Who May Live on Your Holy Hill?

Who may live on your holy hill?

This is the question that the psalmist asks in verse one of the fifteenth Psalm. It seems kind of ambiguous, right? I mean, what is 'God's holy hill?' Maybe it's His presence, maybe it's in the center of His will, maybe it's where He's at work, maybe it's on an international school campus in the middle of Taichung, Taiwan.

Wait, I want to live on God's holy hill!!!!! Pick me, pick me!

Psalm 15

A psalm of David.

Lord, who may dwell in your sanctuary? 

Who may live on your holy hill? 

He wose walk is blameless

and who does what is righteous, 

who speaks the truth from his heart

and has no slander on his tongue, 

who does his neighbor no wrong

and casts no slur on his fellowman, 

who despises a vile man

but honors those who fear the Lord, 

who keeps his oath

even when it hurts, 

who lends his money without usury

and does not accept a bribe against the innocent. 

He who does these things

will never be shaken.

This is the Word of the Lord. Thanks be to God.

A special thanks to The Covenant Home Altar for leading me to this particular Psalm at this particular moment in my life. Well, actually, thanks be to God for that, but thanks to the people who made the Altar and were used by God :) 

As I read this psalm I couldn't help but think, isn't Morrison God's holy hill at this moment in my life? I mean, I know it's right in the center of God's will for me at this time and I know that it's a holy place that God has set aside for His holy work to be done. I think it qualifies, which means that the psalmist is asking questions that I should definitely pay attention to and giving me priceless advice. Sweet! Now I know how to be successful here, right? I have the secret code to unlock fruitful ministry. Easy peasy lemon squeasy. Kind of. Until I read the advice and see how darn hard it is. Seriously? 

I'm supposed to be blameless and do what is righteous? What does that even mean? What about that TV show that I like so much, it helps me live a blameless life right? Hmmm, well maybe not ALL of them do... Darn! 

I'm supposed to speak truth from my heart and not slander? Well the truth part is easy, right? I mean I've never had a problem giving my honest opinion... but that from the heart part is a bit annoying. You mean it matters how I speak the truth? Uh oh! And I have to speak the truth without slandering anyone... This is getting difficult ;) NEXT!

Hmm not wrong my neighbor or slur other people. What does it mean to be a good neighbor? I think I'm going to have to figure that out... maybe it starts with knowing who my neighbors are (as I was proofreading this my neighbor came and introduced herself, yay!!!!)? And boy oh boy in a small community like this I'd better get good at not slurring other people!!!!! Pretty wise advice... 

Despise vile people but honor those who fear the Lord- check. Oh wait, I'm pretty sure I don't do a great job of despising vile (sinful, evil) people, in fact sometimes I put them up on a pedestal and admire them! And certainly I'm not sure how to despise anyone without slurring them. And sometimes the people who fear the Lord the most irk me the most, because they show me just how sinful I am. Errgghh!

Keep promises even when it hurts. Like continuing to sponsor Elysee in Congo no matter what? Supporting all the missionaries that I've promised to when I figure out my finances here? Honoring my oath to God to live an intentional lifestyle? Honoring my oath to Morrison and the students here to love them and do my job to the best of my ability by the grace of God? To love even those students who will drive me crazy? I've made a lot of promises...

Lend money without interest (or even expecting it back) and not accept bribes. So basically I need to be generous. Hmm I think I can honestly say generosity is pretty second nature to me, but that also probably means it's exactly where the opposition will target me. I can't seem to catch a break...

If you made it to the end of this you probably feel exhausted, me too! If I want to remain here and have God use me in ministry is seems like there are a lot of things I need to work on... 

Suddenly I'm feeling very helpless, and I think that's right where God wants me. 

I cannot do any of this on my own. Only by the grace of God can I stay in His presence- it is a gift. I can strive to live the life He requires of me, but I will fail often. 

I will be a bad neighbor. 

I will gossip about someone. 

I will break my promises. 

But God is gracious and will forgive. This does not give me license to be lazy in seeking to live according to God's Word, but it does allow the perfectionist in me to not give up hope. And there is a promise at the end of all of this: 

He (or she!) who does these things will never be shaken. 

By God's grace he has allowed me to be in His holy sanctuary and reside on His holy hill. By His grace may I always remain in His presence and at the center of His will. This is my prayer for myself and for you as well. 

Only by the grace of God! 

How Lucky I Am

The author of Winnie the Pooh once wrote, “How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard." As I hold my passport, print my boarding passes, and say goodbye to loved ones I can't help but reflect on the truth of this quote. 

I move a lot. Not as much as some people, but enough that I like to pretend that saying goodbye is NOT hard. But the truth is, that saying goodbye is always hard, and for that I am actually thankful. 

I'm thankful because I have people in my life wherever I go that are special to me and I don't want to say goodbye to. Leaving California after six years means that I have to leave many people with whom I've forged deep relationships. There are roommates, friends, and professors from college who will no longer be a two hour drive away. There is my Oak Hills Covenant Church family who I've worked and done ministry alongside in a very intense manner this year. There is my extended family who have sacrificed so much for me and always showered me with unconditional love. There are aging grandparents. There is Keith left in San Diego without the rest of the Stokers, and his girlfriend, Hillary, who I have only just begun to know but already cherish as an important part of my family. There is Brian in Washington D.C. far from any family. There are my parents who left for Cameroun a week ago. There is a new cousin due in September who I will not be around to greet. 

As I've been counting the things that make saying goodbye so hard I've realized that what I am really doing is counting my blessings, one by one. My cup overflows. The God who was faithful to provide in Zaire, Cameroun, and California will also be faithful as I move to Taiwan. While I grieve over saying goodbye (especially at the heart wrenching picture of my grandparents hugging and waving goodbye in my rearview mirror) I am looking forward to this new adventure with hope-filled anticipation. 

God is good, all the time! All the time, God is good! 

The One About Childhood Trauma

As I've been preparing to head to Taiwan to work at Morrison Academy in Taichung for (at least) the next two years, I've had a lot of time for self-reflection and such. It's been great to think about things that I don't normally make the time to think about, but I have to say that there have been some pretty rough things that I've had to work through. The following is a brief window into some of the reflecting I've been doing. The facts might not all be accurate, because this is a story beginning through the eyes of a seven year old. My prayer is that my story, the good, the bad, and the ugly, may serve as a catalyst for myself and others to help the next generation avoid some of the pain we endured. God has been gracious to me, and for this I am grateful. I am also eternally grateful for my parents, brothers, extended family, missionary aunt & uncles, and friends who have helped me on the journey of life thus far.

Here is just a short excerpt of my story thus far:

I was evacuated. If you know me, you probably already knew that. In fact, you probably even already know that I was evacuated twice within just a few months. If you know me well (or the situation I was involved in at the time) you also probably know that I was never in any ‘real’ danger. I never had a gun pointed at my head. I never had anyone break into my home while I was there. I was never the physical victim of unruly soldiers. No one close to me died in my evacuation experience. 

I was also a child. 

Let me repeat that, I was a child. 

When I was in second grade my whole life was turned upside down. I was an odd kid, and if you know me you probably think I’m at least somewhat of an odd adult. See, from a very young age I had at least the first 18 years of my life mapped out. I was born in Zaire, the now Democratic Republic of Congo. I was going to be baptized in Zaire within walking distance from the hospital where I was born. I was going to graduate from high school at the school where my mom was the principal. I would probably live there my whole life and hopefully get married and have my kids there. I was a little girl with big dreams, and then one day they were all gone. Well maybe not one day, I think there’s a novelist who writes something about how falling in love happens slowly, and then all at once, maybe my childhood dreams being crushed was something like that. 

It all changed when this little country to the east, Rwanda, had a genocide and a civil war that spilled into Eastern Congo. Of course, if we’re being honest it really started long before that. It started when the first explorers came to Congo and settled there to do research. It started when the world allowed Belgium to rule over Congo and ‘care’ for its people. It started when the US (and other people) ‘freed’ Congo from its captors and handed the country over to the dictator Mobutu. It started when Mobutu followed in the footsteps of the Belgians and kept Congo (what should be the wealthiest country in Africa based on natural resources) as a poor nation because he did not share the wealth the people acquired for him with the people themselves. It started when Mobutu got sick and fled the country. It started when Kabila crossed the border. It happened slowly, and then all at once. 

This is my story, but it’s not only my story. It’s the story of the hundreds of kids around the world who have been forced to leave the only place they’ve ever called ‘home.’ It’s the story of the thousands and thousands of Congolese who have died, who have watched their children carry guns, who have watched their children starve, who have watched their infrastructure crumble, and who hold onto hope despite all odds. That’s the story of Congo and many other countries. I am a part of that story, though not a large part. What I have come to understand is that although I am just a small drop in the bucket of that story, I am still a part of it and my experience is valid. My trauma is different from that of many other people, but that does not mean I don’t have trauma. Just because other people have gone through worse things, that does not mean what I went through was not bad. No child should ever have to listen to gunshots in their neighborhood. My experience was not nearly as bad as it could have been, but it is still my trauma. 

Tonight I went through a counseling session using the EMDR tool. In this experience my fingers tingled to type my story. My feet longed to run away, or more truthfully to run back toward something I had left. My eyes drifted to the left and I stared, unblinking, for an unnatural amount of time at absolutely nothing. That was my first word: nothing. I feel nothing when I am staring in that way. My next word: safe. I feel safe when I tune out the world around me, when I ignore all the things I cannot control. My next word: helpless. I am a seven year old girl, and I have no power to help the people around me or to even stay and be one with them. As I remembered these feelings of helplessness, of wanting to help but simply not being able to my body was wracked with sobs louder than any I can remember. My whole body grieved. And then this,

A truth spoken into my life: I was powerless, but I am no longer that little girl. 

I am a woman now. I am an intelligent, gifted, and privileged young woman who has the power to make a difference in other children’s lives. I can’t go back; I can’t change the hurt that happened in Congo or the fact that I simply could not help. What I can do is figure out where in the world I can help now. I can love the students I am going to serve in Taiwan, and I can always, always keep a part of my heart and soul attuned to Congo and ready to serve in whatever way God calls me to. 

My journey is not yet complete. My grieving is not over. But after 16 years maybe, just maybe, I can get rid of the ropes that are binding me and move forward in new strength because of what I experienced. 

All this by the grace of God.