Flames of a Burning Passion

I awoke this morning with an unusual feeling inside me; an aching, burning, fascinating feeling. I tried to continue about my morning like everything was perfectly normal. Lazing on the couch watching HGTV, I found it impossible to sit still. I couldn't figure it out. I soon decided to try to relax in a hot bath with my book--Messy Spirituality by Michael Yaconelli--but quickly found myself in tears. The words seemed to jump of the page and entwine themselves with deepest, darkest story of my heart.
It was about the Samaritan women at the well; you know, the one that had been divorced 5 times and was currently living with a man she wasn't married to, the one who went to the well alone in the afternoon because respectable women went together in the morning and she was definitely not a respectable woman, the one that Jesus spoke to and showed amazing grace to and offered Living Water so that she may never thirst again. I began to think about how much I was the Samaritan woman. Maybe we didn't share the same sins, but we both held tight to our past (and present) of mistakes. What made me cry was that it was in this mess of a life that Jesus literally reached out to her and spoke to her and offered her a new beginning. As we all know, I struggle with the thought of perfection. I always wanted to be perfect for God. Reading this today made me realize that being honest with myself and everyone about the mess that I am is exactly what makes me perfect for God. Wow. That is true grace.
Following this retelling of the John 4, Yaconelli gave some real life examples of people that were touched by amazing grace; a young woman who admitted to her new boyfriend that she was a prostitute--fully expecting condemnation--and heard him weep as he told her over and over that he loves her, and a little boy who was the last strike of his little league baseball game causing his team to lose whose family set up the exact scenario and pitched to him over and over until he got a home run and was carried off the field on his uncle's shoulders. More tears quickly followed.
I sifted through memories searching for moments that I was shown grace, or showed it to others. The only time that came to mind was not what I was looking for. It was a moment when I had the perfect opportunity to share God's grace, but instead took the role of the condemner. My best friend had taken a sharp turn off a cliff that seemed to have no end. I was losing her to everything I had worked myself to the bone trying to escape. I knew deep in my heart that I wanted to love her out of it. I prayed for her day and night. I tried to hold her close and make her feel how important she was to me and how much I wanted the real her back. Instead, we fought. We fought like we never had before. I was judgemental and mean. I pushed her waway when she wouldn't do what I wanted. I regret that more than ever now, because I don't even have the opportunity to share grace and compassion and love from God with her. We aren't friends anymore. I deserved that. I wish I could tell her that everything I did was out of love, but that would be a lie. I did it because I was selfish and didn't want to lose my best friend. If I could tell her one thing now it would be that I know things aren't as bad, but no matter how bad they are, God will gladly meet her in the middle of it and pick her up, dust her off, and bring onto the path that brings true happiness. If I could tell her one thing it would be that God can and will love her in that way that I never could.
(Keep in mind, this is all happening in the bathtub before noon.)
I couldn't handle anymore crying, so I started praying about LTI and what God wanted me to do. I wish I could say I heard this miraculous voice speak to me and tell me a bullet-point five-year plan, but why lie? I washed my hair and let my mind wander.
Okay, before I go on, I must confess something: I get really nervous talking to people, so I like to think through the conversation in my head. That way I have a basic idea of what I want to say.
I began to play through a possible conversation with someone regarding what I want to do with my life. I've kind of always known I want to work with children, but I didn't know in what capacity. I started my conversation with my double major at FPU speech. Then I moved on to the seminary I found in Oregon. I touched on how I'm planning to have an empasis on working with at-risk youth. Then came the dreaded question that always causes a stutter or two and definitely blushed cheeks: what are you planning to do after you get your degrees? In other words, how are you going to put all of this learning to use? Awkward pause. I was drawing a blank. What did I want to do with all of this? I wanted to help people. I wanted to keep people from going down my path, making my mistakes, feeling my pain. I wanted to take those people and draw them to God.
That's when that burning feeling came bubbling up into a passionate joy. Of course! It had been there all along! I wanted to say those words that I couldn't bring myself to say to my best friend. I wanted to tell all these hurting people that God doesn't care how messed up you are, He loves you anyways! He doesn't love you in spite of your mistakes. He forgives your mistakes and gives you a new begninning. Yes, the scars of the past still remain as vividly as the scars on my wrists, but God gives you the opportunity to start living a new way. A way that will bring you true joy!
"Well, okay but how are you going to do that?"
No pause this time. No stuttering. No flushed cheeks.
I have two options:
1) Find the worst neighborhood in where ever I end up--gangs, drugs, and pain, oh my!--and find a church that will allow me to start a program specifically for these people. Something that will be open to everyone, no matter their beliefs, but not intimidating. Just a place to talk about life and God. A place where those who have been saved and started their new lives in Christ can turn around and help those who haven't yet.
2) Come back to Fresno. Sounds like a step back, I know. But I also know how much pain and suffering there is right in my own neighborhood. I mean, a drug dealer in my graduating class lives a few houses down from me. Maybe, I won't come back to Fresno, but somewhere like it. A place where the walls of perfect suburbia harbor the scariest of secrets. A place where the plastic smiles painted on the never-ending parade of perfect faces makes it even more intimidating to admit how much of a mes you are. Yeah, we have churches and youth groups galore, but I personally know how scary it is to sit in a room of people that seem to have it all together and try to put together the words "I think I'm pregnant," looking for some much needed prayer. Micah said it perfectly on Sunday, "a holy huddle." That's what it feels like to all those hurting people that wander in the doors, no matter how welcoming the group is. Because they have it all together and my name is synonymous with train-wreck.
I want a program with group environments, but also one-on-one counseling, specifically for the youth that can't seem to wake up and stay sober, the youth that continue to blame themselves for the sexual abuse in their past, the youth that are determined that their too messed up for God to love. I want a program for the youth like my best friend and I who need to hear that it's in the mess that Jesus will meet us.
So now here I am. Nine hours later, seated in my new chair at my new desk typing on my new laptop looking calm and collected, like I have it all together. But inside I am crumbling with memories of a sin-filled past. I am trying to keep my mind focused on God. I am burning with a passion to get out there and start my dream.