Elle Effect Photography

I am so overwhelmed- so overwhelmed in the best way. It has never, ever stuck this strong in my heart before that I have Jesus IN ME. I’ve heard it over and over and over again, “Jesus lives in your heart”, etc.

I, of all people, am His hands? His feet? His ears? His eyes? I am a living, breathing “Jesus” on earth?

So I’ll admit, I’ve freaked out for the past few weeks. I don’t feel like I’m doing enough, or I’m not doing what I’m supposed to be doing, or- you get the picture. One thing after another. I’ve become so uncomfortable and dissatisfied with the way things are. My community seems dead… and it’s killing me, too. It’s like a downward spiral of lost hope- what am I to do anyway? Where do I start? Do I even belong here anymore? We don’t even have a coffee shop. Anywhere. Not even a Starbucks.

I’ve grown weary of it.
Of the same ol, same ol…
The constant, dragging routine.

I’ve grown weary of what we call, “the church”
And I’m longing with everything in me to see the Body of Christ come alive again.

Yesterday, I saw a vision of the Body. It was an old woman. Tired. Worn out. Weary. Done. It struck me hard.
And I think… this is what the Lord is supposed to marry one day? I mean, He is our bridegroom… how are we preparing?

Crazy, I know.

She needs revived- reborn into a beautiful, young woman again.

We’ve gotten so used to a pattern- and the pattern works, so we keep using it. Sunday after Sunday after Sunday we throw together this spiritual formula of sorts in worship, in the manner of preaching, blah blah blah. It’s boring. It’s like hitting one note over and over on a piano and never actually playing a song. We’ve got the Music right in front of us, but we’re ignoring it. We sit there playing the first note of the song. There’s so much more. There’s so much more. There’s so much more… I know my spirit it groaning and I know my heart is aching, I just wonder if anyone else’s is, too.

And now, we’re back to the question- what am I to do about it, then?

I guess, one thing at a time? One small thing at a time. Open up the back doors of the church and have youth come in from all over to create… together. Share what they create. Why they created it. Lemme tell you, our community is FILLED with talented, artsy youth. Our whole youth group is crazy-talented. But where are we expelling that talent? Where? I honestly can’t think of one place, so why can’t it be ours?

And if there is such a desire to open a coffee house where we can have local artists- musical and otherwise- come in, why not just do it? Why not?

I’ve seen and experienced some of the most incredible things in my life already- and I’m only eighteen. Yesterday, I flashed back to some of the most incredible moments in my life. Defining moments where I sat on a stage with other passion-filled youth after one of the most strenuous shows we had ever done. This “stage” was put together in an afternoon. We arrive early in the morning at a Juvenile Detention Facility where we usually have to go through at least three or four different gates to get inside (depending on the level of security; we’ve been in as high as salem). We’re completely silent. Focused. In prayer. Constantly. As we walk in the door, they search our personal belongings. I can remember all of us piling into one room next to the control room, closing one heavy door behind us and waiting for the lock to go off so the other door could open. I can still hear the sound of that lock rewinding and clicking and the smell the door left on your hand after you pushed it open… and then, the heavy click of the door shutting behind you. You were in. We were there. Sometimes, we’d experience a louder group where they’d pound on their doors knowing we were there. Screaming at us, yelling obscenities. They were quickly stopped by security guards always standing nearby. By the end of the day, you were friends- or at least on a first-name basis- with most of all the security guards. They were always there. The conversations we’ve had with some of them have been unreal and life changing. Some have even gotten saved right on the spot, and we didn’t even do anything yet- or so we thought. We were just setting up sound equipment on a Saturday afternoon in a gym. We were there because, somehow, there had been a deep love in our hearts for youth we didn’t even know. We’re given their first names a month in advance and we pray. We pray. We pray. We never see them as just “another group” in “another facility” - they are living, breathing, aching, hurting youth who need Christ just as much as I do (and I might even need Him more). We proceed to set up, and of course are usually almost done by lunch.

Lunch is an experience. We walk silently down thick feeling halls, hear the lock click and step into the lunch room. Once we’re in, they bring the youth in (usually in the lower security, but it’s happened in higher security as well). They eat with us. We mingle. We talk. We introduce ourselves. You freak out sometimes, but then just realize they’re people. Just people. I like that we’re not kept from them- that we eat what they eat where they eat it when they eat it.

After lunch, it’s major preparation for us. Not just in the lighting, mind you. In our hearts. We usually take communion together as a group. Oh man, I can’t tell you how Jesus has met me in those musty gyms with dimmed lights with a small group of dedicated, God-crazy youth sitting together remembering what Christ did for us. I’m taken back and always overwhelmed. Devotions, discussion and prayer follow. We begin to focus. We don’t take this lightly. The original show written that we do is anything but easy. It’s intense- and the only way we make it through each time is by the grace of God.

When it comes time for the show to begin, the lights go off. We breathe… deeply. We’re in character. We’re praying. We’re quivering a bit at times. We’re… ready. Ready for whatever God has. As we go through the hour and half drama filled with video and dance, we hear it. Hear what you ask? We hear… them. Laughing. Mocking. Joking. Slouching. We see them. Sometimes they are two feet from the stage and you can see their faces. They relate with the show. We don’t hold back. It’s real. God makes it real. One show, in one of the highest securities, they were mocking so loudly- it hit home like never before. Me, being the main Christian character of the show, it’s.. so hard. You kinda feel like Jesus being mocked and his aching heart pounding in your chest just longing for them to know- to know the deep love He has for them. The louder they mock and laugh, the more you know that God is doing a work in their hearts. They’re listening. They’re getting it. Then the Truth is spoken. It goes silent. So silent. You don’t even know what to do. You can hear them fidgeting in their chairs, moving around, breathing. You know something is taking place.

All you want them to know is the unconditional love you have been given. All you want them to know is that they’re not alone. All you want them to know is that someone cares.

I’ve heard so many times after the show is finished and you’re sitting on the stage in the smaller facilities when the youth can actually come forward to pray (girl with girl, guy with guy) that, “I didn’t know anyone cared this much.” They’re shocked that we spend our weekends doing this. They ask why we come, why would we care about them, why… Honestly, it’s just… Jesus. Jesus compels us to love like He loved- and this is how we choose to show that love. That’s all, plain and simple. It’s a life-changing experience to really love like Jesus loved- or at least try to.

So, as I flashed back, I found myself sitting there. On that stage we made in the afternoon sitting indian-style with my head in my hands praying. Praying while someone is speaking- just speaking- truth. They want truth. They want it desperately. You can hear them listening with your eyes closed. And then it comes time to ask them if they want Jesus in their lives, to stand (in bigger facilities). I remember that day, that hot summer day in the middle of June, the sound of 93 chairs shuffling at the same time. The sound of 93 decisions being made. The sound of 93 broken hearts longing for the Mender- the One who made their hearts. The sound of 93… I have never in my life felt joy that deep before. It took me over completely. We stood up with them after that. We prayed with them. We talked with them. We handed out Bibles- Bibles we had personally prayed for and wrote a letter to them in the front. Every single Bible is marked, verses are marked, letters are written, thoughts are put down.

It’s amazing sometimes to have the privilege to look some of them in the eye afterwards- the ones you had talked to at lunch- and see the difference. It makes you believe all over again. And the sincere two words spoken to you, “Thank you.”

So- I made a difference in my community. I’ve gone places that many won’t even begin to even think to set foot. But, I’m wanting more. Wanting more- wanting more of what? Where? When? How will I? Questions remain- and will continue to remain, I’m sure. If we’re going to change the world, we have to do it from the inside out. It has to begin inside of us, in our families, in our close friends, in our communities, then into the world we go.

How can I better my community? The communities that I will end up in?

I’m ready for change. Change in the way we “do church”, the way we treat others, the way we think, the way we are. If I have Christ living in me, I want to live a life worthy of that calling. Or at least try my hardest to.