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Give Me Grace : Finding Joy

Posted on April 11, 2015April 14, 2015 by lisha epperson

Light-seeds are planted in the souls of God’s people, Joy-seeds are planted in good heart-soil. (‭Psalm‬ ‭97‬:‭11‬ MSG)

We’re depending on GOD; he’s everything we need. What’s more, our hearts brim with joy since we’ve taken for our own his holy name. Love us, GOD, with all you’ve got— that’s what we’re depending on. (‭Psalm‬ ‭33‬:‭20-22‬ MSG)

I’m thanking you, GOD, from a full heart, I’m writing the book on your wonders. I’m whistling, laughing, and jumping for joy; I’m singing your song, High God. (‭Psalm‬ ‭9‬:‭1-2‬ MSG)

“I don’t think of all the misery, but of the beauty that still remains.” – Anne Frank

“Beauty is whatever gives you joy.” – Edna St. Vincent Millay

“Joy is sometimes a blessing, but it is often a conquest. Our magic moment helps us to change and sends us off in search of our dreams. Yes, we are going to suffer, we will have difficult times, and we will experience many disappointments — but all of this is transitory it leaves no permanent mark. And one day we will look back with pride and faith at the journey we have taken.” ― Paulo Coelho

“Joy does not simply happen to us. We have to choose joy and keep choosing it every day.” – Henri Nouwen

I’m at the Winsome Retreat with Kim Hyland, Holley Gerth, Deidra Riggs and a bunch of other fabulous gals in the Allegheny Mountains of Pennsylvania.

Let your handmaiden find grace in your sight…#GiveMeGrace

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Give Me Grace : Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark

Posted on April 4, 2015April 7, 2015 by lisha epperson

⁴⁵And the sun was darkened, and the veil of the temple was rent in the midst.⁴⁶And when Jesus had cried with a loud voice, he said, Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit: and having said thus, he gave up the ghost.⁴⁷Now when the centurion saw what was done, he glorified God, saying, Certainly this was a righteous man.

Luke 23:45-47

The day between Christ’s crucifixion and His resurrection would have been a time of grief and shock. Stunned disciples stood by trying to make sense of Jesus’ murder, the betrayal of a brother, the breakdown of every hope.

It was dark.

It was a test of faith. Over and over again God asks “do you love me?”, instructs us to pick up our cross to follow him. He wants us to trust him. It’s the only thing He asks.

The holy week is the perfect time to reflect on the testing of our faith, to consider how often and how easily we give up on God. I read this excellent post by Kelley Nikondeha yesterday. It put into words how I’ve felt the past few months. I wonder if God has forgotten, if He, somehow, doesn’t remember the covenant of grace He promised. I want to see Him actively working in every ugly situation. I want him to be the hero, to look like the hero. To be…that guy, the one we’ve all heard about. The one who saves.

But today doesn’t look great. Sometimes I feel like we’re losing. And faith? What of our slender, fragile faith?

The sun sets in so many areas of our lives but there’s almost always a time set apart for its return. The dark of night is a season – and God lives there too. Like the women at the cross, who watched Jesus – the holder of their dreams – die. We, His beloved have to surrender to the night, savor the darkness – wait, believe for the light.

We, His image bearers have to practice patience and hold fast to the dream of a redeemed eternal. Tune into our senses, physically slow down – follow, the breadcrumb of stars left to guide us when we can’t see.

If you live long enough, and many of us have…we’ll know well the disbelief and shock of grief. It’s when we set our faith on automatic. We go through the motions. That’s what the women did. They revered their leader by caring for him the only way they knew how. It didn’t matter that they didn’t understand or that nothing made sense. The women who watched a dead body removed from a cross – prepared for burial in a tomb – those same women went off to prepare spices and ointments. We have to remember these are the women who watched the veil of the temple tear in two. Whatever they did or didn’t know, the miracle of God sanctioned darkness at midday, not to mention opened graves … ministered to any soul watching …this isn’t the end.

And I think they were silent – because sometimes faith doesn’t say a word. Faith just does. Faith moves.

Still, it was dark.

We fear being swallowed by the dark. The looming threat of a night that never ends, dances through space and time, flirts with forever. How long is too long? To stand.The physiological response of fight or flight is real. The death of a savior, the crashing of a kingdom…all valid reasons to run and hide. But there’s another option. We can fight.

This Easter weekend presents the option of faith. Fight for it. We can be encouraged by the story of those who stayed. Stay long enough to shape the story. Practice courage in the face of darkness.

Today I’ll sit at the foot of the cross and process my faith. Faith doesn’t just dry up because the one you put your faith in can’t be found. Faith says slow down, faith says sit in the danger of tears. In darkness, confront doubt. Wrestle with the reality of knowing and unknowing. Sit long enough to breathe life on a dead thing. Walk it to a tomb. And wait. This is the darkness we embrace…Jesus is there and it is holy.

We can trust the darkness.

If the days following his death tell me anything it’s this – I can enter the darkness of the holy Saturdays of my life with a promise of light.

We’ve given the glory of nighttime to our enemy. Darkness is a time for magic and miracles, a time to partner with God in the mystery of faith. The dark of night, the secret place is thick with hope. It’s a time for passing from one world into another and the glory of night-blooming flowers. The period of rest before waking is the perfect time to allow his blessing to catch up with us. To pursue His light, even as we stumble. To believe. To be transformed by faith.

Resurrection makes plain the impossible possibility of what if? And maybe. Jesus I’ve grown to love maybe. Let our tears be those of a believer who can’t forget, won’t forget – Immanuel – God with us…even when we can’t see him.

Let your handmaiden find grace in your sight…#GiveMeGrace

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Give Me Grace : Vespers {for the Church Door Series}

Posted on March 28, 2015April 4, 2015 by lisha epperson

photo (90) — © Ad Meskens / Wikimedia Commons

The Riverside Church – New York City

At dusk I follow a single shaft of light – the last remnant of God glory from a setting sun

Long shadows at twilight tell me it’s time for church,

An evening of worship and a few prayers

Vespers

I accept the invitation of the sanctuary…

And give in to the long, low offering of a single chair

I take a seat and enter the meditative ebb and flow of quiet – prayer

My hearts cry for call and response, a sacred q&a

I surrender to groans and gut-deep cries for hope.

Save me.

I’m looking for a way through

Do you? Can you?

All I want to know is will you

Lord, Let your answer be yes.

I know why I’m here,

I’m drawn to the beautiful ritual and repetition

I’m here for the battle, the bloodshed …the breakthrough on my knees

I’m ready to rage war through prayer

The words come slowly , a monotonous choral fury

A chant growing, heart beating until it becomes a song

Every word a prayer, every song a psalm.

It’s resistant and stubborn – a praise that won’t give up

The air was different when he came in.

A tingle in my spine made me sit up straight. Straighter.

I felt his presence.

Thick with grief and doubt and every unholy thing

Heavy.

I’d been warned when I walked in – “sister, watch your back”.

My nemesis. My imitator.

We’re opposites he and I…black and white. The yes and no, the yin and yang – heaven and hell

He mirrors my movement, mines my heart for insecurities

But it only pushes me further…I fight harder

My enemy underestimates my resilience, my authenticity, my creative ability – My faith.

He has to go.

So I rest and remember…the rhythm of the word

And the rhythm of the word takes me

I slip off my shoes

Plant my feet, spread wide on a word that holds me

I begin a contemplative supplication , a holy reverence.

A dance.

Contract release, fold over and bend

head down, shoulders back

Roll through your spine

Palms…up

I let it flow through me.

This is a solo, a dance for one even as I praise The One

From the top of my head to the soles of my feet.

I offer a musical evensong of worship.

My song, my psalm transformed. An active, electric vesper.

Come alive to the blessed melding of ritual and worship

The tempo and time of His word

This is communion and connection

The God of grace, the bread and wine…open your senses to the flow

Your divine body responding to the life of His word.

He wants you to – Move.

Move through the word. Move through that lilting litany.

It is music…it is music in the seat of your soul.

Let your handmaiden find grace in your sight…#GiveMeGrace

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Give Me Grace : Storytelling

Posted on March 21, 2015March 24, 2015 by lisha epperson

amandasmith1 — I couldn’t find images of African American people on the mission field or on short term projects like the one I mention in this post. I chose this image of Amanda Smith, an African – American evangelist and missionary

Then Jesus made a circuit of all the towns and villages. He taught in their meeting places, reported kingdom news, and healed their diseased bodies, healed their bruised and hurt lives. When he looked out over the crowds, his heart broke. So confused and aimless they were, like sheep with no shepherd. “What a huge harvest!” he said to his disciples. “How few workers! On your knees and pray for harvest hands!”

Matthew 9:35-38 (The Message)

Storytelling is important. The stewardship of words – a sacred calling. Storytellers are given the task of defining for the hearer the history, the culture, the very essence of a people. It is holy work. Blessed are those who carry words well.

I spent 3 hours on Friday morning reading the words of Alisha L. Gordon and Wynter Evans Pitts. They’re part of the Sole Hope team that travelled to serve in Uganda last week. I’ve followed status updates and soaked in each offering. From my little corner of the world 5 flights up from NYC’s 5th avenue, I expereinced the heart work of a servant. I’ve loved being part of their stories. I imagined their voices as I read through each post. I carefully dreamed with each image.

I loved the images.

All right I’ll say it – a bit of what I love about viewing each image is how I feel seeing people of color participating as one entrusted to tell the story – in the role of missionary, blogger, servant. It’s empowering for me on the deepest level. It’s like pixie fairy, flowery, sparkles and glitter empowering.

According to the Southern Baptist convention only 27 of their 4,900 missionaries are black. Missionaries, even short-term missionaries are storytellers. I think it’s important for African – Americans to reclaim at least part of the story by participating in projects like this – to bear witness, to continue the tradition of storytelling.

History is written by the victor. What a completely frightening reality. Most African-Americans I know have lost all connection with their roots as people of African descent. We know painfully little about our histories beyond the meager bits we’re able to put together from bills of sale or other documents of ownership from life on a plantation. How beautiful to see these daughters of the dust return to serve – to fully embrace the power and privilege of storytelling.

Reasons for such low representation are myriad. Many believe already stressed communities find it hard to look beyond the needs of their immediate world. Pressing needs like struggling to pay rent are real. The rate of unemployment is higher for people of color. Inner city churches feel called to put their best efforts at ground zero. There aren’t enough resources (money/ people) to extend beyond the next block much less internationally.

I’ve written about this – my desire to see a kingdom difference in the blogosphere. I’ve lamented not seeing equal representation of people of color serving and loving well for Christ. So this is huge. I see a difference. I’m glad of it.

A year ago I wondered how amazing it would be to hear these stories and see images of people of color cast in a different role. I don’t think the stories of love and service change but I knew I’d feel differently about the stream of God glory in my news feed. It’s empowering and encouraging because the images speak to the reality of people of color being able to take care of themselves – people of color serving each other in a way we don’t often see. And a picture as they say, is worth a thousand words.

The images shared by the storytellers on this trip told a tale of a proud and humble people. Wynter Evans Pitts said it best when she declared in a status update “All the saving that needs to be done…has already been done.” We have to trust the God who says whether you go or not His will – will be accomplished. We have to know that when we go – we go as servants – that being sent means God has a profound plan of work to do in you.

A picture is a story. Each bit of biographical detail tells a new one. Putting the same frame around groups of people is dangerous. We shoot with a biased filter and leave no margin for growth. For so long we’ve seen missionary work shot from the same lens. And that story has become embedded in our psyche. It’s static, lacking movement and feeling, when stories should go somewhere. It affirms the danger of the single story as shared by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. There’s power in every story, there just has to be more than one.

Until lions tell their tale, the story of the hunt will always glorify the hunter. – African Proverb

I read this proverb in a black studies class in college. It forced me to become a critical observer of any information I took in. So here’s the truth – watching these women serve and write as part of a blogging trip heals something in me that needed to see people of color serve in this capacity. I don’t share this to detract from artists and creatives like Mark Chapman who sensitively capture their subjects with grace. I share it to let you know the power of the work you do as a writer, how, with reverence we should approach each storytelling session or blog post, or picture.

I struggled with wanting to see it and not seeing it. I struggled with the Christian community’s seeming lack of interest in any of the news stories involving racial injustice. I struggled with how to share these concerns. And I learned how important it is for me to walk tenderly, to be a bridge of grace when I do.

And then I did. And God answered.

Let the redeemed of The Lord tell their story. – Psalm 107:2

It wouldn’t be fair to cry foul when things go wrong and not publicly rejoice when something goes right. The women on this team are part of the right I needed to experience. And have you seen the speaker lineup at Allume 2015? What kingdom infused grace.

I’m so proud of how far we’ve come. Dare I say it – we’re looking like love you and I.

Jesus made it plain…the harvest is plenty…the laborers are few. I take this as a direct call within the community of believers – for some to open doors and for others …to walk through…to be the change.

Let your handmaiden find grace in your sight…#GiveMeGrace

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