Don't tell me to man up.
You can tell me to step up, or buck up, or cheer up, but don't you dare tell me to man up. And here's why.
1. The term "man up" is often used in correlation with things a lot of society or the church has deemed masculine. "Just man up and ask her out" or "man up and get your hands dirty" or "man up and take charge!" It reinforces the typical stereotypes that all men must be sports-loving, aggressive, action-oriented, visual, Bob-the-Builder type handymen that just go at it and lead all the time. Not that men can't love sports or fix things or be action-oriented. But in pairing those qualities with the phrase "man up," it implies that they are actual requirements of being a man and attaining true manhood.
2. Furthermore, masculinity is not something that can be lost, it's not something that fluctuates. "Man up" implies the need to do something in order to keep or further your masculinity. Like, in order to be a man, you've got to take one more step up and ask the girl out. Or initiate the first kiss. Or fix that leaking drain pipe without complaining. As Sarah Sumner says, "The challenge 'Be a man!' doesn't rattle a woman, but it grips the very soul of a man. Even in the church, it is not a given for men to feel like men just because they are men. Yet I know it's not from God when men fall into the trap of wanting desperately to prove themselves as men on worldly terms."* If manhood truly does go up and down that much, if it's really a roller coaster that can be lost or gained or proved in a heartbeat, then I have no desire to step on board. Count me out of that wild thing.
3. You never hear anyone telling any girls to "woman up." Why? Because if we used the same logic that people use when carelessly throwing out "man up," it'd go something like this. "Come on! Woman up and make me that sandwich!" or "just woman up and follow!" or "woman up and let your emotions run wild!" The stereotypes for women include their roles as housewives, babymakers, followers, overly emotional crybabies, and gentle, relational beings. And by boxing off little cardboard molds for men and women based on these shifting standards, it creates absolute chaos if one of the genders tries to step out of his or her box. So, if the man decides to stay home and raise the kids while the woman works to provide for the family, according to these conditions, they would be losing a part of their masculinity or femininity and gaining a part of the other. Talk about an identity crisis.
4. In conclusion, if masculinity and femininity truly do fluctuate as much as we say they do, then I don't want it. Instead, I'll take the identity I've found in Christ. With this new identity, I don't strive after true, tough, aggressive manhood, or even biblical manhood. I strive to be like Christ, to imitate him in everything I do. I fully believe that if that happens, if we surrender our entire being to God and allow him to shine through us, true manhood or womanhood will emerge. It's not based off of our likes or interests or gifts or how well we lead or how often we cry. True identity is rooted in the character of Christ and the aggressive and gentle, logical and emotional, action-packed and radically relational life he's called us to live as Christians. "Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children" (Ephesians 5:1).
So don't tell me to man up.
You can tell me to step up, or buck up, or cheer up, but don't you dare tell me to man up. There's why.
*Sumner, Sarah. Men and Women in the Church: Building Consensus on Christian Leadership. 2003. InterVarsity Press.
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Click here to check out the first chapter of my work-in-progress novel, Yellowtree!
Saturday, January 5, 2013
Sunday, December 23, 2012
o little, run down, glass town of bethlehem.
Today, while singing the same old, same old Christmas carols in church, I was struck by how mechanical the songs had become to me. Here I was, singing these beautiful lyrics about the revolutionary birth of Christ and the new life he brought, and it didn't mean a thing to me. Everything was cardboard, all I had to do was move my lips and sing along. About the time I realized this, we started singing "O Little Town of Bethlehem." The classic lyrics I had sung all my life were suddenly set ablaze, lighting up with random sparks and fireworks that danced across the lines with an intensity that took me aback. It was usually only a few words in each verse, and yet it felt completely new to me, like I was singing it for the first time.
O little town of Bethlehem,
How still we see thee lie!
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep,
The silent stars go by.
Yet in thy dark streets shineth
The everlasting Light.
The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee tonight.
For me, it was those last two lines that were the bullet. It's easy to see God in shattered fragments, encompassing only certain aspects of our lives. For me, it's easy to lose sight of him when my fears are hitting home hard. During those moments of uncertainty and insecurity and panic, I like to zoom in on my problems and zoom out on God, drowning out his voice and what he wants me to do, because it usually involves... you know... facing those fears. For others, it's incredibly hard to stay focused on God during those times of hope and joy and excitement, when life is alive with bright colors and beauty, and things just seem to be going right. Sometimes, we get a bit too complacent, and like to think that since life is so great, we can get by just fine without God. Either way, this song makes it very clear that in Christ, all of these aspects of our hearts collide onto a backdrop of grace and unending love. All of the hopes we hold dear, all of those annoying fears that burrow under our skin, all of the shiny bright and oozing black parts of our hearts - Christ is big enough to meet all of it. No matter what season of life we're in, Jesus is there, filling up the cracks and sustaining us with his peace.
How silently, how silently,
The wondrous gift is given!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessing of his heaven.
No ear may hear his coming,
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive him still,
The dear Christ enters in.
This is a much quieter verse than the others, sneaking under the radar, just like the birth of Christ. I'd never really noticed that it mentions how God gave us this gift silently. There were no curled ribbons, festive lights or candied apples. There was the reek of cattle shit and the piercing screams of a newborn baby. Even as he grew older and began his ministry, Christ never preached under neon signs with fireworks for effect. In fact, after most of his miracles, he specifically asked them not to tell anyone else. Later, he was brutally slaughtered on the cross, the most humiliating way to die. Christ never made a huge show of himself. He reflected all glory straight back to the Father and never stopped preaching and living humility, even though he's the only one who truly deserves the worship and glory and flashing neon signs. Reflecting on God's silent gift to the world encourages me to give back by taking up my cross and continually emptying myself. As the lyrics say, we are meek souls, scared and small and confused, but when the dear Christ can enter in, when he can move in past all of those scars and expand, we begin to see ourselves less and less, gazing instead on the beautiful face of God, his humble-manger-bed, bleeding-cross-scars and all. A wondrous gift indeed.
O holy child of Bethlehem,
Descend to us, we pray;
Cast out our sin and enter in,
Be born in us today.
We hear the Christmas angels
The great glad tidings tell:
Oh, come to us, abide with us,
Our Lord Emmanuel!
I think the problem I have with most Christmas sermons is that I take such an eagle's-eye-view on the Christmas story. Mary, Joseph, the stable and baby Jesus remain so impersonal and distant, petite figurines in a glass Nativity scene, always lodged in some sort of untouchable realm of Christmas. This verse reminded me that when Christ Jesus was born into the world, thousands of years ago, in a distant land, he was able to reach across all time throughout all the world to give everyone the hope of new life. Not only was he born once into this world, he's also being constantly born in the hearts of each and every Christian! That once far Nativity set was suddenly smashed to glass shards, slicing up my heart with the real and gritty Christmas story, the one that didn't end in a manger, but the one that will never end, the one that happens every day. Every day, we are given the opportunity to realign our thoughts with Christ, who has been born in our hearts and is continually growing, always active and moving.
That is why he came. It's why we're reminded every year of his lowly birth and spend one whole month in anticipation of celebration. For although his physical birth was a one-time event, his continual birth in the hearts of Christians isn't. His birth is alive, it's one that breathes and grows and can never be contained in a glass Nativity set. It's a truth that will live on for eternity and one that should always remain at the forefront of our minds and attention.
Let Christ come up close and abide with you this Christmas. Because he's so much more than glass.
O little town of Bethlehem,
How still we see thee lie!
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep,
The silent stars go by.
Yet in thy dark streets shineth
The everlasting Light.
The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee tonight.
For me, it was those last two lines that were the bullet. It's easy to see God in shattered fragments, encompassing only certain aspects of our lives. For me, it's easy to lose sight of him when my fears are hitting home hard. During those moments of uncertainty and insecurity and panic, I like to zoom in on my problems and zoom out on God, drowning out his voice and what he wants me to do, because it usually involves... you know... facing those fears. For others, it's incredibly hard to stay focused on God during those times of hope and joy and excitement, when life is alive with bright colors and beauty, and things just seem to be going right. Sometimes, we get a bit too complacent, and like to think that since life is so great, we can get by just fine without God. Either way, this song makes it very clear that in Christ, all of these aspects of our hearts collide onto a backdrop of grace and unending love. All of the hopes we hold dear, all of those annoying fears that burrow under our skin, all of the shiny bright and oozing black parts of our hearts - Christ is big enough to meet all of it. No matter what season of life we're in, Jesus is there, filling up the cracks and sustaining us with his peace.
How silently, how silently,
The wondrous gift is given!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessing of his heaven.
No ear may hear his coming,
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive him still,
The dear Christ enters in.
This is a much quieter verse than the others, sneaking under the radar, just like the birth of Christ. I'd never really noticed that it mentions how God gave us this gift silently. There were no curled ribbons, festive lights or candied apples. There was the reek of cattle shit and the piercing screams of a newborn baby. Even as he grew older and began his ministry, Christ never preached under neon signs with fireworks for effect. In fact, after most of his miracles, he specifically asked them not to tell anyone else. Later, he was brutally slaughtered on the cross, the most humiliating way to die. Christ never made a huge show of himself. He reflected all glory straight back to the Father and never stopped preaching and living humility, even though he's the only one who truly deserves the worship and glory and flashing neon signs. Reflecting on God's silent gift to the world encourages me to give back by taking up my cross and continually emptying myself. As the lyrics say, we are meek souls, scared and small and confused, but when the dear Christ can enter in, when he can move in past all of those scars and expand, we begin to see ourselves less and less, gazing instead on the beautiful face of God, his humble-manger-bed, bleeding-cross-scars and all. A wondrous gift indeed.
O holy child of Bethlehem,
Descend to us, we pray;
Cast out our sin and enter in,
Be born in us today.
We hear the Christmas angels
The great glad tidings tell:
Oh, come to us, abide with us,
Our Lord Emmanuel!
I think the problem I have with most Christmas sermons is that I take such an eagle's-eye-view on the Christmas story. Mary, Joseph, the stable and baby Jesus remain so impersonal and distant, petite figurines in a glass Nativity scene, always lodged in some sort of untouchable realm of Christmas. This verse reminded me that when Christ Jesus was born into the world, thousands of years ago, in a distant land, he was able to reach across all time throughout all the world to give everyone the hope of new life. Not only was he born once into this world, he's also being constantly born in the hearts of each and every Christian! That once far Nativity set was suddenly smashed to glass shards, slicing up my heart with the real and gritty Christmas story, the one that didn't end in a manger, but the one that will never end, the one that happens every day. Every day, we are given the opportunity to realign our thoughts with Christ, who has been born in our hearts and is continually growing, always active and moving.
That is why he came. It's why we're reminded every year of his lowly birth and spend one whole month in anticipation of celebration. For although his physical birth was a one-time event, his continual birth in the hearts of Christians isn't. His birth is alive, it's one that breathes and grows and can never be contained in a glass Nativity set. It's a truth that will live on for eternity and one that should always remain at the forefront of our minds and attention.
Let Christ come up close and abide with you this Christmas. Because he's so much more than glass.
Thursday, November 29, 2012
scattered jigsaw puzzle dreams: part two.
So, there I was, still convinced that the Oscars were calling my name like perfect, golden sirens. At this point, I can almost see God rolling his eyes and chuckling to himself. "Well, looks like those two weddings weren't enough to wake him up to reality. Time to pull out the bigger guns."
Those bigger guns came in the form of one of my close friends, whom I randomly asked out of the blue one day, "How did you know what God wanted you to do with your life?" Expecting some huge, life-changing answer, I was taken aback by the simplicity of his answer. He went on to explain to me how he had always assumed God would eventually just light up his future with a big neon sign. Turns out, he never really got any huge confirmation from God, but rather small little nudges here and there. The rest was just sheer and utter trust. And I realized then that God is pretty strategic in these matters - he gives us enough nudges for us to realize the path he's pushing us toward, but leaves just enough loose ends so that we're never too comfortable, and are always having to fall back in real, authentic trust.
After that conversation, my heart opened slightly. I was suddenly more willing to maybe focus on the ministry aspect of film making rather than the Hollywood aspect. Maybe God could have a starring role in my films, rather than get stuck as that random extra on the far left corner of the set. Fast forward a few months, and I'm back working at summer camp, with the added duty of documenting the summer. You know, all of the big events. With, like a... a video camera.
Ensue the all too familiar state of sheer dread and frustration. No matter how hard I tried, hauling the camera around with me was always such a nuisance! I hated the stupid thing. However, it wasn't until about halfway through the summer, when I had the opportunity to chat with one of my dear friends who came up for the week, that everything changed. She told me all about her college, and about the different ministry degrees they offered and their huge focus on reconciliation. They really stressed reconciling people as Christ reconciled the world, through conflict resolution, peace meditation, social justice, etc.
And suddenly it hit me. Once again, Jesus just jumped out of my mechanical heart with his classic sniper rifle and blasted the robotic piece of cardboard to pieces. All this time, all of the tiny little nudges finally made sense! The scattered jigsaw puzzle dreams no longer needed to be shoved relentlessly in a futile attempt to fit them together. Now they came together in perfect harmony, connecting to form a living, beating heart. It was still completely raw and covered in blood, but it was real, pumping real blood like electricity through my veins. It was shocking in its strong voltage, but I had never felt more alive.
Over the course of the next few weeks, I had time to collect my thoughts and really just surrender the shattered fragments of my mechanical heart to God. With that surrender came a new nudge, a nudge away from films and toward ministry. I still have no idea what kind of ministry that will be, but I do know that it will be focused on reconciliation. I love the idea of bringing people back together, toward Christ, as complete equals. Finally, after two years, God was finally able to bring down my little boxed house and open my eyes to the beauty of His plan for me, versus my plan for me. My head's still reeling from the complete 180 turn-around. Sometimes I still think God just occasionally looks back at those two years of close-mindedness and flat out belly laughs, shaking his head and saying, "After all this time, now you listen to me! You silly, silly boy."
Now, I know that not everyone's going to have their dreams completely destroyed, only to find themselves on a totally new path for life, but I believe there's a deeper theme running throughout this story, one that binds us all together in our sheer lack of it: trust. No matter if you've been planning on nursing school since the age of three, or are graduating college still completely unsure of what you want to do, God calls for nothing less than our complete and utter trust. It's a truly terrifying thought. For if we're really honest with ourselves for a split second, we'll realize that no matter how many plans or goals we carve like stone in our minds, God will always be bigger than every single one of them. Plans and goals are not inherently evil, but the moment they grow bigger than God, they're nothing but dead trees in the eye of a hurricane. But when God stays fixated in the center, when he's given the opportunity to expand in the midst of our scattered jigsaw puzzle dreams, they will flourish like oaks of righteousness, bathed in sunlight and cleansed by the rain, sprouting up to bless others under the shade of their branches. It's unnerving letting God get that big, because it also means that we have to get that much smaller and relinquish our need for constant control. And let me tell you from experience, the moment that happens, all bets are off. You never know what God's got planned up his sleeve next. And that's almost as exciting as it is scary.
Almost.
Those bigger guns came in the form of one of my close friends, whom I randomly asked out of the blue one day, "How did you know what God wanted you to do with your life?" Expecting some huge, life-changing answer, I was taken aback by the simplicity of his answer. He went on to explain to me how he had always assumed God would eventually just light up his future with a big neon sign. Turns out, he never really got any huge confirmation from God, but rather small little nudges here and there. The rest was just sheer and utter trust. And I realized then that God is pretty strategic in these matters - he gives us enough nudges for us to realize the path he's pushing us toward, but leaves just enough loose ends so that we're never too comfortable, and are always having to fall back in real, authentic trust.
After that conversation, my heart opened slightly. I was suddenly more willing to maybe focus on the ministry aspect of film making rather than the Hollywood aspect. Maybe God could have a starring role in my films, rather than get stuck as that random extra on the far left corner of the set. Fast forward a few months, and I'm back working at summer camp, with the added duty of documenting the summer. You know, all of the big events. With, like a... a video camera.
Ensue the all too familiar state of sheer dread and frustration. No matter how hard I tried, hauling the camera around with me was always such a nuisance! I hated the stupid thing. However, it wasn't until about halfway through the summer, when I had the opportunity to chat with one of my dear friends who came up for the week, that everything changed. She told me all about her college, and about the different ministry degrees they offered and their huge focus on reconciliation. They really stressed reconciling people as Christ reconciled the world, through conflict resolution, peace meditation, social justice, etc.
And suddenly it hit me. Once again, Jesus just jumped out of my mechanical heart with his classic sniper rifle and blasted the robotic piece of cardboard to pieces. All this time, all of the tiny little nudges finally made sense! The scattered jigsaw puzzle dreams no longer needed to be shoved relentlessly in a futile attempt to fit them together. Now they came together in perfect harmony, connecting to form a living, beating heart. It was still completely raw and covered in blood, but it was real, pumping real blood like electricity through my veins. It was shocking in its strong voltage, but I had never felt more alive.
Over the course of the next few weeks, I had time to collect my thoughts and really just surrender the shattered fragments of my mechanical heart to God. With that surrender came a new nudge, a nudge away from films and toward ministry. I still have no idea what kind of ministry that will be, but I do know that it will be focused on reconciliation. I love the idea of bringing people back together, toward Christ, as complete equals. Finally, after two years, God was finally able to bring down my little boxed house and open my eyes to the beauty of His plan for me, versus my plan for me. My head's still reeling from the complete 180 turn-around. Sometimes I still think God just occasionally looks back at those two years of close-mindedness and flat out belly laughs, shaking his head and saying, "After all this time, now you listen to me! You silly, silly boy."
Now, I know that not everyone's going to have their dreams completely destroyed, only to find themselves on a totally new path for life, but I believe there's a deeper theme running throughout this story, one that binds us all together in our sheer lack of it: trust. No matter if you've been planning on nursing school since the age of three, or are graduating college still completely unsure of what you want to do, God calls for nothing less than our complete and utter trust. It's a truly terrifying thought. For if we're really honest with ourselves for a split second, we'll realize that no matter how many plans or goals we carve like stone in our minds, God will always be bigger than every single one of them. Plans and goals are not inherently evil, but the moment they grow bigger than God, they're nothing but dead trees in the eye of a hurricane. But when God stays fixated in the center, when he's given the opportunity to expand in the midst of our scattered jigsaw puzzle dreams, they will flourish like oaks of righteousness, bathed in sunlight and cleansed by the rain, sprouting up to bless others under the shade of their branches. It's unnerving letting God get that big, because it also means that we have to get that much smaller and relinquish our need for constant control. And let me tell you from experience, the moment that happens, all bets are off. You never know what God's got planned up his sleeve next. And that's almost as exciting as it is scary.
Almost.
Monday, November 26, 2012
scattered jigsaw puzzle dreams: part one.
I was going to win an Oscar. It was inevitable. I'd wanted to be a filmmaker my whole life, all I had to do was go to California, have a bit of faith and pixie dust, and I would be the next Steven Spielberg.
So, here I was, a senior in high school with my entire future planned out. Ever since I can remember, the idea of movie making has entranced me. The lure of Hollywood seduced me, and it wasn't long before I was conjuring up stories, screenplays, homemade films - anything to catch just a glimpse of the glamour and glitz I always associated with Hollywood. There was just something about storytelling, about having the ability to transport people into another world, if even for a few hours, that was absolutely magical to me.
And don't get me wrong - I still love weaving stories together. I love having to use my imagination to create different worlds, creative plots, and vivid characters with their flaws, dreams, quirks and regrets. But this dream of mine had been ingrained in my system for so long, it had become like a mechanical heart, pumping robotic blood and oxygen to every part of my being. I was never really aware of it, I just knew it was there, knew in the back of my mind that I would always be a filmmaker. There was no need to pray about it or even ponder any different options. This had always been who I was. God would never take that away from me.
But everything mechanical will break down over time. About two years ago, I was given the opportunity to film the wedding of two of my very dear friends. This was it! My big break! Spielberg was going to catch just a clip of my handiwork and I'd be in! Into the big leagues. Just. Like. That.
Turns out, I really didn't enjoy filming it at all. It felt like nothing but a heavy burden, and I remained in this stressed out, tense mood the entire time. Looking back, I can tell you why that was. But back then, I would've just brushed it off and said that I didn't know. It definitely wasn't because this whole filmmaking business just wasn't meant to be. Cue to one year later. Two more of my friends are getting married and alas! They want me to film the whole ordeal. Completely forgetting about the stress of the last wedding, I excitedly obliged, knowing that this time Spielberg would have to get me into Hollywood.
And once again, the whole time was nothing but one huge stress-fest, and I just felt this continual load of pressure that I couldn't shake off, and I was dreading having to go back home and edit the footage, and I was freaking out that the camera angles weren't good enough and... yep. It was definite deja vu. But again, I would never have accredited this to God slowly, yet surely chipping away at my mechanical heart, trying to get me to see beyond this safe little vantage point I had had since the age of three.
Needless to say, the point of this story is that God rarely ever keeps us in our tidy, pre-packaged cardboard boxes that seek to push him out of the picture. Because once that happens, we're left with nothing but a pile of scattered dreams and far-fetched goals that won't fit together, no matter how hard we push and twist their frayed jigsaw puzzle ends. I thought I was safe. I thought that I knew myself better than God knew me, which eventually led to the shocking conclusion that I really don't know anything about life. I had this whole future for myself built and ready to go. All I had to do was press start. Unfortunately, it was a life completely void of God's plans, of God's goals for me. I think I knew this all along, I just refused to listen to God's tiny little nudges here and there. I was mad, because a part of me knew that God was starting to pull away the bricks of my little boxed house, and I didn't like the vulnerability. I didn't like the prospect of having to venture out into the unknown depths of God and his craziness. But that's what we're called to do. Nothing about trusting God is safe or easy or comfortable. It forces us to face our own brokenness, and amidst all of that rubble and failure, we can catch a glimpse of real trust.
to be continued.
So, here I was, a senior in high school with my entire future planned out. Ever since I can remember, the idea of movie making has entranced me. The lure of Hollywood seduced me, and it wasn't long before I was conjuring up stories, screenplays, homemade films - anything to catch just a glimpse of the glamour and glitz I always associated with Hollywood. There was just something about storytelling, about having the ability to transport people into another world, if even for a few hours, that was absolutely magical to me.
And don't get me wrong - I still love weaving stories together. I love having to use my imagination to create different worlds, creative plots, and vivid characters with their flaws, dreams, quirks and regrets. But this dream of mine had been ingrained in my system for so long, it had become like a mechanical heart, pumping robotic blood and oxygen to every part of my being. I was never really aware of it, I just knew it was there, knew in the back of my mind that I would always be a filmmaker. There was no need to pray about it or even ponder any different options. This had always been who I was. God would never take that away from me.
But everything mechanical will break down over time. About two years ago, I was given the opportunity to film the wedding of two of my very dear friends. This was it! My big break! Spielberg was going to catch just a clip of my handiwork and I'd be in! Into the big leagues. Just. Like. That.
Turns out, I really didn't enjoy filming it at all. It felt like nothing but a heavy burden, and I remained in this stressed out, tense mood the entire time. Looking back, I can tell you why that was. But back then, I would've just brushed it off and said that I didn't know. It definitely wasn't because this whole filmmaking business just wasn't meant to be. Cue to one year later. Two more of my friends are getting married and alas! They want me to film the whole ordeal. Completely forgetting about the stress of the last wedding, I excitedly obliged, knowing that this time Spielberg would have to get me into Hollywood.
And once again, the whole time was nothing but one huge stress-fest, and I just felt this continual load of pressure that I couldn't shake off, and I was dreading having to go back home and edit the footage, and I was freaking out that the camera angles weren't good enough and... yep. It was definite deja vu. But again, I would never have accredited this to God slowly, yet surely chipping away at my mechanical heart, trying to get me to see beyond this safe little vantage point I had had since the age of three.
Needless to say, the point of this story is that God rarely ever keeps us in our tidy, pre-packaged cardboard boxes that seek to push him out of the picture. Because once that happens, we're left with nothing but a pile of scattered dreams and far-fetched goals that won't fit together, no matter how hard we push and twist their frayed jigsaw puzzle ends. I thought I was safe. I thought that I knew myself better than God knew me, which eventually led to the shocking conclusion that I really don't know anything about life. I had this whole future for myself built and ready to go. All I had to do was press start. Unfortunately, it was a life completely void of God's plans, of God's goals for me. I think I knew this all along, I just refused to listen to God's tiny little nudges here and there. I was mad, because a part of me knew that God was starting to pull away the bricks of my little boxed house, and I didn't like the vulnerability. I didn't like the prospect of having to venture out into the unknown depths of God and his craziness. But that's what we're called to do. Nothing about trusting God is safe or easy or comfortable. It forces us to face our own brokenness, and amidst all of that rubble and failure, we can catch a glimpse of real trust.
to be continued.
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