A pretty awesome thought hit me tonight.

There is now just over a week left of classes here at VT. After which is a week of finals, and then summer. It’s ridiculous how fast time has gone this year, and it sure ain’t slowing down now. Pretty much everyone is in the mindset of so much to do, so little time. These last days are going to fly faster than I can believe. But that’s not the thought; that’s just the context of the thought.

Tonight the thought of leaving for the summer crossed my mind. Not the thought of going to Thailand to stay with my family and intern for the summer, which has been on my mind for a while now. The thought of leaving Virginia Tech for the summer. (To clarify—that’s not the thought either. I’m getting to it.)

Now, just about this time last year, the imminence of leaving for the summer was also on my mind (for obvious reasons.) Last year, as you may know or have read, was not an easy one. I was transitioning from life overseas, at a small, Christian, international boarding school, immersed in an Asian culture, in a country that I had grown up in and considered home almost all my life, to the massive secular school of Virginia Tech, to America and American culture. I had left behind friends who were family to me, many of whom had graduated with me and were now also scattering across the globe, returning to the countries their parents were from. I was a stranger in a foreign land, isolated, and all my attempts to relate to the people around me fell flat. And in response, being the reclusive introvert that I am, I withdrew from the world around me. And as all this dragged on, I found myself drifting even away from God. Not intentionally—by no means. I was really doing everything I could to fight it, to rekindle the flame. I prayed, I cried, I struggled to keep myself afloat, and cried out to God to save me. But I found myself sinking nonetheless.

In the middle of all this, I started going to New Life Christian Fellowship—or [nlcf]—in January, because the church I had been going to discontinued their evening service, and that bus route didn’t run Sunday mornings. But [nlcf] conveniently meets on campus. (Yes, God works in mysterious ways.) For the rest of the year, I went to church there on Sundays, but that was pretty much it. I signed up for their summer program in Virginia Beach, because I knew God was telling me to go, and out of sheer desperation for God to show up.

When the end of the year came around, and as I thought about leaving for the summer, I realized that I wouldn’t even care if I never came back.

To cut a long story short, while Leadership Training, as the summer program is called, was an awesome spiritual experience for most everyone who went, I can’t say it was for me, at least at the time. God was definitely working in me over those ten weeks, but he didn’t show up in some awesome way and get my faith back on track, save from the depression, all that. But he was laying groundwork. Because when I started my sophomore year a few weeks after LT ended, suddenly he flipped the switch. And over the next six weeks, I woke up. No, I came back to life. Through those relationships that began at LT, I started to plug into [nlcf]. For the first time since graduating from high school, I found a community that I could become a part of, and I’ve thrown myself into it wholeheartedly. And it has been awesome. And through that, God fanned my faith back into flame.

And here I am again, facing the end of another year. But this time it’s different. Because the thought hit me tonight (yes, this is the thought that all this has been building up to)—I’m actually gonna miss this place over the summer. I’m gonna miss these people, who have come to mean so much to me. Especially the people who won’t be here when I come back. Of course, I’m definitely excited about going to Thailand and all, and I fully intend to enjoy every minute on non-American soil. (Yes, right about now you Americans are calling me weird. And you fellow TCKs know exactly what I’m talking about.) But for the first time, I will be anticipating the beginning of a new year at VT. I will be excited to be reunited with people here. I will feel like I’m coming home. (Well, from one home to another. Again, you TCKs know what I mean.)

This is not the first time it’s hit me that in many ways I have come to feel at home at [nlcf]. There have been several times over the course of the year that something or other has stopped me short and made me realize just that. But this is very much a milestone, because I can look back at a year ago, when I was in the same position—but this time it’s different. Because a year ago I would not have believed what I’m writing now. It’s a milestone because I can look back and see what God has done over the past year. How far he’s brought me. And it is so awesome to see.

When I posted on Saturday I said I had a couple ideas in mind for new posts. This was not one of them. But the events since then have thrust this into my mind.

On Monday night I stood on the drillfield alongside thousands of other Hokies as 32 names were read aloud, each followed by a few lines about the person behind that name, and as 32 candles were lit and held in front of the 32 stones that stand on the beautiful campus of Virginia Tech as a reminder of the morning, five years ago, that tragedy struck our campus, and senseless violence claimed those 32 lives. To the somber singing of a choir, those 32 flames were then passed from one candle to another, until every one of us was holding a flame aloft, shielding it with one hand from the Blacksburg wind.

Last night I was on FaceTime with my dad. Just before we hung up, he said there was one more thing he wanted to tell me. A coworker of my parents and good friend of the family had been killed in a head-on collision in Colorado on the way home from speaking at a church Sunday.

Suddenly I find myself face to face with the frailty of the human life.

In the midst of such situations, often the first question that comes to mind is “Why?” But I am not writing this to answer that question, other than to point out that in these times more than ever, we are still feeling echoes of Genesis 3.

But I believe there is a more important question to ask.

I remember a conversation from The Fellowship of the Ring, one that has stuck with me over the years. Frodo says to Gandalf, “I wish the Ring had never come to me. I wish none of this had happened.”

To which the wizard replies, “So do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.”

Tragedies like this are reminders that death could come to any one of us, at any moment. Which should drive us to ask, “What am I doing with the time that I have been given?” Are we living with that in mind? How would we live differently if we knew our time was near?

But for those of us who have put our faith in Christ, what matters even more is that any one of those around us could die at any moment. And if they have not chosen Jesus, at that moment all hope for them is lost. It is a tragic, awful reality, that most of us would feel more comfortable putting out of our minds. But then tragedy strikes again, and we are once more faced with the urgency of our mission. We cannot afford to procrastinate. The world cannot afford for us to procrastinate. As Paul said,

For, “Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.”

But how can they call on him to save them unless they believe in him? And how can they believe in him if they have never heard about him? And how can they hear about him unless someone tells them?

Romans 10:14-15

Brothers and sisters, the time is now. The world is perishing. And we are content to go to church on Sunday or a Bible study on a Wednesday night, utter an Amen! at a passage like the one above, and hope and even pray that somebody tells them. We need to get in the game. I say this to myself as much as anyone else. Our comfort zones are no excuse. Our busyness is no excuse. We have no excuse. How much death will it take to wake us up?

I know from experience that it is not enough to just agree to this and say I need to work on it. It’s not enough to tell myself I need to be more missions-minded towards those all around me at Virginia Tech. I need to actually do something. I need to take concrete steps in this direction. Because as April 16 and our friend’s car crash remind us, life can be cut short at any moment. The time is now.

In my first post I mentioned a couple things that had come to me that would’ve made good blog posts—the problem being I didn’t have a blog. This is one of them. It has been a Facebook note since its conception in October 2010, and seeing as I haven’t posted here in a while, I decided it was time to promote it to a real blog post. I’ve resisted the urge to make any changes, so here it is in its original, unaltered, state. I also will take this chance to say I have a couple ideas bouncing around in my head for new posts. Maybe once they’ve developed further I’ll get something original up here again.

First, I’ll start with a disclaimer: this analogy, like any analogy, is not perfect. If you take it too far it’ll break down before long. It is probably riddled with even more discrepancies than I’m aware of. It is meant only to help illustrate one facet of the truth, not cover all the bases. With that said, here goes:

I love track and field. Especially victory (who doesn’t?) This morning I was remembering one of the awesomest races I ever ran: Spring 2010, the 800m. (Before I go any farther, another disclaimer. I don’t mean to brag—in fact, this probably was the only race I ever got first place in, relays aside. I’m just using the story to make my point.) The whistle blew and we all launched across the line. Immediately everyone began to merge into the inside lane. I found a comfortable pace close behind the guy in the lead—from ISOI or LAS, I don’t remember which—where I could wait for an opportunity to overtake him. Early in the second lap my chance came, when he started to run out of steam. I started slowly picking up my pace, and passed him at 600m with a little burst of speed, just as we were coming onto that last bend. I kept increasing speed on that curve (something I don’t normally do) and when I hit that last 100m stretch I kicked into a dead sprint for the finish line.

I still remember, even though I was flying down this track, there was a moment where I felt almost frozen in time. At that point I knew I was on my way to victory. There was no way the other guy was catching up to me now. And so I could close my eyes, throw my head back, and smile, and savor the moment—enjoy the wind on my face, the 90-degree sun beating down on me, the cheering, the announcer saying something about MCS and a strong finish, the adrenaline pumping through me, but most of all just running for the pure enjoyment of running the race, sprinting like my life depended on it, fixing my gaze on the finish line and pouring everything I had left in me into reaching it, knowing that in moments it would be over and I would be celebrating victory on the other side of the finish line, and even though I was more cramped than I had ever been before or have been since, it would be totally worth it.

And that image is exactly what it’s like to run the Christian life.

I’m certainly not the first to compare life to a race. Paul did a lot. Countless times he explicitly calls it a race; other times he alludes to it, for instance, in talking about a “victor’s crown”—the laurel wreath the champion of a race would receive in Paul’s day (a tradition revived at the 2004 Olympics in Athens.) As a runner myself, I’ve long thought of life as a race. So this analogy is more a matter of thinking about just what that race looks like.

Say you’re really out of shape. And massively obese. Like, 800 pounds and you’ve never run more than 10 yards in your life. And you suddenly find yourself in this race—not cause you signed up for it but because everyone who’s ever lived has to run this race. And it’s not a sprint either—it’s more like a marathon. And just to make things worse you’re weighed down by all kinds of crap that you just don’t want to get rid of even though it’s three times as heavy as you are and it keeps getting under your feet and wrapped around your legs and in your face. But you think you like all this stuff so you’re trying to run the race with it. Needless to say, you’re miles behind everyone else.

Then this dude comes up on your side (and you’re thinking, “What, there’s actually someone still behind me?!”) He offers to carry your stuff. You suddenly realize this lugging-all-your-junk-along thing isn’t working, so you begin to hand it all over. He takes all your stuff on his own back, and then he surprises you even more—he offers to give you a piggyback. (“Is that even allowed?” you wonder.) With great difficulty you try to climb onto his back. He reaches over his shoulder with a free hand and pulls you aboard. You notice his hand—both hands actually—is scarred. He tells you, “I had a brush with a tree earlier, in coming to help you.”

No sooner are you on his back, he takes off down the road, overtaking everyone, who you now notice are all carrying baggage of their own. When he is safely in the lead he puts you back down. You realize that suddenly you aren’t overweight anymore. Your legs are stronger. Your flip-flops have been replaced with the best running shoes you’ve ever seen. The guy then says to you, “You can see the finish line from here. I’ve given you everything you need to win this race. I’m going there now, and I’ll be waiting for you there. Give it your all.”

In a flash he takes off, and you’re left jogging along. You glance over your shoulder, see the others slowly closing the gap. As you look ahead to the finish line, you notice there’s a massive crowd on the sidelines, cheering your name. The dude’s standing there at the finish line, also cheering you on. He yells, “Come on man! I authored and perfected this race, and now I’ve run it. I’ve taken the hits for you. Now run this race; your life depends on it!” You’re approaching the last stretch of the race, and suddenly it all clicks. You kick into a dead sprint for that finish line.

This is where we are right now. We’re in the lead, approaching that finish line faster than ever. Even though the race isn’t over yet, we know victory is ours, thanks to Jesus. So we let out a smile and run, enjoying the moment and running with purpose in every step, towards that goal. Jesus is waiting at the finish line, calling our name and cheering us on, and we fix our eyes on Him and give everything in the last stretch of this race. We’re cramping up like never before, but we’re determined to reach the end and we’re pouring every last drop of energy into reaching that end, and we know that in moments we will be celebrating victory on the other side of the finish line, and unlike a physical race, the cramps and pain and gasping for air will be over forever. So let us run with endurance the race God has set before us.

Today I’m thinking about the prophets. For the last several days I’ve been working on a study on the Old Testament prophets for my small group. And something that has really stuck out to me is how their lives are so wrapped up in their message. The classic example is Hosea, who God called to marry a prostitute and was doomed to a life of buying back and forgiving an unfaithful wife, to be a living allegory of Israel’s unfaithfulness to God—and God’s relentless love.

Yesterday, I was starting my personal time with God. I asked God to speak to me, to show me whatever it is I needed to hear as I read. I launched my Bible app, which opened to Ezekiel 24. I had turned here when I was working on the small group study, to read the first half of the chapter, when Ezekiel hears that Babylon has besieged Jerusalem. But what my eyes fell on this time was the second half, which opens with these verses:

Then this message came to me from the Lord: “Son of man, with one blow I will take away your dearest treasure. Yet you must not show any sorrow at her death. Do not weep; let there be no tears. Groan silently, but let there be no wailing at her grave. Do not uncover your head or take off your sandals. Do not perform the usual rituals of mourning or accept any food brought to you by consoling friends.”

So I proclaimed this to the people the next morning, and in the evening my wife died. The next morning I did everything I had been told to do.

Ezekiel 24:15-18 (NLT)

I don’t think I could give any adequate commentary on those words, other than to let them speak for themselves. So stop, read that again, and let it sink in.

Um…wow.

I’m reminded of St. Francis of Assisi, who said, “Preach the gospel at all times; if necessary, use words.” If anyone lived that out, the prophets did. (OK, depending on how you define “gospel,” it’s up for debate as to whether their message was part of the gospel, or was just fulfilled in the gospel, or whatever. That’s a whole nother discussion that I’m not going to address, in this post anyways. It’s more the concept that I’m trying to get at.) Sure, they had a lot to say, but often their most powerful messages were not what they said but what they did. And sometimes what God called them to do to make those points was…well, yeah. Along the lines of what Hosea and Ezekiel had to live through.

If you’ve read my last couple posts, are you starting to pick up on a theme here? Yeah, this is what I meant when I said it’s been a recurring theme in my life for the past many months.

But seeing it in the lives of the prophets hits a particular nerve in me. And, now that I think about it, brings a new sense of clarity. You see, my gift is prophecy. I hesitate to say that here. I don’t generally like to “flaunt” it, or tell people that’s the case. I let God speak through me, but I feel no need to make a point of calling myself a prophet or anything. I never would have dreamed of claiming it on a public web page. But I feel like you need that context to really get where I’m coming from.

Because now I think I begin to understand just why God has been driving at surrender so much. It seems he calls his prophets to an even more demanding level of surrender. I remember Jim, one of the pastors of my campus church, saying a couple weeks ago to a few of us that we all need to be ready to obey God when he calls us to do some pretty radical things—and then he added that that is especially true for those with the prophetic gifting. (Man, this is literally everywhere.)

Why? I think these stories, and others like them about these and other Old Testament prophets, shed some light on that: so that our lives are consistent with our message. At the very least. Better yet, so that our lives are the message. And only minimal explanation is needed. “Preach the gospel…if necessary, use words.”

And suddenly it clicks why that quote had such an impact on me when I first heard it. And really, that mindset is more natural to me. Those of you who know me personally know that, for the most part, I only use words when necessary. Or, to borrow a line from a favorite of mine, “It takes a long time to say anything in Old Entish, and we Ents never say anything unless it is worth taking…a very…long…time…to say” (The Two Towers). But living it out—now that I can do. It comes more easily to me, at least.

Why am I saying all this? Honestly, I’m just speaking my thoughts aloud. Well, in writing. At the least, I hope the quote from Ezekiel is as impactful to you as it was to me. Or the quote by St. Francis, for that matter. And maybe some of my thoughts about their application to my own life will be helpful in processing yours.

Earlier this week I wrote about two themes in my life right now—surrender and abiding. Since then they’ve been on my mind a good deal and God has been developing those thoughts further. For a couple weeks now, God’s been pushing me to be more intentional about spending time with him. I try to do it before class in mornings, amid getting breakfast and getting ready for class and all. But I’m usually still asleep while I’m eating breakfast, and don’t really wake up until the last moment when I throw some clothes on and shove my iPad into my bag as I take off for class. And so I’m just not spending the time with God that I should be. And the last couple weeks, as God has been telling me to be intentional about my time with him, I’ve responded by doubling up my efforts to wake up during that hour or so before class. But as Jesus pointed out about this very issue, the spirit is willing, but the body is weak. And, being Jesus, he knew what he was talking about. These past few days, I started realizing that (1) spending time with God is not something I should be doing; it’s something I need to be doing. The way I need to eat and sleep and breath. It’s essential to my survival. (I would have intellectually agreed to this before, but it was in writing that last blog post and thinking more about it afterwards that I began to really get it.) And (2) God’s been calling me to surrender, and the most valuable thing I can surrender to God these days is my time. And so I decided I needed to take clear, concrete steps to make it a major discipline in my life again. I decided I needed to rethink the idea that this had to be the first thing I do in the morning, because that just wasn’t working. I still want to try to at least start the day with a prayer, or sleepy effort at one, to get off on the right foot. But I would get far more out of my time in the Word and in prayer if I was awake for it (for obvious reasons.) So I sat down with a week view of my calendar and blocked out time each day that I could do it. My time with God is now on my calendar alongside classes, church activities, and shifts at the dining hall.

Related to that, God’s also been putting intercession on my heart again. It was a major part of my walk with God in 12th grade, and it needs to be again. Fighting for people in prayer is a core part of who God’s made me, but that part of me has been dormant since my “dark night of the soul” last year. It’s time it was resurrected. So I wrote down a list of people and things I want to pray for regularly, and broke it down into days of the week. I set each as a weekly reminder, to go off during the time I’m spending with God that day.

Now let me point out that this is not in my nature to do. I have resisted adding any kind of structure to my time with God, because for one, I am not that kind of person (if you’re familiar with the Myers-Briggs test, I am a P) and because I want to be open to the Spirit’s leading, rather than stuck in a rut and missing what God’s trying to do. I thrive on that flexibility. But there’s something to be said for having some basic structure to work from. In this case it was the only solution. And by no means does this mean I’m not open to God leading differently on any given day. It just gives me a new default to vary from. And I realized as I was writing this that, ironically, by implementing this structure, I am being flexible by giving up the way I’ve been doing things and moving with what God is doing.

I say all this not to brag about this great thing I’m doing or anything, but to give an example of taking definite, concrete steps towards this goal. I’m willing to bet I’m not the only one out of seven billion people on the planet who’s struggling with devoting time to God. But like I said, it really isn’t an option. I say that not from a legalistic standpoint. From the standpoint that, as I said in my last post, we can’t do this life thing on our own. We cannot hope to figure it out apart from God. Our only hope is to walk in step with him. Every day. Every minute. What did Jesus say, after 40 days without food, was more necessary for life than bread? And so I encourage you—I beg you—to do whatever you need to do to find that time. It may look a lot like what I described above. It might look nothing like it. It’s OK, God can probably handle it. He wants you. And he wants you to do whatever you have to do to be with him.

Maybe you’re doing well in this area. Well, then, is there some other area that God is challenging you in? That you’ve tried your best in but are getting nowhere? Something that you can sit down and come up with a definite roadmap for? Or at the very least, just a small but concrete step? I get the feeling that what I’m doing is only the first step towards something much bigger. But it’s a step. It’s the step that God’s showing me right now. He’ll light up the next one when he’s ready. Walking with God, remember? This is what that looks like. So ask God, What’s the first step? And take it.