The Sirens' spell is broken

I have been published! Nothing major. A silly poem, written on a normal day in Turkey, 5 years ago. I posted it once, long ago. Women of the Harvest online magazine published it this month and wouldn't you know, it was God's timing.

As I perused other articles, I was nourished in that place in my soul that has been neglected and lonely here in Seattle. Two and a half years since leaving Turkey and I've been seduced. Lulled into middle income America and the rights that come with it. Lured into a small story and fed stale crumbs and been tempted to believe this was the new me.

I took my son to see Percy Jackson, Lightening Thief, last weekend and was thrilled by the Greek mythology primer. There is a time when Percy and fellow quest-seekers lose 5 days in a casino full of modern day Sirens, dulling their senses and keeping them captive.

Have my senses been dulled?

We have worked our bums off to get two Masters degrees debt free. New converts to Dave Ramsey, we even decided to cancel our credit cards. If we were committed to not using them, why have them? We had become quite proud of this feat and confident in our future ability to buy a house. Deserving. Awaiting our reward. Until we learned that no credit means bad credit in this economy. We didn't play by the rules and forfeited the game. And our anger was fueled by...

Clinging to rights that weren't ours to claim.

Lulled into believing that this was the goal.

Today, the words from women in ministry, living overseas, experiencing the daily dilemma of a hard life in God's will, woke me. First, I felt awash with the sense of belonging. I am a displaced missionary still. A third culture person. But more importantly, I had lost sight of the bigger story, and my place in it.

One of the authors quoted a Dave Crowder song, "If grace is an ocean, we're all sinking." I thank God for his grace drowning me today, overtaking me in my self-directed course to this glorious mirage I thought looked so real out on the horizon!

Clarity on the horizon

Last night I found myself enjoying the company of a friend and classmate on the second floor balcony of her Greenlake home, right in the heart of Seattle. It overlooked a very small backyard plot and many many other homes. It was not quiet and there were no stars to be seen when darkness fell, but there was still a beauty that comes from living in such proximity to so many stories and needs.

We had gathered to dream about a photography project with street women in Seattle. Sex workers to be more precise, though we talked about the demeaning label they have come to embody; the dehumanizing way we reduce individuals to categories, strip identities and lump them together. The complexity of entering in to a needy life seemed to overwhelm the dream, yet I left invigorated.

I am reading sub-merge; Living Deep in a Shallow World; Service, Justice, and Contemplation Among the World's Poor by John Hayes for class and it is challenging me in ways reminiscent of my college days in Chicago. I am questioning my place in the city, my role with the world's poor.

Chris and I are in the last year of grad school and beginning to bring shape and clarity to the next step. Seattle always was a transition and the foggy days of moving forward in faith are giving way to some exciting definition. But as we dream about the synthesis of new passion and ministry I feel old dilemmas creeping in; the struggle we've always had with ministering in cities but longing for the mountains.

We just returned from a vacation in the mountains where our entire family came alive with hiking, biking, climbing, rafting while dreaming of all the other adventure sports we could do if money weren't an obstacle. And I will never forget the brief trip back to Colorado from Istanbul when Chris wept, pleading for God to not make him return. Ministering in the city has always been a sacrifice for him.

But when I sit on my friend's balcony I imagine being a part of a community that exists on one street. When Chris returned from Chicago last week he had stories to share of our old church engaging the people who have come to inhabit their neighborhood. I get jazzed about that...

I know there is brokenness, poverty, and needy lives everywhere: in the mountains of Colorado and in the cities of Thailand. And I know there is beauty in the stillness of a mountain sky and the skyline of a pulsing city. What I don't know, and wonder, is how God is going to synthesize our passion and need for both.