Dalaina May's Blog: Jungle Reflections

I am a mom. Because of that I think about my kids… a lot. Pretty much all the time. I think about the cute things they have done, their needs, and their desires. I think about who they are becoming and wonder if I can ever be the kind of mother that I want them to have. I am head over heels in love with these dirty, playful, independent spirits that live in my home. I hope they know it.

I hope they know that long after they are in bed, I think about them. I plan ways to delight them the next day. I confer with their dad to make sure we are doing our parenting job to the best of our abilities, and I pray for them often and specifically. I cry for their hurts and laugh with their joy. I hope they know it.

Even more than I hope they know my affections for them, I hope they know that I love my God. I hope that they see the fondness on my face when I talk about Him. I hope they notice that when I’m hiding away in my room doing “Bible study,” I am happy. I hope they know that as important as motherhood is to me, my faith is even more important. I hope that the most accurate way they come to describe me is “in love with God.”

My children have defined my role in this life, but my God defines me. I want them to know that, to know that my love for them is endless, but my God is the lover of my soul. Motherhood is significant, oh so significant, but my God is who makes me significant by His creative word. My children give me joy; my God IS my joy. I hope when they think of me, they think of faith because they can see that it is my essence. As they grow, I hope that my excitement about a life’s journey with God spills over and washes them away into their own. I hope they know because they see it in me, that nothing else even compares to being with Jesus… not even a band of beautiful, hysterical, lovable little boys.

“Unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.”

It is one of the paradoxes of God---life from death. The one who loses his life will find it. Our very salvation is because of death giving way to resurrection life. Yet, even God does not delight in death. Death is unnatural to the kingdom of God and the very last battle He will fight on our behalf.

The agony of death, though, is real. Sitting in the middle of the excruciating pain that comes from a fallen world’s piercing reality, from injustices so devastating that they threaten to undo us, how is it even possible to see anything but the black sheen of death? When is the color of life coming?

Oh Beloved, it comes! Long after the grave seems sealed shut and forgotten, the power that brought our Christ rushing back to save us breathes new life in us. It is not the life that we remembered for we are forever changed by the scars that we bear. But it is life. It is a life re-birthed in growing confidence that our security is not in what God does, but in who He is. He is a God that hates yet allows death. He is a God who invites us to participate in His suffering. He is a God not content to leave us clinging to our own visions of how things should be, but stretches open our cramped fingers to take our dreams and replace them with His purposes. He lays down His life and invites us to lay ours down as well so that we may live.

Around seven years ago, I plunged headfirst into the depths. I was clinically depressed, dealing with becoming a mom of three boys in sixteen months, and reeling from culture shock after a move to Peru. And those were the easy things. I could feel God ripping through me, seemingly day after day. Every time a layer was peeled away and a lesson was learned, I thought I would have a chance to come up for air. I begged God for mercy, but I only seemed to sink deeper, drowning.
There was a song that discovered me one Sunday, when the artist (JJ Heller) sang in the morning worship service. I remember little else that she sang, but one line of a song hammered me and became my heartbeat for the proceeding years. “Be gentle with me, Jesus, as you tear me apart.”
For the next five years, I sat in this place, in pain but believing that God had a purpose in it. Now, a year and change out of the hole and with a deep gratefulness for the season that tore me apart, I am still contemplating God’s gentleness.
Suffering is inevitable. It has many causes, and it touches every person that breathes (John 16:33). Some suffering is born of our sinful choices---there are inescapable consequences to our actions and inactions. Much of our suffering is caused by the choices of others, like the loss of my friend Andrea’s toddler, gone because of the decision of a driver that should not have been on the road. At other times, God Himself directly chooses to allow us to be sifted. He did it to Job (Job 1:12); He did it to Peter (Luke 22:31-32). He tells us that we too will be given seasons of trials and testing not in spite of our faith but because of it (James 1:2-4). Whether God has placed us in a season of pain or our suffering is a result of our fallen world, we can be assured that nothing can happen to us that has not first gone through His hand.
So where is this “gentleness “of God? The gentleness of God is found in His purposes. He never allows pain without an intention. In fact, when Satan asked to sift Peter, he asked to sift all of the disciples. (In Luke 22:31-32, that first “you” is plural in Greek and refers to all of the disciples, not just to Peter. The second “you” is singular and indicates that Christ prayed for Simon Peter in particular.) God only gave Satan access to one, the one who would become the Rock of the soon-to-be established church, the strong, impulsive leader who needed to understand grace by having an experience of complete failure and subsequent restoration.
Sinclair B. Ferguson wrote in A Heart for God, “We may think that severity (as God leads His children) is inconsistent with what we know of God’s gentleness and compassion. But that is because we do not appreciate how seriously God loves us, and how determined He is that we should have His best, even if it means pain.” We can be certain that God is not into the business of inflicting pain for the sake of causing pain. He wounds so that He may heal (Job 5:18). He cuts away at our pride to replace it with a spirit of humility (Ps 51:10, Heb 12:6). He chisels away at our heart of stone in order to give us a heart of flesh (Ez 36:26). Even in our discipline, it is His kindness that leads us to repentance (Romans 2:4). He only allows as much pain as needed to transform us. I prayed for mercy all those years ago. Now, I realize that the very things I was hoping to be delivered from, in His mercy, God was delivering me to. And I am thankful.

I think I’ve always been a little too impressed with myself. Independent and self-confident to a fault. I am told that as a three month old infant, I even refused my own mother after she went back to work. On one hand, my self-sufficiency and ambition have served me well, on the other they’ve been a curse.

For as long as I can remember, I have been desperately fearful of being insignificant. I have had a hard time letting people do things for me. I have struggled with this drive to prove myself even when no one is watching. And I shudder to think of the arrogance I have portrayed over the years.

In college, around the time I was getting really serious about this thing called faith, I ran across the famous words of John the Baptist about Christ – “I must decrease so that He may increase.” Honestly, they terrified me. How about we both increase? Yeah. I liked that a lot better. It wasn’t that I wanted to be famous, but it was deeply ingrained in me from childhood to shoot for excellence. Nothing less than the best was worth doing, and all the better if people could see you doing it. I was so scared to not be a valuable asset to God, and at that time, I was pretty sure He needed my help.

I became a God-chaser, and I found that as I chased His heart, He turned around and grabbed on to me. I asked Him to refine me and make me more like Him, and He sent the quadruple-wammy of marriage, depression, children, and full time ministry to cut the legs out from underneath me. In some ways , it felt cruel, and there were times when I really had no idea what He was doing other than completely breaking me apart. Then slowly I realized that my desire to be molded into what God wanted me to be required a melting down of who I am and a burning away of a lot of the junk that was completely unusable. My pride for example.

I remember being in the middle of the village, in the pit of depression and almost completely functionless as a mother, a wife, a missionary, and maybe even a human being. It was then that I got a little taste of what it meant to decrease. I knew that if there was anything good in me, it was because of grace. Anything that I had to offer God was put into my hands by God Himself; there was very little of me that was lovely.

And yet God seemed to be affirming me even while He chastised me. At the same moment I was learning how small I am, He kept whispering to me that He found me worthy – worthy enough to die for. I realized that although God has no need of me, He has declared me valuable. Though my pride was shrinking, my confidence was growing.

It is a strange paradox of God that I have found myself in the middle of. My desperation for significance has shrunk, and I am no longer preoccupied with accomplishing great feats in the name of Christ, but it has shrunk because I know that I am significant regardless of what I “do” in Jesus’ name. I am so much more aware of my limitations as a mom, a wife, a friend, and a minister but I am less apologetic of them because I am convinced that God put me in those roles knowing full well what I lack.

Strangely enough, the idea of decreasing so that God can increase doesn’t petrify me at all any longer. Because my decreasing is not a sentence into insignificance and uselessness. My decreasing allows me to play safely in my Father's enormous shadow, where the enemy has a much harder time finding me than he did when I wanted to stand out so badly. My decreasing has brought be rest, confidence, peace, and the assurance of my value to my Creator. Who knew?

Ten years ago, I was in turmoil. I desperately wanted to be used by God for something bigger than myself, but at the same time I was absolutely terrified by what He might require of me. With only the hope that God’s goodness was really all that He promised it would be, I jumped. I scrapped my plans for a successful medical career and simply asked God to put me somewhere where no one else wanted to be. Perhaps not the smartest move, but I figured if I was going to follow God to the ends of the earth, than I really wanted to go to the very end of it.

In the middle of this internal battle, the story of the Apostle Peter became incredibly significant to me. I’ve heard many people talk about their dislike for Peter because of his impulsive behavior, rash declarations, and continued foibles. Maybe that is exactly why I love him – I am cut from the exact same fabric. My favorite section of Scripture is Peter’s adventure of walking on water. While in the end he messed it up, lost his faith, and had to be rescued, I can only see the fact that he was the only one who got out of the boat. Not that failure is something I am pursuing, but I would so much rather walk two steps on the water toward Jesus and need His rescuing hand and rebuke than stay safely in the boat.

Over the years, I come back to this theme – getting my feet wet – again and again. A couple of weeks ago, I stumbled on a beautiful song by Lifehouse called Storm. Here are the lyrics:

How long have I been in this storm
So overwhelmed by the ocean's shapeless form
Water's getting harder to tread
With these waves crashing over my head

If I could just see you, everything will be alright
If I'd see you, this darkness will turn to light

And I will walk on water
And you will catch me if I fall
And I will get lost into your eyes
And everything will be alright
And everything will be alright

I know you didn't bring me out here to drown
So why am I ten feet under and upside down
Barely surviving has become my purpose
‘Cause I'm so used to living underneath the surface

If I could just see you, everything will be alright
If I'd see you, this darkness will turn to light

I realized something interesting. For the last decade, my eyes have been staring at the water, at the goal if you will. I have been fixated on what God wants me to do (despite the fact that I still only have the vaguest of notions of what that actually is). I have thought often and hard about what purpose God has for my life and have been running toward that with every puffing breath that I take.

It’s not that I am not interested in that any more, or that I think God has no use for me. It’s just that I am lifting my eyes up and realizing that I just want Him. I am way more excited about the fact that He is holding my hand than that my feet are standing where they have no business being.

Joshua 13 tells the story of Joshua leading the Israelites across the Jordan River and into the Promised Land. God parted the Jordan just like he had done for Moses when the Red Sea was in the way. Only this time God required the priests to go first. They were to carry the Ark of the Covenant and go stand in the water of the river and remain there until all of Israel made it safely across to the other side. Until the priests got their feet wet, the river continued to flow.

I love this. I love it because God required something from the priests, even though He was the one who did all the work. He required their trust. He required them to walk into a situation where they would be lost if He didn’t come through. He required their leadership. He required a courage that rests on the character of a faithful God. And, oh, did He deliver! Not only were they in the front row of seeing an awesome act of the Creator, their own hands carried the Presence of God. I can’t even imagine what it must have been like to be one of those men watching their family, their clan, and even strangers passing next to them on a dry river bed with a wall of water at their backs and the weight of God resting on their shoulders.

At this moment, I am completely convinced that I don’t really care where this journey is taking me or even how many mistakes I make along the road. So long as God’s presence is with me, so long as He holds my hand, I will keep walking. Maybe we will even end up at the end of the earth.

Sometimes, God steps in uninvited. Sometimes it’s with a whisper, “I’m still here.” Sometimes, like today, it’s with an unexpected shout, “I AM!” I was just getting out of the shower this morning, and I put on a new album (Addison Road) I received for Christmas. The first song that came on was “What Do I Know of Holy?” Before the first verse was over, I was sitting on the floor with tears running down my face, feeling… small.

As God seemed to repeat over and over, “I AM. I AM bigger than you, bigger than this. More than you can possibly understand. All that you know of Me is such a small speck of the full truth of who I AM.”, I realized that my world had so shrunk in the past couple of months that it had started revolving around me.

It’s so easy for me to lose perspective during seasons of illness and busyness, so easy that it goes unnoticed for awhile. Even though I might be going through the motions of Bible study and prayer, my gaze slowly drifts away. And then comes that faintest whiff of heaven that drags my eyes back to where they should be focused.

The crazy thing is that this shift in perspective is not offensive; it’s a relief. His bigness reminds me of my smallness, but it is not a smallness that is insignificant. In the same moment that He says, “I AM,” He also says, “And you are. Mine. Valuable. Worthy. Irreplaceable.” When I remember the bigness of God and the smallness of myself, my fists of control finally loosen enough to dump my fears, frustrations, and unspoken dreams in the hands of the only One able to hold them all. And then, free from my burdens, I can actually look at Him again and inhale the breath of peace that I didn’t realize that I was waiting to take.

For years, I have loved reading about the boldness of Moses when he asked God to show him His glory (Ex 33:18). I imagine that to have that kind of audacity, his relationship with God must have been incredibly intimate. The evidence is all over Moses's life as God spoke to him and through him in so many ways on so many occasions. In fact 33:11 says that God spoke to Moses "face to face, as a man speaks with his friend." This is intriguing firstly because it is GOD speaking to Moses like a man speaks to a friend, not the other way around. This is GOD stooping low enough to have a conversation with a mere mortal. It is also interesting because we know that "face to face" does not mean that Moses saw God's face. "No one may see [God] and live." (33:20) So then, what does the expression mean?

I think it is a simple matter of a two-way conversation. My best-girlfriend lives thousands of miles away. When we really need to talk, e-mail and facebook just don't cut it. We need to speak in real time with the other's undivided attention. So even if that conversation takes place over the telephone, we've been face to face and our relationship deepens because of it.

Moses had God's undivided attention, but even more, when he spoke, God responded. God moved as a result of those conversations. While I realize that there is a bit of a tightrope to walk when dealing with subjects like God's sovereignty and foreknowledge and how that interacts with His responding to our prayers, I can't help but sit in Exodus 33, eavesdropping on the conversation between these two friends.

The chapter opens after Moses descended from Mount Sinai where God had given him the commandments for Israel. He had been up there so long that the Israelites assumed he was dead and made a golden idol in the shape of a calf to worship. As a result, Moses pleaded with God to spare the lives of His wicked people (see Exodus 32 for another fascinating conversation to eavesdrop on), and God relented. Then God said to Moses, "Leave this place... Go to the land I promised on oath to Abraham... I will send an angel before you and drive out the Canaanites... Go to the land flowing with milk and honey. But I will not go with you, because you are a stiff-necked people and I might destroy you on the way." (33:1-3)

This was God saying that He would make good on His promise to give the Israelites the Promised Land. He would provide protection and even drive out their enemies for them through the service of an angel. They would have everything. Except the presence of God.

Moses was not even tempted. Immediately, he argued with God. "If your Presence does not go with us, do not send us from here." This man, who had experienced the radical nearness of God in his life, knew that God's stuff - His blessings, His protection, His favor - were absolutely worthless compared with God Himself.

I love this story because I can so easily be distracted with good things, even things that are from God, and forget where my real treasure lies. Then God nudges me (or smacks me across the head) and shows me the exchange that I have made. Good things are mere dust when compared with the God who gave them to me.

I want to be like Moses and refuse to settle for anything less than the Presence of God Himself. I want the boldness to approach God as if I could actually sway His decisions, not a boldness steeped in pride but in the fact that I KNOW MY GOD and I know that He talks to me as a man does with his friend. I want to be so intent on gluing myself to God's side that I risk getting destroyed by His glory along the way.

Refusing to leave God's presence is a terrifying and exhilarating lifestyle, but I feel that the rest of my life must be about moving closer and closer to Him as He moves me along to wherever He wants me to go. Honestly, I don't really care much where that is. I just know that I can never be satisfied being anywhere else but with Him. He is EVERYTHING to me. And maybe one of these days, I will even have the guts to ask Him to show me His glory.

Recently, we've had an influx of teenage boys on our team. As I laughed at them running around the yard from my kitchen window, I realized, I love boys. I mean, I ADORE them. At the expense of sounding totally creepy, I'll admit that I could spend hours watching them ust being... boys. I love the wrestling, I love the teasing, I love the crazy stunts they pull. I especially love the in-between years, the ones when they are not quite grown men, but really not little boy any more. In some ways, I cannot wait to hear the changing voices of my own man-cubs even though I know there will be some not-so-lovely aspects to the hormone surges.

I guess what I love the most about boys is that manhood is stamped upon them from birth. They are male. Even hairless and helpless, they are little men. And they know it. I've seen it in my own sons as they dash off to "save" someone or work diligently for hours to build something only to smash it or show off their bravery in another daredevil feat.

Just today I watched Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe with my oldest. Not even 2 minutes after it was over, he was running outside with a plastic sword and shield pretending to fight his own battle. I could not help but laugh with delight because it is part of his make-up. Every day I hear stories of my sons' plans to better the world by saving someone or something. Today they were discussing how they would free the rest of the world's slaves - God would provide backup miracles if they got into a pinch. Yes, I know that girls are also passionate about being part of something significant (I am one too, remember!), but there is truly something male about saving the WHOLE WORLD and knowing that you are the one to do it. It's why Star Wars, even with its outdated cinematography, continues to win new generations of fans.

Men are also protectors from the time that they are very small. We have always made a big deal about the right ways to treat women. Particularly, my sons know that they are free to wrestle with each other and other boys, but they are NEVER to use their muscles to hurt women. They believe to the bottom of their little hearts that even their mama needs to be protected and that they, as men, are made to do it. And I love it! I love it when they run up and tell me not to be afraid because they've "protected" me from some critter that is now smashed to bits on the floor. I love it even more when they tell me that they have refused to retaliate against a playmate who hit because their muscles serve a greater purpose.

What I don't understand, however, is the fear that I see in some eyes, particularly in the eyes of parents of girls, when they look at my children or other boys, pre and post puberty alike. Like the masculinity of these boys is something to be afraid of. I don't understand how the very things that I absolutely relish - the rough and tumble, the raw physical strength, the tender hearts wrapped in a muddy, loud boastful package - are a cause for concern.

Parents, wake up! Don't you want your daughters to be surrounded by men of character who will use their muscles to protect, who know that they are brave and are ready to jump into battle for anyone who needs a hero, who dare to face their own terror (and even humanity) simply for the sake of winning against it? Or would you rather see her with someone... tame, predictable, and easily manipulated?

As a mom of men, I have the huge role of shaping my sons into the men they will become. While I believe that much of who they are is made in their DNA, I know that how I respond to it will shape what they allow the world to see and especially how they interact with women. Will they feel that their strength is not needed? Will they come to believe that their masculinity is shameful? That is why I must make it a point to delight in their strength and their bravery and, yes, even their daredevil displays. It's not that my children are not allowed to cry, for being able to show emotion is in itself is a kind of strength, nor is it that they are discouraged from showing fear, for they are human. But I want to see them grow into this lion-heart that they were born with. I want them to know that their male-ness is to be celebrated,
not feared.

In The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, Susan asks about the lion, Aslan, "Is he... quite safe?" And the response is, "Who said anything about safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he is good." I want this for my boys. In all of their wildness, their unpredictability, and their courage, I want them to grow in goodness. I have no desire to tame them. I want to teach them to use their masculinity for the good purposes it was created for, because I believe there really is a battle that God has put before them to fight and people that they will be called to be a hero for. I want them to be ready for their purpose.

I am deep into a study on James and l-o-v-i-n-g it. For years, James has probably been my favorite book in the Bible. I just seem to keep coming back to it. Maybe it's because it seems so practical. There is a lot challenge in those verses that are relevant to my daily life. However, as I read through the book, there are a lot of moments that require a
"gulp" as I realize that I fall woefully short.

But then there is verse 6 of chapter 4. "But He gives greater grace..." Absolutely everything else hinges on this. It reminds me that even my faith is not created, sustained, or grown by my own efforts. I do not have to run when I fail because He gives greater grace. I will never need more of Him then there is because He is infinite. I will never look up and wonder where He is because, even in the dry seasons, He has promised to never leave me. His grace is all I need, and He offers more and more to me - as much as I can receive.

Interestingly, this verse comes right after verses 4 & 5, in which James scolds the church as "adulterous people" who try to walk the fence of following God and loving the world... But He gives greater grace! In my own life, there is a constant pull to love the world. To love self-sufficiency. To stroke my pride with the pats on the back I receive. To say good enough to my parenting and wife-ing. To speak my mind without bothering to evaluate if the truth I feel I've spoken was done in love. But He gives greater grace!

While not a license to not strive toward radiating the character of Christ, "but He gives greater grace" brings me comfort knowing that He has provided all that I will need to be and to do who and what He has called me to.

Yesterday, I was talking with a friend about ministry, particularly the idea of whether or not we should expect to see the miraculous in ministry and what it means if we do not. It was interesting visiting the subject as it made me take a step back and evaluate where we've been the past 3 years since arriving in Peru.

As the conversation continued, I made the observation that if we aren't seeing the power of God all over our ministries, then I think we are doing it wrong. But that doesn't just mean seeing miracles either.

Around ten years ago while I was in college and trying to figure out what direction I would go in life, I started praying very specific prayer. I told God that I wanted to be in the thick of something impossible. I wanted to be living in a situation that was so beyond me that He would have to be radically present or I would not make it.

Maybe it's a touch of narcissism that makes me want the greatness and grandeur of living radically. Of wanting to see the miracles. Of desiring to be in a position that requires God to "show up." Or maybe I am just nuts. Because last night I had a good laugh at myself when I realized that God has done exactly what I asked - only in a way that I hadn't exactly meant.

Looking back on the last few years, I think it's not unreasonable to say, "I really shouldn't have been here." When we arrived in Peru, I was a mom of 3 under 2 in the middle of a major depressive episode. I was a complete and total wreck. Daily, I was pleading with God to just let me go home. It was too much, and I couldn't handle it. And daily, I felt the firm reply, "No. There's grace for today. Press on." It was only obedience that kept us in Peru much of the time.

And now I realize that was exactly what I had asked for, sort of. To live in desperate and daily need of God. To be fully convinced that without His very real hand on me, it just wouldn't work. I just expected that it would be around me, not in me.

Now, I feel like I am going through a transitional phase. The kids are older, the village is no longer terrifying, and I am emotionally and psychologically stable. While maybe my need for God is not going to look the same (maybe I can actually get out of bed and function without divine intervention), I think the whole experience has whetted my desire not to live in safety and ease. As we are slowly transitioning from language/cultural studies into actual teaching and ministry, I want to remain at God's mercy. I want o be completely confident that I cannot do it on my own, and if I am, then I am doing it wrong. I want to be like Peter. I want to be one who steps away from the safety of the boat to start walking on something that I have no business being on. To have to have my eyes fixed on Jesus lest I sink and perish for daring to try to accomplish anything on my own.

As I continued to reflect on this whole concept, I remembered this amazing message that I heard ten years ago and, funny enough, I had brought the CD with me to the village. I popped it in this morning and was struck again by this part: "You cannot find security in what God is doing because He commits you to the impossible; He asks you to see the invisible; He calls you to do the outrageous. There is no security in that place. There is no security in what God is doing. There is only security in who God is."

It's so true. There is nothing comforting in what God is doing. It's always unexpected and always beyond our ability to understand. But His character never changes. He is always faithful and kind; He is always good and patient, full of mercy and compassion. His character is where I have to rest. Though I have no idea what He is going to do in a given day, week, or month, I am absolutely certain that He is trustworthy. And really, if He is all that, living on the edge is not such a scary place to be.