?
Chad started a sermon series last week on re-imagining, in preparation for our campaign for the Hub.
Imagine what it would be like if Kingdom does come here on earth as it is in heaven.
I'm having a really difficult time with this series. Every week for the last, oh, good little while now, something else is happening to one of us in the whanau (Maori for extended family), and suddenly it's no longer praying Kingdom come for someone else somewhere else.
It's right here.
It's close to home.
It's family.
The only reason I haven't given up on hope is because somewhere, there is a God that is bigger than the hopelessness and the depravity. And if I didn't believe that hope still exists somewhere out there, even if it feels really far away at the moment, I don't think I can comfortably make the claim that I believe in a God that is bigger and stronger than my present.
That is a scary place to be.
I've never known life without God, and I'm not sure I'm ready to even entertain that possibility just because in the frailty of my humanity, I've found it difficult to believe.
Just because my small mind cannot comprehend at this moment, it doesn't change the fact that God is.
That God remains.
The more seasoned missionary friends are saying that these are sentiments that are not out of the ordinary for being on my fifth month here.
That this, too, shall pass.
I hope they are right.
And the pain falls like a curtain
On the things I once called certain
And I have to say the words I fear the most
I just don’t know
And the questions without answers
Come and paralyze the dancer
So I stand here on the stage afraid to move
Afraid to fall, oh, but fall I must
On this truth that my life has been formed from the dust
God is God and I am not
I can only see a part of the picture He’s painting
God is God and I am man
So I’ll never understand it all
For only God is God
And the sky begins to thunder
And I’m filled with awe and wonder
‘Til the only burning question that remains
Is who am I
Can I form a single mountain
Take the stars in hand and count them
Can I even take a breath without God giving it to me
He is first and last before all that has been
Beyond all that will pass
Oh, how great are the riches of His wisdom and knowledge
How unsearchable for to Him and through
Him and from Him are all things
So let us worship before the throne
Of the One who is worthy of worship alone
- Steven Curtis Chapman
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