My humble purpose

This morning, as I sat at my desk making final changes to this week’s Chanticleer, the stresses of my work and my life seemed smaller somehow. For as my own brow furrowed with concern over whether to capitalize this or that and whether to place this comma here or there, a gentleman sat quietly in my office, while all the while he ran the largest news organization in the world.

Arthur Sulzberger Jr. is the chairman and publisher of The New York Times Company, and for one day, Mr. Sulzberger descended upon Jacksonville State University as this year’s Ayers Lecturer. But before he took to the podium, he sat in my office for a couple of hours.

So, I went on with tackling the issues of my life — such as which reporters I should send to which lecture or blood drive (riveting, I know) — while he sat reading his newspaper. His newspaper.

I felt small, yes. Insignificant, yes. But would I trade places with this man? No, never.

By no means does my life boast as large a footprint as Mr. Sulzberger or others, but at the same time, it is a life I have been given by the grace of God, and it is a life that I am determined to live with vitality.

To some, my ambitions for my future seem small. And they’re right. This small town girl has no desire to make a city like New York City, Washington, D.C., or heck, even Atlanta my home. My ambitions are less career-based — though I do love the work I am doing now and hope to continue bettering myself in my field for a long, long time. My ambition, in a nutshell, is to love and befriend people. Period.

And whether or not that ambition leads me to an impressive position with an impressive organization like The New York Times (emphasis on the not), I am satisfied — satisfied with the life God has carved out for me. I believe in my God, the God who has saved me from myself and the ways of the world, and I believe in the purpose He has set in my heart.

I hope Mr. Sulzberger can say the same.

An ambassador

"We are therefore Christ's ambassadors, as though God were making his appeal through us. We implore you on Christ's behalf: Be reconciled to God. God made Him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in Him we might become the righteousness of God."
2 Corinthians 5:20-21

The word ambassador inspires in me a mind full of images, but one dominates —that of a dressed-up dignitary from a foreign country, serving as a peacemaker between the nations.
An ambassador is, essentially, a representative. A go-between. Someone to be that one person, one life that will form the world’s view of whatever or whomever he or she represents. We can represent countries, clubs, businesses or families, and whether consciously or not, we do every single day.
And as a Christian, as someone who has dedicated my life to the work of Christ (though each day I slip at fall while working at this task), I am here on Earth to represent Him. And whether my decisions are positive or poor, whether my friendships are strong or struggling, whether I walk tall or fall, I do represent Him — for better or for worse.
Christ did the unthinkable for me and for you. He was innocent and pure, yet He took the weighty sins of the world upon Himself and died a death of thieves and murderers.
And it is up to me (and you, if you know Him —and I pray you do) to stand up, wherever we are and whatever we are doing to represent Christ, and represent Him as best we can.
The world is rarely going to like what we have to say, but it is these words (for they are His, not mine) that can save. It is His words that will change this world. So speak up and speak out, speaking His truth in love, and if you see me around campus, remind me to do the same. We are therefore His ambassadors, and we implore our friends, our families, those we love on His behalf.

Shades of gray

"In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints in accordance with God's will.

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose."

Romans 8:26-28

'We do not know what we ought to pray for,' Paul says. Have you ever felt like that-- as though your words have slipped away? Have you ever looked around and saw this world as one of mottled shades of gray-- and found yourself wishing for the crisp, clean comfort of black and white? Have you ever sank to the depths of depression-- and wondered where, if, how there is a way out?

I write to you tonight from the bottom of the pit. The deep, dank, dark pit. The walls impose upon me, and a chill rises up from the floor. I am cold, I am tired and my heart longs for the voice of my God.

Loneliness seeps into my heart, but I am not alone. There are others here, but they too are wounded. They too have been silenced by the ways of the world.

But here, the burden of misery isn't lessened with company. Here, we speak words of hurt to one another. Here, we are too busy and too tired to extend a love that is patient and kind. And here, we become so consumed with the chill of the pit that we forget how we arrived.

My story is just a wisp of a memory to me now, but one thing I know:

I crawled down here. Of my own volition, of my own choosing. Of my own fault.

It was I who invited sin into my life. It was I who crammed my days with meaningless work. It was I who turned my heart away from the love and forgiveness of my Father.

And it is I who, tonight, relinquish the reins once again to God. Each time I jerk them away from His hands, I find myself here. Here in the deep, dank, dark pit, with tears welling in my eyes.

"Oh God, you are my God,
earnestly I seek you;
my soul thirsts for you,
my body longs for you,
in a dry and weary land
where there is no water.

I have seen you in the sanctuary
and beheld your power and your glory.
Because your love is better than life,
my lips will glorify you.
I will praise you as long as I live,
and in your name I will lift up my hands.
My soul will be satisfied with the richest of foods;
with singing lips my mouth will praise you.

On my bed I remember you;
I think of you through the watches of the night.
Because you are my help,
I sing in the shadow of your wings.
My soul clings to you;
your right hand upholds me."

Psalm 63: 1-8

Why am I here?

By the time I could walk, I'd already been pelted with the age-old question countless times:

What do you want to be when you grow up?

My answers and those of my peers changed from year to year and day to day . . . for a brief time, I replied, "a singer," my friend Mary once dreamed of being a garbage-man (well, garbage-woman, I suppose) and my cousin Stephanie used to dream of being an Indian. As we all grew up, we grew wise to the ways of the world and our aspirations became more logical. Concrete. Attainable.

I, who could not and cannot carry the proverbial tune in the proverbial bucket, had no hope of catching my big break in the entertainment industry. I went on to dream of being an artist, and for a long time, I found the term "starving artist" glamorous and appealing. Then I wondered about illustrating and writing children's books. Or writing and designing greeting cards. Or this. Or that.

My dream morphed each day, and I recall being a senior in high school (not that it was too terribly long ago) trying so hard to figure out where I was supposed to go, what I was supposed to do. I prayed, prayed, prayed for direction. I searched my Bible for guidance. I knew that whatever I did, wherever I went to school, I wanted to serve God. I wanted to live a life that spoke boldly of His beauty and grace.

So. Here I am. I wonder every single day if I made the right choice . . . and from a career standpoint, I'm not at all certain. I do, however, feel confident that skills in writing and communications can and will translate into a number of fields, leaving me with endless possibilities.

Amid all the wondering and the questions (like do I seriously want to live from daily deadline to deadline in the newspaper world?), the words of a great man, one whose devotion to Christ is an inspiration, came at the perfect time Tuesday night.

"You are where you are on this campus, doing what you're doing for a reason. Your life touches people that no one else in this room could touch," said campus minister Gary Brittain.

The best part? Gary wasn't just talking to me-- he spoke to a roomful of college students who, like me, long to make a difference on this campus and in the world.

I am where I am (at the corner desk in the Chanticleer office) because God put me there.

So, friends, it is with a smiling heart and a brighter spirit that I will walk the path that is my life. And we all will wait and see what it is that He had in mind.

Because He first loved us

“We love because he first loved us.”
1 John 4:19


Pink plush teddy bears smile down at me from their perches. Heart-shaped boxes of chocolate span an entire aisle. Valentine’s Day stickers, baskets, wrapping paper, muffin tins, cards, toys, flowers and candy, have exploded into a very red and pink section of Wal-mart.


For a holiday centered on love, a look down those aisles tells me that, like all other American holidays, it has become a holiday centered on “stuff.”


As a lady in love, I happen to enjoy Valentine’s Day. But as much as I am anticipating spending the day with Kenny, the idea of a day that celebrates love directs my heart heavenward.


In love, God formed this earth. He lovingly fashioned each creature of the land and sea, and He crowned his creation with man and then woman. Instantly, he loved them, and it was a love so strong, that even after Adam and Eve deviated so badly from His plan, it did not cease. Instead, with grace, His love abounded even more.


In love, God looked down to the earth and saw a world sick with sin. He saw that the rituals of worship and sacrifice and atonement were boxing his people into a life devoid of joy. And so he gave again.


In love, God send his only son, Jesus Christ, away from the safe haven of heaven, into a world whose inhabitants He very well knew would kill Him. He watched as His son was embraced by some but rejected and feared by others. And He looked on, tearfully, I imagine, as His precious son was crucified to save the souls of his murderers.


If that isn’t love, then I don’t know what is. God is love—utterly, fully, completely.


And it is His example—one of selfless sacrifice—that serves as the model for you and I to imitate. Love means more than romance, and lust has nothing to do with true love.


Love is, to me, about trying with all our might to love one another in the way that Christ loves all of us—unconditionally.

Falling apart

I am consumed by the happenings of the day-to-day.

Get up early, head to the office, check my e-mail, log out, check my other e-mail, check the News Wire, check the event calendar, consult my planner, interview, interview, interview, write, write, write, eat a protein bar on the way to class, sit in class worrying about how I’m going to get everything done, run back to the office, call reporters, call photographers, write, write, write, dash home, do a bit of homework, then collapse. And then do it all again the next day.

I write of this not to highlight myself as a “busy” person—quite the opposite. I know of many whose lives are far more stressful, far busier and, quite frankly, far more important than mine. No, I write of this because I know you are busy too. I write of this because my intent when taking on the responsibility of writing this weekly blog was to share my heart. So, friends, here is
my heart:

This semester has been a difficult one for me. I was shoved into a position on this newspaper staff that I didn’t really want and I took on a second job (to boost my portfolio, not my wallet)—all while trying to earn A’s in my classes. Again, I know that this plight is most certainly not unique, but for me, it has proved to be too much. Way too much. So much, that my body is protesting. I spent all of last week broke out in welts and hives and this week with a constantly aching stomach.

Yet, I, like you, continue to trudge on. Day by day, week by week, hoping, quite frankly, for time to melt away quickly. But last night, I took a rare moment, and I stopped to think. And I remembered that it was not always like this.

Take last semester. I was fresh from two months of serving God by mending roofs and laying tile, and the joy that Christ brings was fresh within me. I remember walking through my days with a veritable spring in my step and a heart full of joy. I remember being so grateful for the opportunities that my work here at the Chanticleer would bring, and so excited about being an active part of the BCM and mentoring a group of freshman girls.

I was happy, at peace with myself and with God.

But as time went on and responsibilities mounted, that joy and zest for life slowly drained away. I knew my life was no testament to the beauty of my God, and that knowledge, I think, broke me down a little more. I felt like a failure, and I didn’t know a thing to do about it.

I sit here on this Sunday morning broken. I come to you today, not with lofty words, but to write to you, from my heart to yours. I am here to say that my body is exhausted, my heart is broken and that I am a flat-out failure. Those words ring true, yes.

But I am also here to tell you (and to tell myself) that it doesn’t have to be like this. God promised us a life more abundant and free, and I believe in that promise. Sometimes, guys, we just let ourselves and our plans and our jobs and our relationships and our “this” and our “that” stand between us and our creator.

I’m here to be honest. For the past two weeks, I have barely cracked my Bible—the Holy word of God, His letter to you and me . . . and I wondered why I have felt my joy slip away?

Guys, stop and think for just a moment. Stop. Think. Look around you at the world outside, the incredible work of the Hands of an incredible God. The One who made all of that in just a week made you and loves you, too. Just revel in that beautiful truth for a moment.

In the past months, I set my life to spinning so fast that I didn’t stop. I didn’t think. I didn’t pray. Or read His word. And here I am, hurting and crying as a result.

But, friends, today is a new day. Today is a day that for me marks the beginning of a new journey—my return to the arms of the One who loves me most.

I wrote a blog last night… “SPAM and Tootsie Rolls” or some such thing. You can read it below if you so choose. And when I was done, I smiled, happy to check one more thing off my to-do list. This morning, though, as I sat down with an open Bible and heart, I knew that I’d be in the wrong if I didn’t invite you all on the journey. So, come. Join me. I am putting my heart out there, for you all to read and dissect, and all I ask is that you open your mind and come along.

God is good. All the time.

“As the deer pants for streams of water,

so my soul pants for you, O God.

My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.

When can I go and meet with God?

My tears have been my food day and night

while men say to me all day long,

‘Where is your God?’

These things I remember

as I pour out my soul:

how I used to go with the multitude,

leading the procession to the house of God,

with shouts of joy and thanksgiving

among the festive throng.

Why are you so downcast, O my soul?

Why so disturbed within me?

Put your hope in God,

for I will yet praise him,

my Savior and my God.

My soul is downcast within me;

Therefore I will remember you

from the land of the Jordon,

the heights of Hermon—from Mount Mizar.

Deep calls to deep

in the roar of your waterfalls;

all your waves and breakers

have swept over me.

By day the Lord directs his love,

at night his song is with me—

a prayer to the God of my life.”

Psalm 42:1-8

SPAM and Tootsie pops

He heaved a case of SPAM onto the whirring conveyer belt. Next came a super-sized box of puppy chow. Then two cans of Barbasol shaving cream. Three bags of off-brand cheese puffs. A package of Tootsie Pops.

I leaned over my own overloaded cart, wishing and waiting for my turn, and my mind wandered over to the eclectic pile of groceries that continued to mount and to the man who was adding to the stack.

His weather-worn complexion told of days toiling in the sun, and his white hair whispered of years gone by. He wore a light blue button-up shirt with an American flag emblazoned on the left sleeve and a black leather vest.

The beep-beeps of the cashiers’ scanners and the murmur of small-talking voices melted away, and for a moment, I found myself wondering what the life was like to which this gentleman was going home.

I pegged him as a bachelor immediately. With a dog, obviously. I imagined he must have some children in his life—nieces or nephews, perhaps. I just knew that those Tootsie Pops were headed to a jar in the middle of a kitchen table somewhere. Maybe the cheese puffs, too.

Startled, I blinked.

I realized with a start that my eyes were boring into this unknowing man and his groceries. Clearing my throat, I began to load my own selections onto the belt.

As the cashier handed him his change, the man glanced back at me and our eyes met.

I was instantly ashamed of myself and of the wanderings of my mind.

Each day, we all encounter people—people from every walk and discipline of life, people of every color, people of every belief system, people of every political conviction. And far too often, I find that I, instead of offering a hello and a handshake, I find myself drawing conclusions, closing my mind off to what is and opening it to what my snap judgment tells me is so.

This week, as I work and learn and play, I know my path will intersect with those of many people. It’s inevitable. But instead of allowing myself to yet again stay shut off from the world and cling to my stubborn set of stereotypes, I hope to instead smile and make a new friend . . . or perhaps better understand an old one.

"Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it."

Hebrews 13:2