A walk in the park, or not...

By: Jessie Coleman | 0 comments |

“Is your new friend blind too?” Maria asked.

Maria was not asking me. She was asking about me.

“No,” Gabi said. Ensue laughter.

Let’s back up.

Gabi is one of the women who attends Iglesia Gracía y Paz, the church where I’m serving. Her voice is a 

staple during Sunday-morning worship, and if it so happens that the whole band is out of town (like last week), she can carry us a cappella.

Gabi, who has been blind since birth, is also a member of CEMIPRE, the ministry center that offers courses on Braille, computer programs and other topics, all the while sharing the love and hope of Christ.  

The other day after grabbing lunch, Gabi and I decided to walk downtown while she filled me in on the best places to buy chocolate and shop for deals (she gets me). She left her walking stick in her bag and took my arm as we set off.

No problem. I walk all the time. Since I was like 1.

Having Gabi on my arm was like taking a cat and cutting its whiskers. My judgment—compromised. Poor Gabi.

I walked her right into people, posts, signs, you name it. Mind you, we were on the most crowded footpath in Viña del Mar during rush hour. It seemed like someone had opened a floodgate of pedestrians, and we were walking upstream. Several times I came to an abrupt stop to let people pass. It helps if you advise the person you’re walking with of this first, just FYI.

With all my concentration invested in navigating us (poorly) through the oncoming foot-traffic, I wasn’t paying as much attention to my half of the sidewalk.

Enter payphone

Bam!

“Ouch!”

Shooting pain in shoulder.

To be fair, this was not your average payphone. It looked exactly like a landline telephone. Unassuming. Innocuous. It happened to be sitting on a cement ledge that jutted out from one of the store fronts.

Depth perception, what depth perception?

Despite Gabi’s chuckles and the bewildered looks of some passersby, we continued on until we met up with her friends. To be honest, I still don’t know what exactly I did (or didn’t do) to cause her friend, Maria, to doubt my sight. Either way, I figured the question was well-deserved. Maybe she heard us coming.

So often I put too much stake in my own capabilities, whether it be walking down the street, moving to a new country, speaking Spanish or communicating the mystery of Christ (while walking, in Chile, speaking Spanish! Ah!).

My first night in Chile, as I unpacked my clothes and looked out at the twinkling city, it was a bit like being slapped in the shoulder with a telephone. At that moment, no amount of Spanish speaking or adventure-seeking spirit could stifle a pang of fear. The city looked big. And there was just me. Lord, help.

He did. In fact, he even saw this moment of panic coming, because he gave me some advance reading on the plane ride over.

Deuteronomy. Specifically, chapter 30, where Moses is talking to the Israelites after reviewing the law...talk about overwhelming. I mean, start with the Ten Commandments and by the time he got to clean and unclean food I would have been tweaking.

“Excuse me, just to clarify, it’s okay to eat animals that chew cud if they have a split hoof divided in two? Is that right? Oh ok good…now what is cud?”

However, Moses was confident, in God’s word. In verse 11, he says “Now what I am commanding you today is not too difficult for you or beyond your reach… No, the word is very near you; it is in your mouth and in your heart, so you may obey it.”

We are able because, because He makes us so.

It’s interesting to think of Moses’ words in light of Christ.

The word is very near you.

“The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us,” John 1:14.

It is in your mouth and in your heart.

“But the Counselor, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you all things and will 

remind you of everything I have said to you," John 14:26.

If Moses had hope for the Israelites, certainly we are at an advantage with Christ risen and the promise of the Holy Spirit.

The commandments are still hard, in and of themselves. Love me first. Become last.  Make my name known.

The people are no more (maybe less) capable than before (with bruises to prove it…).

But nevermind that.

It is not too difficult, for him.

 “I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit," John 15:5.

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breaking laws

By: Jessie Coleman | 1 comments |

Day five in Viña del Mar and I have already broken the law.

Law 92. Don’t distract the bus driver.

Yes, this is actually a law, posted inside all of the "micros" (buses), most likely intended to dissuade unusual disturbances, and perhaps a few extra-chatty Catalina's.

If you know me at all, you will know that even after I realized I was on the wrong bus to get back to my hospedaje, and even as I watched the bus exit onto some type of highway, and even as we proceeded to weave manically through the traffic on this said highway moving farther and farther from my part of town, I still hesitated to “distract” the bus driver.

What can I say, I’m a hopeless rule-follower... but my daylight was waning.

“Permiso!” I said, not loud enough. “Uhh permiso!” I said louder, waving my hand awkwardly and looking about as lost as I do pale. Sometimes it's good to stand out.

“Vas a Agua Santa y Alvarez?” (Are you going to Agua Santa and Alveraz?)

“Noooo,” he said shaking his head as if to say, “You are WAY off!” then he added a few more “No, no, no’s,” for emphasis.

For a second, I thought that was going to be the extent of his response. I began to think that those “No, no, no’s” would have been a little more useful about fifteen minutes ago when I got on the bus and said, “I’m going to Agua Santa.” But then he became very helpful.

So helpful I wondered if he remembered he was still driving a bus, as he turned almost completely around to face me. Other cars wondered right along with me and honked in concern. Life flashing before eyes...

Breaking the law has consequences.

It also can be very informative, and after a 30+ minute bus ride I hopped off the bus with a new friend and a new understanding of the bus routes (sort of...he talked fast). As I got up to leave, the driver waved away my offer to pay the extra fare for riding the entire route and said—“Que te vaya bien!” (Hope all goes well!)

In general, this has been typical of my reception in Chile. Senora Mirta, the owner of the hospedaje where I live, has all but thrown fruit at me every morning if I don’t appear to have eaten enough and is already planning my birthday party in October (she throws a few every couple of months for the birthdays of all the students staying with her).

At church on Sunday, there were many besos and smiles as I got to meet some of the people involved in both ministries for the first time, and John and Cathy Rug, the missionaries here, though not Chilenos by birth, have absolutely received me with open arms, helped me settle in, and already showed me some sights, beaches and foods known to Chile!  (MUCHAS gracias!)

Still many rocks to overturn and much left to discover about the ministry and my niche of service, but here’s to getting lost, making new friends, and a discovering more and more of this new path God has me on, one micro ride at a time.

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God is greater than banana bread

By: Jessie Coleman | 0 comments |

Hi my name is Jessie, and I’m a stress baker.

It started innocently enough, with some Jiffy oatmeal muffins. Muffins progressed to my grandmother’s home-made brownies a couple days later. Then a genius little concoction called Magic Marshmallow Puffs (crescent rolls+marshmallows+cinnamon and sugar+butter=magic). The streak ended a few days later with Orange Poppy seed Bread (but let’s call it what it is—pound cake, emphasis on the pound). 

It’s been about 4 days since I devoured the last slice (hunk) of bread (cake), but, there are three rotten bananas on our kitchen counter calling out to me. Ba-na-na-br-ea-d, they whisper.

Needless to say my Dad is thrilled. He is putting in requests. Blueberry coffee cake, next on the list. My mom is proving very self-controlled. Blueberry coffee cake may break her.

I must say I’ve enjoyed the baking…and the eating (possibly a little too much). My vow to start running again this week hasn’t exactly succeeded…I managed a few miles the other day, but contrary to the title of this blog, I would not have called it running well.

It’s funny how we cope with stress or fear or sadness or whatever raging sea is welling around us. Sometimes I think we respond by creating our own little storms. Whether it’s baking up a storm (guilty), cleaning up a storm, or even just dueling the thunder with our own booming snores.

The problem: raging sea not intimidated by banana bread.  No matter how much I bake, the struggle, the crisis, the hardships that we’re promised in this life aren’t going anywhere.  

The good news. God > banana bread.

Even better news. God > raging seas.

A passage in Psalm 77 struck me the other day, and it’s provided more comfort than all my goodies put together. A troubled psalmist cries out to God in pain and despair. Then he remembers the Lord’s mighty deeds, including the parting of the Red Sea.

“When the waters saw you, Oh God, when the waters saw you they were afraid. Indeed, the deep trembled.”

I can’t even imagine being Israelite in that moment. Churning waters ahead, clamoring chariots behind. Talk about a bad day. No amount of manna-cream-pies stood a chance against Pharaoh and I doubt they were even considering the Red Sea as a viable escape route.

Hence, panic. Outrage. Cries of "Why!?"

God, in a typical omniscient creator-of-the-universe sort of way, responds—“"Why are you crying out to me? Tell the Israelites to move on. Raise your staff and stretch out your hand over the sea to divide the water so that the Israelites can go through the sea on dry ground.” (Exodus 14:15-16)

Oh. Right. Of course.

Our God isn’t about avoiding trouble. He doesn’t take us on a path of least resistance. Yet he is certainly with us in the darkness. He's the flashlight.

The psalmist puts it well, “Your way was through the sea. Your path through the great waters, yet your footprints were unseen. You led your people like a flock, by the hand of Moses and Aaron.”

We all face some sort of Red Sea, some situation where Satan seems to be gaining ground, where sin threatens to enslave. No matter how great the waters or how furious the enemy, we can be sure of this; in the presence of God those waters writhe in fear, the enemy cowers, the deep trembles. Our God is mighty. He is all-powerful. Nothing is impossible for him.

This isn’t to say that baking is bad (I’m still planning on making banana bread), or that cleaning is a horrible stress outlet. Not so. Simply, in the face of trial, muffins make for a lousy shield and the Swiffer isn’t much of a sword.

One of my all-time favorite verses appears right in the middle of this trial. Moses says to the panicking Israelites, “Stand firm and see the deliverance the Lord will bring you today...The Lord will fight for you. You need only to stand still" (Exodus 14:13-14).

The Lord is fighting for us. I will bake in celebration of that!

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esperar

By: Jessie Coleman | 1 comments |

I'm a logophile, a.k.a. lover of words, though some might argue that "lover of talking" is closer to the truth.

Even before I could talk, I had a lot to say. Mostly unintelligible, toddler talk. By the time I was 5, not much had changed. I still had the lung power, will power, and trouble pronouncing my R's. One day, my mom set me up with with a tape recorder and let me loose. The result, a 30-minute soundtrack recorded for "Gwandmontha" and "Gwandy." Definitely a keepsake. (Listen to the highlights)

With the exception of middle school (severe shyness=mute), the trend has continued as I've gotten older. I find myself often warning others that, "I tend to ramble." Sometimes I have trouble answering a question before the asker loses interest (beware of the wandering gaze). And when it comes to telling stories, well, I figured out long ago I better give an abridged version for my male listeners (whom I may have lost already...hang in there...esperélo)

I love talking so much that one language isn't enough. Poor Spanish speakers. Around them, my desire to converse quadruples. My vocabulary, not so much. Sometimes, believe it or not, I run out of words.

Or worse, things get lost in translation, i.e., I have yet to find the Spanish equivalent for the adjective, sketch. Example: This place is pretty sketch (a good description for any metro station across Europe including the entire city of Pisa, Italy). Much to my disappointment, saying es-ketch, does not resonate.

And then there's the "Aloha complex" (I made this up)-- when several different words in English translate to the exact same word in Spanish.

Verb, case and point: esperar

Means: To wait. To hope. To expect.

At first, I felt cheated. How can the same word be used to express, "Wait a minute," and "I hope you feel better." (Esperé un momento; Espero que te sientas mejor)

Expect too? The same word? Really?

What if I want to say, "I hope you don't expect me to wait much longer!" (Espero que no me esperes esperar mucho mas....?) Yuck.

Then, I started thinking about the last few months of my life. In many ways, a waiting period. Waiting to hear back from people, waiting to raise enough money to serve with MTW in Chile, waiting to see how God's going to provide.

But it didn't start out as waiting. Hope started it. The hope I have in Christ risen. The desire to be a vessel of that hope to people in Chile. A hope against hope that all this was possible.

I never would have had the courage to live in that hope had I not expected God to come through. Had I not banked on his perfect will and guidance.

It's all over scripture.

"Now  hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience." Romans 8:24-25

Esperar.

"He (God) delivered us from such a deadly peril, and  he will deliver us. On him we have set our hope, that he will deliver us again." 2 Corinthians 1:10

Esperar.

"Yes, and I will rejoice, for I know that through your prayers and the help of the Spirit of Jesus Christ this will turn out for my deliverance, as it is my eager expectation and hope that I will not be at all ashamed, but that with full courage now as always Christ will be honored in my body, whether by life or by death. For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain." Philippians 1:19-21

The last few months, I've felt joy and fear, peace that surpasses understanding and discouragement that weasels it's way into my life. I fight it. I set my sights on Christ (though sometimes it feels like I have a lazy eye).

I hope. I wait. I expect.

They are a package deal.

One word says it all:

Esperar.

"Commit your way to the Lord; trust him and he will act...Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for him." Psalm 37:5,7

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take heart

By: Jessie Coleman | 0 comments |

Leave it to me to go to the wrong hospital when my Dad is getting heart surgery.

Mom: Are you looking at the emergency room?

Me: Yes.
Mom: Go left and you’ll see a tower that says, “The Heart Center,” in large red letters. It’s at the North end of the building.
Me: Umm.. Okay…
Mom: I don’t see you.
Me: Hmm. I’m at the south end of the building now.
Mom: Why did you go there? I said it’s at the north end.
Me: You said to go left.
Mom: I know
Me: Left is south
Mom: No, left is north.

A few more miscommunications and one front desk later, we concluded that both of us were right (or, if you share my mom’s point of view, I was utterly wrong). Needless to say, I missed the surgery.

My dad was in and out in about an hour, though it would be another 37 hours before they actually let him leave- just long enough to spend Thanksgiving in a hospital gown feasting on a cafeteria turkey sandwich and a plastic dish of pumpkin pie.

Not ideal timing.

Or perhaps, it was just perfect.

Had my dad not been scheduled for his quarterly stress test this past Monday, who knows when (or how) he would have discovered the blocked arteries. My dad certainly hadn’t noticed. He went on a 35-mile bike ride the Saturday before and felt great, albeit winded. He just has a “bad” heart, though he doesn’t always feel it and he definitely doesn’t live like it.

Oddly enough, I’m reading a book right now that suggests Christians act the opposite. According to author John Eldredge, president of Ransomed Heart ministries, Christians are hypochondriacs of the heart--we’re constantly crying out for a spiritual bypass, when really, we’re quite heart healthy.

In his book, Waking the Dead, Eldredge suggests that Christians often mistake the daily battle against the sin of our flesh as an inward struggle for the heart. The whole: We do not do what we ought to do or want to do in fact many times we catch ourselves doing the very opposite thing we should do and before you know it we feel a lot like Paul exclaiming, “For I know that nothing good dwells in me!” and we go ahead and suffer a heart attack before we even let Paul finish his sentence.

Well, hear Paul out.

“For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh.” (Romans 7:18)

Flesh. Not heart. Sure, we’re at war against daily temptations, the lure of popularity or lust or selfish ambition or business or complacency or just downright laziness—but it’s not our heart that’s at stake. That battle is won.

“I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit I will put within you. And I will remove the heart of stone from you flesh and give you a heart of flesh. And I will put my Spirit within you, and cause you to walk in my statutes and be careful to obey my rules.” (Ezekial 36:26)

“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold the new has come.” (2 Corinthians 5:17)

Now. Not later. Christ endured the wrath of God for the sins of the world and rose again to conquer death once and for all, to give us a chance at really living, at knowing God. Our hearts are good. They’d have to be—He makes our hearts his home. (Ephesians 3:17)

We ought to live in light of that.

For many of us, myself the foremost, that means we need to stop living in condemnation and calling it humility.

Starts out innocent enough:

“Lord, teach me to be a servant.”
“Lord, I kind of got busy and forgot. Help me.”
“Lord, I was selfish today. Sorry”
“I should have unloaded the dishwasher without having to be asked.”
“I can’t even go to the right hospital when my Dad is in surgery.”

Conclusion: I’m an idiot. (maybe true, but that’s not the right attitude!)

The difference between shame and humility? Eldredge says, "Shame says, 'I am nothing to look at. I'm not capable of goodness.' Humility says, "I bear a glory for sure, but it is a reflected glory. a grace given to me.'"

So let's beam with the confidence of a people who are greatly loved though greatly flawed. Let's boast in Christ and leave the pity party for another day.

Sure, we don't have it all together, but in Christ, our hearts are in the right place. We are not without hope.

"In this world you will have trouble, but take heart! I have overcome the world." (John 16:33)

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support so far

By: Jessie Coleman | 0 comments |

As many of you know, right now I’m raising support to serve in Chile for 11 months with Mission to the World (MTW), the worldwide missions agency of the Presbyterian Church of America. I’m about 2 months into the process, 25% of the way to my support goal, and excited to see how God provides the rest.

One thing’s for sure—I’m not the same person I was when I started support raising in August. For me raising support has been a bit like climbing a mountain. This image comes to mind for obvious reasons: little five-foot-four me, gigantic seemingly insurmountable goal of raising support.

Also, I feel a little bit like Jonathon when he and his armor-bearer took on twenty Philistine men waiting for them at the top of a cliff (1 Samuel 14:6-14). Jonathan knew that God had given them into his hands, all he had to do was get there...by scaling that cliff.

So here I climb. Sure of God’s leading in my life, and even more sure that I can’t get there without Him. Some days the hand holds are easy, and I move steadily closer to my goal- to bring Him glory. I’m energized by the sheer beauty of my view—of Christ risen, of saving grace, of disciples in all nations, of a love that drives out fear. Then, other days, I realize how high up I am, how much control God really asks us to give, and I get scared. Stuck. My arms shake. Trembling, I fall.

Lucky for me (and to stretch this metaphor somewhat absurdly) Jesus is my belayer. Falling only brings me closer to him. Closer to Truth. Closer to living the kind of life that points toward God instead of myself.

Don’t get me wrong, I still kick and scream on the way down. Hence, this group. I need prayer. In my daily life, I’m all-too-aware of the absolute necessity of spending time in prayer and reflection of God’s word. Having others praying for me as well is like a much-needed power bar. It gives me strength. And God listens. He answers. Mountains move (Matthew 17:20).

Join my Facebook group to partner with me in prayer, not only for these next few months of support raising, but also for Chileans in Viña del Mar. That God would be drawing them near, that doors would be opened for the gospel, and that by His grace I could be an instrument to share His love with Chileans.

I am so grateful for your prayers and would love to return the favor. This may be my mountain, but I’m sure you have your own. Won’t there always be a mountain? Isn’t that growth? Are you climbing, or clinging on for dear life? Scared to start? I’ve been all of these. Let me know how I can pray for you.

“For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, or love and of self-discipline. So do not be ashamed to testify about our Lord, or ashamed of me his prisoner. But join with me in suffering for the gospel, by the power of God, who has saved us and called us to a holy life—not because of anything we have done, but because of his own purpose and grace.” (2 Timothy 1:7)

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conquer fears

By: Jessie Coleman | 0 comments |

My little sister is, well, little. Five-one. The size zero you hate.

That is, until you mention blood work and needles.

Upon hearing those words, she might as well be Tim Tebow running a football; the door, her end zone. She will get there, and if she has to plow through you in the process, bonus.

The last time she got a shot was more than five years ago. It took six nurses and my mom to hold her down.

Needless to say, last week when I went with my sister to the doctor’s office, my ears stung as I heard those dreaded words—“Blood work.” I felt my sister freeze beside me. Seconds before she had been laughing, perfectly at ease despite some back pain. Within 20 seconds of the B-phrase, tears spilled onto her face. Her cheeks burned red, and her body began twitching.

Things were going bad fast.

The nurses seemed oblivious. They cheerfully chattered about the procedure and allowed her to use the bathroom.

Were there windows in the bathroom? I wondered.

After a little too long, my sister rounded the corner again and I knew instantly—Tebow.

Without a word, she blew past me, snatched up her purse, pivoted and began to push her way around me.

“Are you Megan?” one of the nurses asked.

“No” she snapped without a moment hesitation.

I tapped into my inner linebacker for a few seconds before letting her go (She looked ready to foul).

Outside, she waited for me stoically—face set, determined. I tried to reason with her. Told her it would be
OK. She would barely feel the needle. We could get ice cream after.

Not interested.

So, out of options, I did something very out of character. I got mean.

I don’t remember (or care to) exactly what I said, but the words ridiculous and tough love come to mind (I know, soooo mean). Whatever I said, my mad tone was enough to surprise the football player right out of her. Her expression went from set to shock. Silence.

“Will you hold my hand?” she said in a small voice.

I fought the urge to laugh or even smile. Mean, Jessie. Grr.

“Of course,” I huffed.

We marched back in, only to realize we now had a 30-minute wait. Crap. I wasn’t sure if I could keep up the tough act that long.

Half an hour later, after discussing our biggest fears over Lays and soda at Subway, my sister walked into that doctor’s office a new person.

“I’m ready for my blood work now,” she declared.

We strode into an examining room, she took a seat, took my hand, and I waited for the tears.

None came. The needle was in (and maybe not out as quickly as I had promised), the tube filled with blood, and though my sister breathed like she might be having a baby instead of giving blood, she didn’t shed a tear.

Megan looked at me and beamed. She had done it. She had conquered her fear.

Tough Jessie crumbled. Get her some orange juice! Would she like a cookie? Would she like cake? Maybe a party? I walked her around to the other nurses and pointed to the purple band around her arm like a proud mom.

We left that doctor’s office (3 hours after we came) victorious, elated, full.

I’ve thought about that visit a lot this past week, but one conversation in specific.

While we were waiting Subway, my sister asked me what I was afraid of. What was it that could take me from calm to crying in a matter of seconds?

Sea-Doos, I replied, which is fairly true (I’ve sworn never to ride one again…long story). Nothing else.

I possibly lied.

Over the past week, my first week at home, the better question seems to be, what aren’t I afraid of? The list is long.

Failure. Missed opportunities. Looking like a fool. Unemployment. Disappointing people I care about. Never making it to Chile. Making it there but not making an impact.

At one point or another this week, each one of these things has caused me to tremble, pushed me to tears even.

But just like my sister and her phobia of needles, I know these fears are lies.

It might hurt. I might not be successful in the way I once dreamed. I might disappoint some people. I might look like a crazy person. But Christ said we have to lose our lives to find them (Matt. 16:25). That the road to personal glory is a dead-end (Matt. 6). That we can’t serve him and seek the approval of men (Gal 1:10) And being out of your mind for the sake of Christ isn’t necessarily a bad thing (2 Cor. 5:13).

I may not have a mean big sister to tell it to me straight, but Paul is a pretty good stand-in.

“You were running the good race. Who cut in on you and kept you from obeying the truth. That kind of persuasion does not come from the one who calls you.” (Gal. 5:7-8)

Jesus didn’t come to conquer death so that we would live in fear. No, he left us his Holy Spirit— not of fear, “but a spirit of power, of love and of self-control,” (2 Tim. 1:7). He didn’t save us from gnashing teeth just to feed us to the wolves. No, “in all things, God works for the good of those who love him,” (Rom. 8:28).

So I’ll keep running, but I won’t run away. I will stand firm and watch my fears flee. (James 4:7)

My sister conquered her fear, and so will I. With His help.

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