In the heartbreak

In the heartbreak.png

What do you do when you don’t get to say goodbye like you thought you would, when things don’t end all neat and pretty like you planned, when you’re left sobbing your heart out in your car in a parking lot late at night, because it’s the end and you never knew it was going to be.

When you suffered through a rough shift at work, but you comforted yourself (and others) with the expectation of having a good week next week and getting to savor last moments and say goodbye to these people, this place.

And then you get one text message in that car right after close, and it shatters every hope you had and takes your heart with it. “They wanted me to tell you that we no longer need you for next week, you’ve served your two weeks, and the new managers we’ve been training are ready, so you’re done. Today was your last day. Good luck.”

And you immediately press call and you try not to sound hysterical or start crying into the phone as you desperately grasp for shreds of understanding only to get nothing, and you try not to shout but the volume of your voice is creeping up as you say “I don’t care about the shifts! It’s the people! I CARE ABOUT THESE PEOPLE!

I have labored with these people for up to two years and it was going to be hard enough to say goodbye. But then the opportunity to say goodbye to many of them was taken from me in such a way that I could do absolutely nothing about it. And I was upset. This stung. I was left feeling betrayed and helpless, because my plans had been changed and things were thoroughly out of my control.

Like many of us, my first instinct when feeling hurt and helpless is anger. Why would this happen? This wasn’t what I wanted! It’s not fair!

But you know what?

I am not the only one who has ever been denied a goodbye.

Over the past five or six weeks, I’ve been listening to Evidence Not Seen, the autobiography of missionary Darlene Deibler Rose. It’s her testimony of her ministry in the Netherlands East Indies (present-day Papua New Guinea) and her experience as a POW in Japanese prison camps. I just finished it today. It’s an incredibly moving story, both encouraging and challenging personally. But here’s my point: Darlene didn’t get to say goodbye to her husband. He died in the men’s prison camp, and she didn’t get to say goodbye. And oh, how she wrestled with these tumultuous feelings of anger and bitterness and pain and sorrow. But in the end, she could always say, “Lord, I still trust You. You are still good.”

I don’t think Mary, Jesus’ mother, got to say goodbye to Him either. He was taken in the garden, where He was with His disciples, and Mary wasn’t there. How it must have made her frantic to learn what had happened, that He was arrested, to realize that He would be killed and she hadn’t gotten to say goodbye.

There are countless others. Like Corrie ten Boom, who didn’t get to say goodbye to her siblings and nieces and nephews as she was taken away to prison. Like Joseph being taken from his family, and his father who wouldn’t know for a long time what had happened to him. Like Daniel and his three friends, who were captured and carried away to Babylon. Even if they got to say goodbye to their families, it certainly wasn’t a lengthy or expected one.

It’s a fact of life in this world that sometimes seasons and relationships end without warning. We have it all planned out the way we think it should look. Either these things aren’t going to end yet, or they’re going to end in a controlled way, with an appropriate amount of notice, and with reasonable levels of sentimentality (fond farewells) and forward momentum. But sometimes the story God is writing in our lives doesn’t look neat and pretty.

“We desire to live completely surrendered of our plans, laying down the way we would write the story in exchange for eyes wide open to see how He is writing it.” (Katie Davis Majors) When we surrender the way we have decided things should be, we are free to open our eyes and truly see what God is doing in our lives. That doesn’t mean we immediately know what He was doing or why, but it does mean we are freer to walk forward, trusting that even though we are not in control, He is–and that’s better.

Brethren, I count not myself to have apprehended, but this one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before, I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus.

Philippians 3:13-14

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There’s a song I heard today that resonated with me.

There is a wrestling in my heart and my mind
A disturbance and a tension I cannot seem to drive
And if I’m honest, there’s quite a bit of fear
To sit here in this silence and really hear You

What will You ask of me?
Will I listen to Your voice when You speak?

Help me to move, help me to see
Help me to do whatever You would ask of me
Help me to go, God help me to stay

“God Help Me,” by Plumb

It reminded me of the chorus to the song my church has been singing as the theme for our mission’s month this year.

Lord, send me anywhere, only go with me;
Lay any burden on me, only sustain me.
Sever any tie, save the tie that binds me to Thy heart—
Lord Jesus, my King, I consecrate my life, Lord, to Thee.

“Lord, Send Me Anywhere” by David Livingstone

There’s a certain sense of fear that usually comes with surrendering your control, your plans, and your present and future to the Lord. We are only human, after all. So when we talk with Him of surrendering ourselves, and being willing to go anywhere and do anything, we often mean “Anything reasonable. Anything relatively painless. After all, You said it’s going to be good, so that means things will go more perfectly than I could even think of. You said You would give me the desires of my heart.” This is the fear, the hesitancy that the song speaks of with the question “What will You ask of me?”

We miss the fact that things being good, things going better than we could think of, doesn’t mean that God’s plan for us will be painless. In fact, I would say that it actually is a pretty clear guarantee that it won’t be painless at all! Jesus promised that in this world we would have trouble! And yet, we are to take heart, for He has overcome the world, and He will be with us at every moment, closer than the breath we inhale.

This is the meaning of Livingstone’s prayer that God would sever any tie except the tie that binds us to the heart of God. He is saying that when we consecrate our lives to God, we can endure anything, for He is with us. And we have no need for fear. We may enter His presence with that hesitancy, that worry over what He will ask of us, but in His nearness we find that it doesn’t matter. Whatever He asks of us, He will supply the strength we need to complete it.

These are the thoughts that have been running through my mind and heart as I let go of what has happened in the past and trust Him to move me forward, and as I contemplate His will for my present and my future. With the change of my focus in my school studies to linguistics, and the consideration of Bible translation, my vision of my involvement missions is broadening. And it’s including some “scary” places. This has caused me to face some reality–that sometimes missionaries don’t get to say goodbye. That sometimes God calls you to places you hadn’t even known existed. That sometimes what begins as a terrifying journey ends at the very place your heart belongs, because He is there with you. It may not look like that I would’ve chosen or expected, but I can trust him in the heartbreak, that it is all part of His beautiful story, and that I am never alone.

I don’t know the future, it’s one day at a time
But I know I’ll be okay with Your hand holding mine
So take all my resistance
Oh God I need Your grace
One step and then the other
Show me the way
Show me the way!

“God Help Me,” by Plumb

At the edge of eternity

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This past week in the Netherlands I was a guest member of the teen Bible camp run by the missionaries. It was a mentally and physically tiring week, but it was so worth it to get to be with these incredible teens and staff members.

Thursday night we ended with a campfire song and testimony service. It was a beautiful time of reflection together, and was also a sobering time as everyone considered the situations they would be walking back into the next day. But for one night more, these teens were surrounded by people who loved and supported them and encouraged them to walk closer with God. For one night more they were challenged to make their short lives here on earth count.

Friday morning after one last breakfast, everyone gathered together for the final quiet time. We finished Romans 13:

“…Knowing the time, that now it is high time to awake out of sleep: for now is our salvation nearer than when we believed. The night is far spent, the day is at hand: let us therefore cast off the works of darkness, and let us put on the armour of light.” (Romans 13:11-12)

Together we sang “Er is een dag” (there is a day) with hearts simultaneously rejoicing and longing for that day to come, when we will step into the other side of eternity and see His face. A day when there will be no more difficulties, no more loneliness, no more tears, no more pain. A day when we will be surrounded by the children of God worshiping Him together.

He which testifieth these things saith, Surely I come quickly. Amen. Even so, come, Lord Jesus. (Revelation 22:20)

Soon we will see Him
And forever be like Him
And know Jesus as He is, amen!
No more tears, no more pain
Because we will live with Him
In His nearness, forever.
Amen, amen!

(translation is mine, so forgive any errors and approximations)

It was a beautiful week. It was not always what I expected, and it certainly wasn’t easy. Long days with constant Dutch tended to fry my brain as well as leave me physically tired. Sometimes Dutch would be a breeze, and other times I could barely put together a sentence, or someone would have to repeat a simple sentence three times before I could understand. It wasn’t immediately easy to interact with the teens or join their conversations–I had to go out of my way to start them. And understanding the instructions for the games was always a struggle. But what an outstanding week. I had the incredible opportunity to love these teens and staff and be a part of their lives for 7 special days, as well as to learn and grow, myself.

Thursday night as I was up late laughing with the teens and failing miserably at a card game for the tenth or so time, yet somehow managing Dutch quite well for 1 a.m., I realized that this was a place I felt like I belonged. They made me feel like I belonged. And I can’t even tell you how many people asked if I would come back next year or if I would move there. As I sat on the floor outside my cabin’s room processing the week I wrote these words…

I found my gal. I knew it was her when I first talked to her one-on-one earlier this week and she told me she was not so good with English. I knew she was the one I’d been praying for, the one I’d been expecting before this week even began.

And I held her in a hug tonight after the campfire service while tears slid down her face and she forced out barely intelligible words in Dutch. And when she was finished speaking, I was able to tell her in her own language, “You know what? I was learning Dutch before I even knew I would come here. And I stuck with it, even though almost everyone thought it was crazy. People told me ‘everyone there speaks English and no one anywhere else speaks Dutch, so learning that language is useless.’ And that made me a bit frustrated. You know what I told them? I said that if there was only one person who didn’t in fact speak English, it would be worth it to learn Dutch. I hadn’t met that person yet. I didn’t know if I would or not. But something made me keep learning anyway. And now I’m here. Now I’m here and maybe you were that person God had me learn Dutch for all along. Just so I could come all the way from Florida and speak in Dutch with you here and tell you how much Jesus loves you no matter what.”

“Heel mooi,” she breathed. “Voor mij? Echt?”

Yes, very beautiful.

This crazy kind of love, that God would choose to send His own Son for us. And that he would have a Florida girl learn a “small, unimportant” language for three years before sending her to a small camp in a small country to speak with a small girl.

It’s so…not huge and yet unbelievably wonderful at the same time. It wasn’t a dramatic conversion story. Just a girl who needed a hug and some comfort, and she wanted to hear it from me.

This is missions, I think. I think of Katie Davis in Africa. You can’t change the world for everyone, and in fact, not even for one person. God does that. But you can be there. And you can love them. And in “foreign missions”? You can learn to love their country, their language, their ways–you can learn to eat without using a napkin, and eat all kinds of stuff on bread. You can learn to speak your mind in a very frank and honest way. You can learn to be one of them. And you can love them. I think that is my greatest takeaway from this week–LOVE THEM with all that you have and are, in the best way you can, and in whatever opportunities God gives you. I can see that Daniel loves them so, so much. I’ve watched as he speaks and his heart breaks over them. I’ve listened as he prays and asks God to open their eyes and their hearts. And he enjoys being with them. He is there for them. And he speaks truth to them.

And this is THE mission.

How beautiful indeed. How very worth it all. Worth every speck and drop of life I have to give. Wherever I am. Whenever I am there. For the King who holds the whole world and yet also holds my redeemed heart. 


 

This is what it is like to catch a realization of eternity:

The long long long rope of which you can see only one end. A bit of tape on that visible end that represents life on earth. So much contained in eternity, and compared to that, life here is so…short.

This is what it is like to see a glimpse of eternity:

“Small” moments that are utterly life-changing. Moments you wish would go on forever in their simple existence. Singing softly around a campfire, grateful words spoken, tears dribbling on the dusty ground. Tissues passed around. Togetherness. Moments of silence. Love that is so real, so tangible, you feel you could reach out and grab hold of it.

This is what it is like to stand at the edge of eternity:

To realize that Jesus is coming and He is coming soon. To read with awe and wonder about the moment when He will take us up to be with Him, and to close your eyes to better envision the streets of gold and gates of gems. But most of all to savor the thought of one day seeing His face.

This is what it is like to live in the hope of eternity:

Knowing there will be a day…a day when the end of life as we know it shall come, and all the sorrow and the pain and devastation and striving of this life shall come to a close. To sing with joy and longing about the day we will see Him and know Him the way we were always meant to know Him. To rejoice in the parting, knowing we will see each other again in heaven, if nowhere else on this earth.

We walk. With certainty of knowing the Eternal One is with us every moment.

We sing. With the joy of this eternal hope.

We stand. With eyes gazing upward, fixed on the edge of eternity.

As he leads me

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Life is busy, always so busy, that it seems if I want a moment to be still, I have to make one. I must hew my quietness, my solitude, out of the whirlwind of life. Sometimes this threatens my ability to function well, as it is so difficult to find the moments I need to slow down and rest. But as I think about it, the necessity of intention is not a bad thing. If I am going to get a moment like this, I have to choose it. I have to decide to leave space in my day and then fill it with what matters.

Following God is like the rhythm of a dance. He leads with a step, and I take a step to match it. At first my step is uncertain, half a beat behind. I don’t know what I’m doing, but I know I don’t want to mess it up, so I pour all my concentration into doing just that–not messing up. My nerves jitter in the pit of my stomach and I sweat anxiously, tensing up as I desperately try to keep up with the steps I can’t anticipate. In my determination to not mess up, I’m struggling and trying to force what is supposed to be a thing of beauty and relaxed proficiency. I’m stressing over something that is supposed to be enjoyable. And I’ve utterly forgotten–no, ignored–the one I’m dancing with.

But here’s the thing with dancing: tensing up and focusing so hard on what you are doing doesn’t help you catch up, and it certainly doesn’t allow you to enjoy yourself. The best way to move in a dance you don’t know with a partner who knows what they’re doing is to relax and follow their lead. Focus on them, not on your stumbling feet and awkward movements. Listen to the music and allow it to carry you along. Trust the one you know who knows what they are doing and meekly follow. And do not allow yourself to get flustered and stressed over the steps you miss or the fumbles you create. Just keep going.

God orchestrated the dance we call life. He knows all the steps, He could have His pick of partners, and yet He chose you. He wants to walk with you. He wants to spend that time with you. He wants to hold you and guide you through every step you cannot seem to get right on your own. And He wants you to focus on Him, not on what you are doing. He wants you to step closer, relax, and trust.

And yet, He will not drag you with Him onto the dance floor. He will come to find you, and ask you to take His hand and trust Him. But He will not force you to walk with Him. If you decline and say you want to handle things on your own, He will sadly nod farewell and leave you, as you wish. But He is never too far. He is watching as you struggle through the music alone, fighting for every step. And He stands ready to, at any moment, respond to your cry for help. In an instant He will be beside you with open arms. Until then, however, He waits for you to seek Him.

A necessary intention is not a bad thing. Intention is the choice that causes us to examine our own hearts to find what we really want. We are all given the same twenty-four hours in a day, and we must choose how to fill the hours and minutes as they fly by, slipping through our fingers like the wind that slices between the stalks of reeds on the shore. In every moment, we choose how we are going to live. We choose who we are going to serve with every action we take. When God created us, He gave us that precious capability of choice. He wants us to want Him. He gave us the liberty of choice because He wants us to love Him freely, only by our own choice to seek Him above all else that clamors for our heart.

This is why, in the midst of the chaos and the busyness of life, I have to choose to pause. I have to make the effort to be alone, to be still, to be quiet. And listen. He is near me every moment, but if I really want to hear Him, I must take extra effort to be still so that I can listen intently. Purposefully.

If I wait to feel like it, or wait until I just “find time,” I will never end up coming to Him. But if I want to know Him…if I want to be with Him…I must, out of love, make the choice to step onto the dance floor and then let Him lead. I will never be able to make life or my relationship with God work if I will not choose Him, or if, when I come, I am caught up with what my tripping feet are doing rather than what He is doing. I must practice first choosing Him, and then coming with a meek and open heart, willing for Him to lead me and change me.

If this feels rather like being a child (and it does), then I must be doing something right. After all, Jesus said if we are to enter the kingdom of heaven, we must become as little children (Matthew 18:3). God gives grace to the humble (James 4:6-8). And in the end, the meek will inherit the earth (Matthew 5:5).

It is not complicated to follow God. In fact, it is rather like the beauty of a dance. But this life, this walk with Him, requires of me that I come humbly. I must choose Him first, choose Him above all, and approach with open hands and an open heart, willing to relax and let Him lead me.


A beautiful Dutch hymn, “Hij Leidt Mij” (He leads me).

Speaking of Dutch, I’m leaving for my missions internship in the Netherlands in just seven days. Wow. If you haven’t already, be sure to like my Facebook page and sign up for my email updates!

I cannot do anything

I cannot do anything

Note: This is the first post I ever wrote for this blog, way back around September. But for some reason, every time I stumbled on it in the drafts folder, I felt like it wasn’t the right time to share it. Today, however, I was again reminded of the principle in this post, and so I’m sharing it with you. I hope it will be an encouragement to someone today.

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It’s been over two years.

From the beginning, I knew I was getting into something huge, something complicated, something that would be difficult.

People always are.

But I also knew it would be worth it.

People always are.

There’s a saying, “The older I get, the more I realize I do not know anything.” And that has already proved to be true in my life. Because over the days and weeks, months and years, I have learned that much of what I thought I knew was actually wrong. It’s a difficult thing to understand people, sometimes. Every time I think I finally understand something, later something else comes to light and I realize I was wrong. I did not understand. And, inevitably, sometimes I wonder if I ever will.

It’s a complicated and messy and confusing and just plain hard thing to love people, sometimes. Especially those with life stories so different from my own.

When people trust me enough to talk about the beyond-surface level of their lives, I consider it a privilege. I try to understand them and where they’re coming from as best as I can. And I try to share truth with them as it relates to their situation. And I pray. I always, always pray. But sometimes…sometimes I feel helpless.

If you care about someone, naturally, you want to be able to make their life better and fix their problems.

But that’s not the way it works.

It took me a long time to learn that. To learn that it’s not my job to fix things, to always have the perfect word of advice, or anything like that. It took until a moment of understanding, a moment where things finally “clicked” and I understood why things were the way they were with someone, and a moment of cold, hard realization–I cannot do anything about this.

I think as humans, our reaction to things that we see as problems is to fix them. To figure out what’s wrong and what happened and how to make things the way we think they should be.  It’s kind of an instinct. And that’s not always bad. In fact, sometimes it’s a very good thing. If someone never wanted to fix problems in life, I would be very worried about them, because they must have a serious case of apathy.

But sometimes, this intense desire to fix things can be just another way we try to control our lives and the lives of those around us. We forget so often that we are not in control, don’t we? We forget that God is in control.

“The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps.” – Proverbs 16:9

“And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.” – Romans 8:28

“He is before all things, and in him all things hold together.” – Colossians 1:17

“Great is our Lord and mighty in power; his understanding has no limit.” – Psalm 147:5

“The LORD works out everything to its proper end.” – Proverbs 16:4a

We can make all the plans we want. We can desperately brainstorm and try to come up with a solution. But God is the one who knows exactly what’s going on and has a plan for it.

When we come to the realization that we are not in control–that we cannot do anything–we are finally ready to let God work. How did that night go for me? I realized the only thing I could do was pray and continue to love. But then the other thing that hit me was, “that’s all I’ve ever been able to do.”

Nothing had changed about the situation. The only thing that had changed was my understanding of it.

Jesus didn’t command “love your neighbor and.” There was no and. No “love your neighbor and…fix all their problems.” No “love your neighbor and…be sure you always have something to say about their life situation.” No “love your neighbor and…it’s your fault if they don’t become a Christian.”

There simply is no and.

All we are commanded to do is love.

Do you see how freeing this is? It means it doesn’t matter if we don’t know what to say. It doesn’t matter if we spend months or a year or two years or ten years or our whole lives loving someone who’s lost only to die without seeing them trust Christ. It doesn’t matter if we can’t see the results, as long as we are faithful to love.

All God asks of us is to love the people around us. We trust Him for the rest.

Loving people is still hard. It’s still confusing and uncertain and painful and patience-trying. But if we remember it’s not about us and what we can do, and leave the rest to God…it’s so much less complicated.

Have you ever had that moment before, where you looked at a situation in your life or someone else’s life and realized you just couldn’t do anything? Take heart, friend. Nothing changed. God is still God, and He is still in control. Trust Him.

What are some of God’s commandments you’ve recently seen in a new light? How do you think realizing we cannot do anything helps us to live freely?

How dirty is your towel?

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On the night of the Last Supper, Jesus took on the role of a servant–the lowest servant, at that–and washed the grime from his disciples’ feet.

The King of kings humbled himself enough to do the job none of the disciples would step in to do. The dirty job. He knelt down with a towel and washed each one’s feet.

Wow.

Washing feet may not have the same cultural relevance today, but it still sounds like a pretty dirty job to me.

“How dirty is your towel?” This question refers to Jesus’ willingness to get dirty and do the job relegated to the lowliest servant in the house. It’s a question meant to cause us to consider our own lives and our own willingness–or, more often, unwillingness–to serve those around us.

Working at Chick-fil-A has been teaching me a lot about having a dirty towel.

Servant leadership is a huge part of the company’s model. But more than leadership, the “how we give” page on the company website states the principle they teach each employee: “We firmly believe in treating every person who comes through our doors with honor, dignity, and respect.”

Sounds great, right? Sounds like it shouldn’t be so hard. And it isn’t, most of the time.

But you know what?

One thing that hit me several months ago was it’s not so much that we’re unwilling to serve anyone, at any time. It’s that we put these exceptions on a list in our mind. We get this attitude of feeling “above” certain tasks, or certain people, whether we’re consciously aware of the attitude or not. 

Sometimes, I have to serve customers who are snippy with me when I make a mistake. Sometimes, I have to serve customers who are talking on their phone the whole time I’m trying to take their order. Sometimes, I have to serve customers who are interrupting and demanding things unreasonably. And sometimes, I even have to serve people with profane t-shirts. And it is hard, so hard, to treat them with honor, dignity, and respect.

But looking back at the example of Jesus…He served the people who deserved it the least. He consistently served the ones who were the “untouchables” of society.

At the beginning of the year, I was praying about 2016. I asked God to make me a servant. I said, “I’m not going to qualify that with ‘leader’ on the end, though that would be nice. Just a servant, God. Humble and meek.” And sometime not too long afterward, I had a day at work with several rude customers and one with a repulsive shirt. And as I complained silently to God, I felt Him gently remind me: Honor, dignity, and respect.

I called that young man “sir” several times as I took his order.

Respect.

Usually, I reserve “sir” and “ma’am” for the older crowd. But that day, something changed. And I began to see those “untouchable” people in a different way. I now make it a point to address customers who irk me in extra patient tones and with “sir” or “ma’am.” To keep me humble. To keep growing me as a servant.

That day I also remembered a time my pastor preached on a servant’s heart. He asked this question–a more blunt and direct version of “how dirty is your towel”: Whose feet are you unwilling to wash? That really hit me. I went home and thought about it. And by the end of the day, I had to ashamedly admit that there were very few people in my life whose feet I would even consider washing.

I remembered that question when I returned home from work that night I called the young man sir. And I again asked God to change me. To take away my list of infinite exceptions and give me a humble spirit, loving each person He put in my path in a self-sacrificing way.

I’ve been able to watch Him answer that prayer, little by little. I’m seeing opportunities to be a servant more and more often, especially as I begin taking them. And slowly but surely, God has been doing a work in my heart. I don’t say this to boast, for as He knows, I have much room for improvement. But I say this as a testimony of God’s grace, and as an encouragement that He does change hearts and lives.

How dirty is your towel? — I’m asking myself this question today as a check-up, this Passion Week. If my Lord would suffer the scorn of His creations, and not only bear it, but also serve them…how could I refuse to do the same?

But besides reminding myself today, I challenge you with these questions: Whose feet are you refusing to wash?

How dirty is your towel?

 Have this mind among yourselves, which was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. – Philippians 2:5-8

“But whoever would be great among you must be your servant, and whoever would be first among you must be your slave, even as the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” – Matthew 20:26-28

The power of discussion

The power of discussion

One problem with society today is that for all the clamor of talking people do, they fail to have discussions.

What do I mean by a discussion? Simply put, a discussion is communication between two or more people. But I would venture to qualify that some more. Discussion requires a topic. Discussion involves giving everyone a chance to speak. Discussion requires thought, and forming a verbal explanation of those thoughts. Discussion is a team activity–you build off each other’s ideas. Discussion demands truly listening and actively thinking. It is more than just conversation–it is conversation with a purpose. A good discussion leaves participants with a new perspective or insight.

In my own observation, these discussions are a rarity today. Why? A variety of reasons could be behind this social trend. I would suggest that our culture is increasingly fast-paced; jam-packed schedules are the norm. Discussions take time and intention. They also require careful, critical thought, which is becoming quite unpopular today. Lastly, I think people are afraid of stepping on toes by expressing disagreement of any kind.

But this is unfortunate! The lost tool of discussion has numerous benefits and effects.

First, discussion provides the opportunity to develop an opinion on a topic. Sometimes a topic may come up for discussion that you hadn’t thought about before, but because it has come up, you have reason to think it through and formulate a position on the topic. You might even be prompted to research it and learn more about it, so you can understand it more. This is a good thing! It expands your horizons.

While you are forming your opinion on a topic, you will have the opportunity to employ logic and reasoning. You can check your own argument for holes and other problems, and the people you are talking with will do so as well. Which brings me to another benefit: You gain experience communicating your position. This is an incredibly important skill to possess. Having convictions and opinions doesn’t do you much good if you are unable to clearly explain them.

Discussions are also useful for brainstorming or working through an issue as a group. Oftentimes, when someone starts a discussion about a certain issue, it’s because they want to have the benefit of others’ viewpoints in the situation. Discussion is a great way to gain input in tricky situations or advice for a decision. It’s also useful for brainstorming ideas.

Now, this all sounds very corporate-office-job to you, doesn’t it? But let’s go back to my statement at the beginning of this post. I said that the lack of discussion in our society is detrimental. What if you don’t have an office job? Are discussions still applicable to you?

Let’s switch gears here and describe a different situation: The modern church. Many of us who have grown up in church have been told the same things over and over since we were toddlers about Bible stories, God, and what’s right and wrong. Most of us haven’t seriously questioned most of what we’ve been told. We just accepted it. Am I saying that’s wrong? No, of course not. But do you know why we have those statistics saying up to 80% of high school graduates leave the church? It’s because teenagers are encountering opposition in the world to the ideas they’ve been taught as children. They’re facing tough questions about what they believe and why. And they don’t know how to answer those questions. Why? Because there’s been a lack of discussion.

I think as teenagers especially, we’re often scared to ask critical questions about things we hear in church. Maybe we don’t want to be seen as doubters. Maybe we want to look like we have it all together. Maybe we just don’t know how to ask. But I think we as the church have failed to create a culture that promotes discussion. And it goes further than just opinions on political events or even doctrinal questions. It goes deeper. I think we’ve failed to create an open community where all members feel like they can ask tough questions about struggles in their lives and be lovingly received and supported. And as a result, people are struggling alone, never feeling like they can open up and get real help.

This is beyond serious. This is critical.

But what can we do about it?

I don’t have all the answers. (And in fact, that’s definitely the attitude we need to have going into discussions of any kind!) But here’s what I can tell you: It starts with us. It has to start with us. Waiting for someone else to change things isn’t going to help anything. And I think change starts with a simple step: Starting discussions. Be the one to ask a question that requires thought, then listen to the answers people give. Encourage interaction between members of the conversation. Build off what other people are saying. And then the next time you are around those people, or a different group of people, do it again. Eventually, people will start to expect those questions, and they will begin to bring questions of their own. And then hopefully, someday soon, discussion will be normal enough that they will feel comfortably bringing their life’s struggles and questions.

It’s a dream, yes, and it may be a while before I am able to see this brought to reality. But it starts with discussion. And I am committing to being the one to start discussion around me.

It’s time to speak.

In the interest of this topic, let’s have a discussion! Here’s the question, taken from my history curriculum: What do you believe is the proper relationship between a leader’s public role and his personal life? How much should a leader’s personal choices affect how we view their public role?

Post your thoughts on this topic below, and respond to someone else’s comment if you can!