Lines Drawn in the Sand

I look around me and see fragments everywhere. I see fault lines, fractures, fissures, and lines drawn in the sand. Dark, bold imaginary lines divide spaces between nations and peoples. If we would just lift the modern grid that brackets the world into categories and territories, we would realize that we all inhabit the same space, one earth, and one planet. When it benefits us the most we ignore the basic characteristics that we all share as humankind and when it benefits us the least we focus on the need to be synchronized, to be similar, and accepted into the unspoken order of passive agreement. We forego the opportunity to celebrate the rich colors of our diversity for the chance to be uniform and accept the passive modes of our society as an illusion of peace. When we look at our diversity all we see is cause for division and conflict without resolution; we hold tightly to our own versions of the truth without first seeking something higher. We cannot come down from our own platforms of righteousness, look each other in the eye, and take time to listen, and to understand. So with an eerie uniformity we staunchly maintain our barriers. 

I want to put the pieces together, but not in the way that would result in a whole picture. I don’t want to assume that my picture of wholeness is right for everyone. I would to put the pieces together so that they make a picture all their own; the pieces will determine the result. There is no foreknowledge of this picture, other than that it is meant to be a whole picture. Those who are putting the pieces together cannot see what it being made. All they know is that there is something right about coming together for one purpose: to put the pieces together after years and years of separation. Unity without uniformity and diversity without division; this is all we know of our picture.
As God’s people we are at the front-center of this project. We have been called as the body of Christ to unite underneath the umbrella of God’s grace and mercy. Yet, as Christians, we know how easily a group will divide. Our family has experienced schism after schism and separation after separation. We are a diverse and dysfunctional group with our own boundaries and lines drawn in the sand. We take sides and go our separate ways without recalling the crux of our identity. There is one God, one Spirit, one Savior, and one body. No matter how far we separate from one another this will never be any less true. We work together despite our diversity, as each does its part we build up the kingdom of God. Listen to the words of St. Paul:
"For just as the body is one and has many members, and all the members of the body, though many, are one body, so it is with Christ. For in the one Spirit we were all baptized into one body- Jews or Greeks, slaves or free-and we were all made to drink of one Spirit. Indeed, the body does not consist of one member but of many," (1 Corinthians 12: 12-14).
Let our churches and communities celebrate the diversity in which God, through one Spirit, bestowed upon us. Our gifts, our strengths, and our personalities give witness to the colorful brush strokes of our creator, God. They are not placed within us to divide, separate, and fence out. The Spirit guides the work of each as it does its part in bringing in the kingdom of God. Our diversity becomes a burden only when we begin to see different parts as inferior. Our own sense of superiority and power begins to break down the arrangement God initially laid down for the body of Christ. Paul warns against this when he says, 
“But God has so arranged the body, giving the greater honor to the inferior member, that there may be no dissension within the body, but the members may have the same care for one another,” (1 Corinthians 12:24b-25). 

Human conceptions of power and hierarchy have no place in Christ’s body.
Let us not worry about the scars and jagged pieces that are being placed together. Let them remain so that future generations will understand the consequences of division born of power and misunderstanding. Let’s give our children a picture of random, jagged pieces that have come together in an exquisitely flawless landscape. Let us give them a recklessly beautiful picture of brokenness, of redemption, of longing, and of fulfillment. And may they finally begin to erase those lines we have drawn in the sand.

About the Author :

Sarah Dannemiller is a crazy-confused post-grad from central Indiana who is a curious, fun-loving individual doing her best to leave a legacy of love and laughter. She might have the tendency to obsess over words, corny jokes, and delicious cookie-dough ice cream! But she has a passion for justice, believes in this world, and the good work that God is doing in it.

The Burning City

Those with intelligence will survive but those with imagination will thrive. My crime as a young adult was to exaggerate the importance and righteousness of being correct and of possessing all the answers. I had accomplished the great task of distinguishing the light from the dark, the black from the white. In my great, knowing mind I had erased all shading, there was no gray matter; I was wise beyond my years and the only direction I could possibly go was up.

However, the more I learned the less I knew. The answers I had previously relied on were suddenly unsatisfactory. They didn’t explain the events of my life, the course it was taking, or offer any comforting insights. The gray matter of truth enveloped me and I couldn’t tell up from down. I began to question the church, to question myself, and to question God. Trust was nowhere to be found, I locked my doubt away inside me and it began to straggle me. I choked on everything I had hidden away and so my doubt became a scorching fire destroying what I thought was my life-saving beliefs.  My faith was once a grand, fortified city, magnificent and majestic; it was the stronghold of my life and of my happiness. Certainty reigned on the bedrock of facts and figures, it commanded truth and righteousness. My doubt was a foreign invader who raped, pillaged, and destroyed. Questions pounded like war drums through my head and cynicism dismantled the throne of certainty, throwing my heart to anarchy and chaos. The voices I once trusted and respected turned into monstrous lies before my very eyes. Jeremiah’s words echoed in my mind, “But I was like a gentle lamb led to slaughter,” (Jeremiah 11:19a).

My own faith experience serves as a reflection of Jeremiah’s own story. He began to question not only the revered institutions of his time but that of his own calling and purpose. He was opposed by even his own family and was ostracized by his community because of his questioning. However, Jeremiah still acknowledged God’s presence. Even when Jeremiah unleashed his anger towards God he knew that God had been right all along. Jeremiah’s doubts and questions served as an introduction to a deep and intimate conversation with God. Jeremiah was the child on God’s knee asking, “Why?” and “How come?” God answered Jeremiah just as God will answer you and just as He answered me. God’s voice is one of reassurance, “For I am with you to save you and to deliver you” (Jeremiah 15:20). Jeremiah’s faith grew deeper and stronger by withstanding the fires of his own doubt. He bought more time with God and grew to know more of who God was for himself.

Like Jeremiah, the fires of my doubt had wiped away the simple, childish religion of my youth. It had completely emptied me out so God could pour His truth, love, and Spirit into me. I have come to realize that I never really doubted God; just what I thought I knew about God. In the end, this questioning and re-evaluation enriched and refined my faith. My faith journey has become less of a war and more of an adventure where I am invited to discover the wondrous mysteries of our Lord and Savior. Knowledge and certainty is overrated, it steals the transforming power of faith and surrender. 

I once thought that conviction and certainty were signs of strength and that doubt was a sign of weakness. However, this doubt was only an indication of a child-like curiosity, full of wonder and awe for something I don’t completely understand. It was an invitation for God to have a conversation with me, to talk to me. I wanted God to tell me a story, to let me wander and explore.

Once the raging fires had died down, I felt the healing, cleansing power of my Savior. These “fires” which we experience in our spiritual walk force us to come to terms with who we really are, our capabilities, and the powers we have received through Christ. In the space between doubt and faith there is room for action. Faith is fire retardant; it is resilient and has the uncanny ability to adapt to our questions and doubts. God uses these experiences to pry the idols of religion and knowledge from our grip and teach us something new. I have experience a rebirth, a baptism by fire. The magnificent city that once stood for my faith may now be in ruins, but I walk on a path paved with stones of love, mercy, grace, and humility. I hope, because it’s okay to be wrong, to not have it all figured out. Because of this I can declare along with Lamentations that, “You have taken up my cause, O Lord, you have redeemed my life,” (Lamentations 3:58). 

About the Author :

Sarah Dannemiller is a crazy-confused post-grad from central Indiana who is a curious, fun-loving individual doing her best to leave a legacy of love and laughter. She might have the tendency to obsess over words, corny jokes, and delicious cookie-dough ice cream! But she has a passion for justice, believes in this world, and the good work that God is doing in it.

A Love Letter

My Love,

You have captivated Me from the beginning; from the first time I really saw you. I’ve watched you grow into your skin and fill out the contours of your heart. I remember you in the golden light of late summer; you are barefoot, your hair is wild and free, and an innocent smile of pure bliss plays upon your lips. Never have I seen someone so free, a gypsy-girl twirling about on smooth, cool blades of grass, turning up black, rich soil. You were a soul liberated and carefree, a child discovering the world for the very first time. Every noise, every color, every sound was beautiful and when you looked inside all you saw was beauty. You were beauty.

What a great and terrible beauty this is: that the warm rays of summer light would fade to blackness and leave you crouching in the dark, wondering where the sun had gone. Perhaps this is where you finally did find yourself, perhaps that gypsy-girl was just a wish and like all dreams, she fluttered to the back of your mind. There she was buried and sunk into the depths of your heart, frozen and waiting to be brought back to life again; to breathe hope again.  What horrors did you face in the darkness? What tormented your soul and drew tears from your eyes? How many times was your heart beaten down? How many times, after you had tasted the bitterness of strife, did you stand anyway?

I know you vehemently disagree with Me. I watched you, tears in your eyes, as you uttered with great force that you have been defeated. I’ve seen your scars and I have witnessed the evidence of what this life has done to you. But I can also see you standing there, hands empty, ready to receive love. Would you demolish the pillars of your pride and let my love rain down on you?

I understand. Your scars have distorted you. You are not who you used to be. Your imperfections have carved out great cavities within your heart and you feel as if you will crumble into the creature you fear. When you map out each boundary and line of each pestilent imperfection on the face of your soul, heart, and body, you have become your own tormentor. Your sickness has blinded you. Does the moon weep at night because of the craters that indent and deform her face? No. She shines; she shines brilliantly because her craters give her a face. Does she not shine more luminously against the black velvet of the night sky because darkness envelopes her? Would the stars shine a little less bright because the moon decided not to give into the despair found at the bottom of each malformed depression upon her body? Of course not; so let your light shine.

With each critical word you repeat to yourself you bury that blithesome girl. You murder your soul, and like tally marks your scars multiply. But I’m telling you that beauty has been blessed and can be found even in the deepest cuts that fester on the dark side of your moon. So stop this mindless bludgeoning and this pointless beating. You have been made perfect through your suffering. You are perfectly beautiful because of your imperfections and despite them. Let love heal your wounds and bring life to the girl you used to be, the girl you are, and the girl you will be. She’s still dancing there, just beneath your breast, swaying to the rhythm of your heart, ready to break free. I’ve seen her on occasion, one moment here and then disappearing again like the wisp of a gypsy’s skirt as she twists around the burning coals of a fire.

There is a passionate, burning fire within you, but it has scorched and singed your soul instead of shining as a beacon in the night. If you would only love yourself as I have loved you, then you could be as bright as the sun. It’s all up to you My love, there’s nothing else I can say to you. You must learn to love yourself. Don’t misunderstand Me. I am not speaking of self-indulgence, for it will only fuel the flames of that burning, consuming fire. I am speaking of putting to rest that tireless impatience that repeats, “You are not enough.” Love is patient, love is kind, and it delights in the truth. I’ve told you the truth, will you accept it? The choice is yours, My love. Will you accept Me as you have accepted yourself? Or will you finally just let love live and drive away that critical demon which torments your soul? Let your hair down, raise your arms above your head, let your body move to the music only you can hear, lift your face to the late-summer sun, and be free.

Yours Truly, 

God

About the Author :

Sarah Dannemiller is a crazy-confused post-grad from central Indiana who is a curious, fun-loving individual doing her best to leave a legacy of love and laughter. She might have the tendency to obsess over words, corny jokes, and delicious cookie-dough ice cream! But she has a passion for justice, believes in this world, and the good work that God is doing in it.

Mind the Gap

I had the humble privilege to live in the beautiful, venerable city of London for an entire academic year during my undergraduate career. As a little girl, I remember dreaming about the archaic and classical architecture looming above me, strolling down the medieval avenues, and experiencing the magical atmosphere that only exist amidst a city that is almost as old as the land itself. My experience didn't disappoint my childhood expectations. The city is gorgeous with new nooks and crannies to explore every day.  Travel to the continent was not difficult, but during the weekends I found myself merging with the London foot traffic and wandering along the old familiar paths of the city. I wanted to know everything about the city, its history, and its people; I wanted to be able to find my way around it blindfolded and to leave no stone un-turned.

One characteristic of the city that many visitors will point out is the overhead intercom voice that comes on every time the underground train comes into station. A crowd of hurried, frazzled suits wait impatiently behind a yellow line painted on the platform as that throaty, female voice calls out, “Mind the gap.” I heard that phrase so many times a day I began to hear it in my sleep. There is a reason for this cautionary warning as there really is quite a large gap between the platform of the station and that of the train. Gaps can be dangerous; whether they’re manifested in the material world or if they exist within our hearts.

When I gaze upon the cross, often I see only a large gap; a vast, gaping hole between who I am and who Christ is. It is said that the truth will set you free, so why do I feel as if I am constantly striving to catch up to some standard of goodness and holiness just to fall short time and time again? Todd Pickett, the Dean of Spiritual Development at Biola University, spoke to a group of Christian leaders about this “gap” that is usually exacerbated by our own faith. Morality and holiness become not an expression of love and grace but a standard to which we feel obligated to hold our selves to. Our faith, as it is expressed through lifestyle, action, and words becomes debilitating because we are trying to climb over a mountain of guilt, shame, and good intentions gone bad; even with dutiful prayer it seems backsliding is inevitable. We want so desperately to be what Jesus wants us to be that we become caught up in all the ways in which we are not what he wants us to be. It’s a terrifying prospect to harbor a deep love for someone and not be able to satisfyingly express that love so that it becomes real.

Paul goes into great depth about this subject in the book of Romans. What does it mean to receive grace? What do we do with it after we have received it? Paul claims that we do not reach righteousness or holiness by observing the Law; in other words we are not made like Christ because we are morally upstanding or because our lives paint the picture of suburban, white picket-fence Christianity. It is through this consciousness of morality that we know we are in desperate need of a Savior; we know right and wrong but we always find ourselves somewhere in between. Paul says that we all fall short of the glory of God, we all sin, we all experience the gap, but there is hope for us. We are justified freely by grace; grace has been given as a gift, no strings attached, no quid pro quo, and no exchange of goods necessary. We receive grace as a token of God’s love for us knowing that the next day we will continue to fall short (Romans 3:20-24).

Something is not intuitive about receiving the grace of God just to squander it the next day. It is here that we must abandon ourselves to the power of God. This journey and quest of redemption is not all about us as individuals or how we measure up to the standards of an arbitrary benchmark that at the end of the day does nothing to pronounce the transforming power of God. The world looks not to our ability to do everything right in order to know God but looks to our humility in the face our sins in order to know God. In 2 Corinthians 12:8-9 Paul boasts about his weaknesses because it is there that the power of Christ is most profound. Our imperfections and downfalls give opportunities for the redemption of Christ and carve out space for the grace of God. Christ resides in those dark places of our soul and our beauty as God’s creation comes from our dependence upon Him; a sweet submission to perfect love.  

Our imperfections do not create the gap between our hearts and the cross, but serve as the bridge between Christ’s healing love and our own desperate desires. Our wounds and shortcomings bring us closer to Christ and closer to the cross for Christ came not to condemn the world but to save it. What use is there of a savior who has no one to save? So be quiet little heart, and know that God’s grace is sufficient for you. May your God go before you in all things and cover you with a saving grace that fills you with a quiet, still love.  

About the Author :

Sarah Dannemiller is a crazy-confused post-grad from central Indiana who is a curious, fun-loving individual doing her best to leave a legacy of love and laughter. She might have the tendency to obsess over words, corny jokes, and delicious cookie-dough ice cream! But she has a passion for justice, believes in this world, and the good work that God is doing in it.

Still, Cool, Pools of Serenity

Phones ringing, coffee spilling, sirens screaming, people shouting, heels clipping, people asking, expecting, more people bothering, and tasks piling. The morning’s quiet, calm, serenity is quickly erased as we begin to go about the business of our day. For most, the modern world is full of noise and a ceaseless stream of busyness where each task to be completed is just replaced by two more. The days, the weeks, the months, and the years begin to run together until you don’t even notice the passage of time anymore. Life becomes what it is and the dreams of youth slowly but surely wither away as bills get paid, laundry gets down, and the simple tasks of the mundane become the focus of our minds and our of bodies.

We are running so fast, going and going, but what is it that we are running towards? Certainly we are going towards the future but what does that mean? What does the future hold for us but another endless stream of busyness, the completion of tasks that culminate into the art of getting by? What could we accomplish, what could we witness if we were to get the world to stop for a moment, to stop spinning for just one second? I want to see the world breathe a long drawn-out sigh of contentment and teach us a little something about quietness.

Quietness and respite have been used as spiritual disciplines for centuries. Tranquil stillness is the space in which our minds and bodies can finally reconnect with our spirits and give living water to our withered dreams. Hope is sustained in harmony and peace gives us eyes to see beyond the tasks and duties; beyond what is. Perhaps we are given glimpses into eternity’s secrets, and hear words spoken in languages that only the heart knows, either way our souls are mended by the rest born of sweet serenity, clarity, and pause.

Hope allows for trust in what cannot be seen in the ordinary, mundane, dullness of everyday life. Stillness is the pasture for the soul to graze and nourish its trust. The Israelites, under the command of David began to purposefully institutionalize their religion and worship of God in order to cement the power of the state and to accommodate the growing number of its citizens. However, these faithful worshipers never forgot the importance of the personal quiet needed to strengthen and mend the soul. Psalm 131 reflects this desire to pause, and soak in the quiet, trusting presence of something beyond them.

O Lord, my heart is not lifted up, my eyes are not raised too high;

 I do not occupy myself with things too great and too marvelous for me.

 But I have calmed and quieted my soul…

O Israel, hope in the Lord from this time on and forevermore.

God is often lost within the noise. I seek and yet cannot find because my eyes are no longer lifted towards heaven’s door. My heart and my spirit are on the ground, discouraged and dismissed. Chaos is what occupies my mind and not the loving peace of God. But now I have quieted and calmed my soul. Even within my own chaos hope still lives and the peaceful presence of God comes flooding back into me, lifting my eyes up to what is marvelous and picking my heart up from the ground. It is the hope of God, of knowing that life is more than the endless lists of tasks that stills the inner, twisting violence of thoughts, worries, goals, and responsibilities. Be quiet dear heart, breathe deep and long, soul, and find comfort in your God, who has gone before you in all things. “Hope in the Lord from this time on and forevermore.” 

About the Author :

Sarah Dannemiller is a crazy-confused post-grad from central Indiana who is a curious, fun-loving individual doing her best to leave a legacy of love and laughter. She might have the tendency to obsess over words, corny jokes, and delicious cookie-dough ice cream! But she has a passion for justice, believes in this world, and the good work that God is doing in it.

Into the Hand of a Woman

 

May my spirit be brave.

She stood before them, ten thousand warriors strong. Her heart thumped wildly beneath her breast as she gazed upon their stone-cold faces. Their heavy-set brows bore deep into her as a fragile hope fluttered within her spirit. She set her mouth into a determined line, knowing full well that it was her they all looked to. As certain as the sun rises in the East she knew what she was about to do. She was to send her countrymen to war, to kill. Brothers, fathers, lovers, and friends would be sent out on her command for justice. The flesh and blood of life that left families and long-endeared love would stand and fight for her. She knew there would be sacrifices made this day and that she would be responsible for all that is lost. She regarded heaven and as the sun’s warm rays gently kissed her face, she knew that she was always meant to be brave and lead these men.

May my spirit be brave.

Not far from the battle there lies a tent. A woman sits silently listening intently for the muffled sounds of war that drift upon the breeze. Her muscles tense and tighten as her mind lingers on the sounds of those dying men. Her body comes alive, consumed by a thirst for vengeance; she will see justice this day. The urgency of her passion propels her to the tent’s entrance. She pulls back the fabric of her home and peers across the valley and spies a man making haste. As he approaches she recognizes him as the commander of the Canaanite army; a war lord. Her heart thumps in her throat with an intensity she never felt before and she knew what she must do. Heat flushed her face as the blood-lust raced through her veins and she knew that to be brave was to be calm.

So with the elegance and grace of a queen she met him outside the tent and with the coolness of a wet cloth on a burn said, “’ Turn aside, my lord, turn aside to me; have no fear’” (Judges 4:18). Every move is made with a calculated measure of deceit. She covers him with a rug to wrap his shuddering body and when he begs for water, brings milk instead.  As his trust lulls him to rest she approaches again, a formidable force of silent power, heroically delivering peace from a violently chaotic place. Then, “She put her hand to the tent peg and her right hand to the workmen’s mallet; she struck Sisera a blow, she crushed his head, she shattered and pierced his temple. He sank, he fell, he lay still at her feet; at her feet he sank, he fell; where he sank, there he fell dead” (Judges 5:26-27). And so the day was given into the hand of woman.

May my spirit be brave.

I may be afraid of the dark, get a little jumpy around sudden noises, and retreat in disgust when I see an insect but these are not the things that I am terrified of.  It is not the things that quicken my step and cause me to double-check to see if I have locked my door at night that truly cover my heart in shadows of fright. There are many challenges in my life that force me to be brave and to be brave is a terrifying obligation. This is what sends my heart to skipping beats. So many times my spirit is made weak and frail; I cannot muster the courage necessary to see these dreams through, to do the right thing.

Yet, here is a gift given to us by the ancients of these warriors, these brave women. I wonder what must have been going through Deborah’s mind as she gazed upon her brothers, the very men she was about to send to a very possible violent end. What of Jael? Was her heart beating wildly in her chest as she poised that peg above the head of one of the most powerful men she knew? Was she scared? I would like to think so because otherwise their stories would mean so little to me. These women risked death in order to do what they believed was right; could I not be expected to do half as much?

The fact these stories recount the glorious victory of women makes a difference to me and I hope it makes a difference for you too. But I don’t want this to become a reflection where the only thing we’re given is, “As a woman you should [insert some stereotype of what it means to be feminine].” Let’s just forget for a moment that we have skin: that we are dark or pale, that we have breasts or that we don’t, what color of hair we have, if it’s straight or curly, and break these mirrors of glass that reflect nothing meaningful at all. Let our hearts, for just a brief space in time, finally come to the surface and be spoken to. These stories tell us to be brave, not just as women, but as people of God. These stories tell us to be calm in the face of danger, to lead all types of people, to be fierce, to love justice, to risk, to take charge, and to have a spirit of bravery, of courage. Deborah and Jael were not defined by their anatomy but by their response to the call of the Lord. Perhaps they were shaking and unsure but they acted in spite of their nature and became brave.  

May my spirit also be brave. 

About the Author :

Sarah Dannemiller is a crazy-confused post-grad from central Indiana who is a curious, fun-loving individual doing her best to leave a legacy of love and laughter. She might have the tendency to obsess over words, corny jokes, and delicious cookie-dough ice cream! But she has a passion for justice, believes in this world, and the good work that God is doing in it.

That Song on the Radio

Since the beginning of the beginning, the dawn of our kind, there has been an undetermined debate pitched from side to side in the intellectual court. Many affirm that a treasure hold of knowledge has been lost somewhere within the fathoms of time or destroyed long ago in an unparalleled catastrophe. It is uncertain when this happened or why, only that it did. Now here we are, hands and knees scraping in the dirt and dust constantly trying to grasp the broken fragments of what was once a divine tower-bridge built from words that had meaning and where knowledge meant feeling in the most heavenly way. Nothing was misunderstood, the sublime and the sorry ambled together in a synchronized step. As divine order gave way to mortal chaos we were turned away with nothing in our hearts but a question that continually seeks to make its way back to the answer.

What is God like?

Some will say that God is like justice, bringing forth the truth of judgment, ready to purge the world of all that is unworthy. Some will say that God is like mercy, flowing as fragrant, healing waters to the weary and the downtrodden. Then again, some will say that God is like love, a mother gently brushing the escaping hair off her child’s face with such affection that it captures all of your senses, your soul, and your heart and forces you to stop and wonder how something so ordinary can suggest something so extraordinary. Yet I find myself distressed by the abstractness of it all. Could not my mercy be your justice and your love be my justice? So, do we settle with this? Or is there perhaps other ways of drawing out the characteristics of God?

I turn to the greatest poet of all time, the heart, for instruction in such a matter. And this is what it told me: God is like that song on the radio. You know the one I’m talking about, everyone has one and it’s different every time. It is not the song itself where you find God but the encounter; it’s unexpected, undeserved, but needed all the same. You’re alone driving in your car or perhaps not; it only matters that eternal serenity has enveloped everything and has driven away all care. It begins with somber silence, and then that song comes on. You are suddenly pulled down into the depths of that eternal serenity and confronted with the reality of its truth and peace. You are guarded by it as everything that has been buried comes to the surface, riding along the melody. As the harmonies wash over you and circulate through your veins, so that the furthest reaches of your being are ravished by a touching embrace, you wonder how you had gone this long being so empty. You realize then that you’ve needed this song long before it ever came on. What you can’t explain is understood so there is no longer any urge to try to do so.  There is no space for understanding or knowing, there is room only for faith by which the heart knows and becomes known.

It’s a familiar song even if you have never heard it before. Like an old friend it never forgets to anticipate what it is you need. It is rare, you don’t hear it often but its scarcity does not undermine its power but deepens the reconstructive sensation of the encounter. Nothing else exists outside of this moment. You lose all circumstance and become lost in the reality of a dreaming world. You have never encounter something so exact, where need is substantially met, and nothing has been presented to you more flawlessly. That is what God is like. God is like that song on the radio.

About the Author :

Sarah Dannemiller is a crazy-confused post-grad from central Indiana who is a curious, fun-loving individual doing her best to leave a legacy of love and laughter. She might have the tendency to obsess over words, corny jokes, and delicious cookie-dough ice cream! But she has a passion for justice, believes in this world, and the good work that God is doing in it.

Anyone But Me

Once upon a time there was a prince. He grew up in a great, affluent kingdom. He was taught as any prince would be, adorning his person and his mind with all the trappings his kingdom could offer him. However, this prince had a secret. He really wasn’t a prince at all and he knew this. Though his clothing and appearance many bear witness to authority and judgment, deep down he knew his claim to prince- hood was not inherent; his identity lay elsewhere, with a people less affluent and much less powerful. His step-mother happened to be a princess who found him floating in a river and took pity on him. But his country knew nothing of this.

When he was much older he witnessed what he thought to be an injustice and took matters into his own hands. He killed in order to save another’s life. But when confronted with his actions, his authority was called into question because he was no prince, because he had judged wrong. The prince became afraid of himself and so he fled. Some years later he heard a calling that urged him to reclaim his authority, to go back to his kingdom and bring judgment down upon its wrong-doing.

This story should sound familiar to you because it is the story of the opening chapters in Exodus. It is the beginnings of the Exodus and Moses’ calling as God’s messenger to the Hebrew people. The Exodus story is an important one in understanding the intricacies of the Israelite nation but also in understanding the way in which God relates to people, to leaders. In Exodus chapter 3:10 God initially informs Moses that He will send Moses back to the land of Egypt so that Pharaoh will be convinced to let the Hebrews go free.

Reflecting upon this story I always thought that if I ever received such a clear message from God my immediate response would be, “Okay, let’s do this.” God is speaking directly to Moses after all; Moses is in God’s very presence as God also instructs Moses to remove his sandals because he was standing on holy ground. However, Moses’ response speaks a very deep truth that is very much true of our nature as humans and it’s a timeless one. Moses initial reaction to God’s voice is not awe, reverence, or compliant. Instead, Moses complains, he questions God’s authority, God’s plans, and he basically has an argument with God right there on the spot. God just revealed His true name to Moses and what does Moses do? Moses makes excuses.

Moses comes up with a list of questions that portrays a sense of distrust and doubt in God and in himself. “What do I do if this happens?” or “But what if they don’t believe me?” and so on. Have we not all had similar reactions to a calling or to a vocation that seems deeply rooted within our desire to do something but contradicts what we know about ourselves or even our own expectations? It actually makes perfect since that this would be Moses first reaction to God’s calling. He was human after all. This is even embedded within Moses’ name, which in ancient times meant to reflect some important aspect of an individual’s identity. Moses, in Hebrew, generally means “drew out”; which is exactly what God has to do with Moses as he goes on this journey back to Egypt. Moses’ calling is almost forcibly drawn out of Moses, much like it is with us today. Rising to the challenge of a calling can be painful, difficult, and the learning curve is usually very steep.

Moses had no confidence in himself and as a result he begged with God to, “…please send someone else.” This made God angry. Would not God teach Moses all that he is to know and say? Frequently, I find myself in Moses’ position. I have received a message to go out and liberate God’s people, whatever that may mean for my time and place, but none-the-less it is a calling. We all have a calling whether we believe it to be explicitly received or not. As bearers of God’s image we have been endowed with a responsibility to act and behave as God on earth to bring forth God’s kingdom. However, we fall short of this responsibility and are often left, craning our necks back speaking up into the skies begging, pleading with God to, “Please, just send someone else. I don’t know what I am doing.”

As God showed Moses and the Israelites, there is mercy for us and grace abundant. God goes before us in our ministries and is found there before we even begin to understand that is where we have been called. As Moses’ story illustrates, doubt and questioning is a natural response to a calling or vocation. However, when we begin to make excuses for ourselves and claim that we are not suitable as we are, we undermine the nature of God. We think less of our own identity and thus claim that God is less, not powerful enough, not good enough for the tasks ahead.

God has already given us everything we need to do what is right, what is good in this world, in our relationships, and in our communities. Be encouraged by Moses’ story and be assured that God goes before us to prepare and goes with us, even as we have little clue as to what is going to happen or how it is going to happen. It is true that in order to rise to the challenge of our calling we are expected to be courageous and to trust what we do not know. It’s all possible because we are a reflection of the Great I AM. All we need is inside our souls. So put to rest your questions and doubts because they will be answered in due time. Take joy in God’s mercy and grace as She leads us even amongst our complaints, grumblings, and excuses. 

About the Author :

Sarah Dannemiller is a crazy-confused post-grad from central Indiana who is a curious, fun-loving individual doing her best to leave a legacy of love and laughter. She might have the tendency to obsess over words, corny jokes, and delicious cookie-dough ice cream! But she has a passion for justice, believes in this world, and the good work that God is doing in it.