crashing hard.

by Lindsay Ellyson on Thursday, September 23, 2010 at 6:16pm

Nothing lasts.

And I do mean nothing.

Every single person leaves.

They move away,

they stop engaging,

or they die.

Every person I ever love will die. Every single one.

Maybe I will die before they do.

But either way, they’ll be gone.

God, You really, really, really are the only thing that remains. You really, really are.

Why can’t my mind get wrapped around it?

Every person I ever love will leave.

Dad will die.

Mom will die.

Logan, Landen, Lincoln will all die.

They’ll DIE.

Sarah will die. Wendy will die. So will David and Adam. Scott will die.

My heart friends will die. All of them. Those roommates I loved, those guys I liked, those broken girls I sat with, those orphans I cried over, those kids I held, they'll all die.

They’ll leave or I’ll leave or they’ll die. Either way, they will not be there forever.

Every man I choose to love will leave. Maybe one will stay much longer than the rest. One will I hope, stay years and years and years. But in the end - and the end will come - in the end, he will die just like all the rest.

You’ll die.

And you’ll die.

And you’ll leave and then die.

And you, yes even you... you’ll leave and then die too.

There is truly nothing that remains. There is truly nothing, absolutely nothing that will last...

save You, God.

As I see it, I have two options.

One is to clam up, risk nothing, bury myself in labors (which will also not remain) and float through these years I am granted with life with very little feeling, and most importantly very little pain.

The other option is to crash hard into that mystery we’ve dubbed Love. To throw inhibition to the wind, to put everything on the line, to allow myself to deeply care, knowing full well that every single person I extend myself to will in fact leave or die. In this option there is no playing it safe. It’s not a pretty prancing about. It’s a body slam into risky business. There is no guarantee that joy will outweigh pain, and there is no promise that goodness will ever last as long as I think it might. There is no surety that the broken will let love truly change them, and at the end of the day there could potentially be not a thing to show for love.

I suppose there may be a third option. I suppose there is that middle road, the half-clam, half-risk place. Achh. Forget it. It’s so lame, its hardly worth mentioning.

I’ve barely raised my eyes from looking at this page before I know...

There is no option for You, is there God? You are all risky business, all the time. You have been since the beginning. Except for You there is no beginning. You in fact ARE the mystery we’ve dubbed Love. You’ve never played it safe, not one single time. You looked the oh-so-real chance of pain square in the face, and said, “Bring it on.”

A distinct memory is coming to mind. I reach for a journal that is crammed between two dozen others on my bookshelf, and flip through it until I find this page: February 24, 2009.

“HOW DO YOU DO THIS, GOD? You’ve run a risk on love with every human being that’s ever walked the face of the Earth. So few have worked out... so few have loved You back. And those that have were still unfaithful. It started with a risk with Adam... I’m thinking about the covenant You made with Abram - the marriage contract. You’ve run the risk on millions of people for thousands of years. HOW DOES YOUR HEART TAKE IT?”

Your response to me went like this:

“Love is that worth it.

Love is who I am, Lindsay. To not risk is to step outside of My identity. Playing it safe is not in line with My character. If there is no risk, it’s not love at all.”

Man.

Man, oh man, oh man.

You are the only thing that remains. I don't know why it took almost 23 years for that to really hit me, but today I suddenly realized that You will be there every single morning when I wake for the rest of my life. And You are the only One that will be. And when I die, You will still be there. And You have always been there before me.

Okay. So You're it. You're the Big Deal. You're the really only Legit Being that exists.

And You've been going head-on for Love since forever.

You ARE the Risky One,

the Hard Crash into Mystery,

the Great Body Slam,

the Magnificent Inhibition-Chucker.

You're the only One who remains and this is really how You roll. Shoot, I mean... if I'm going to die anyways, and if You're going to remain anyways, why not come crashing into this risky business with You? I mean, why not? If You're the only One who will always be, and if You say,

"Its worth it,"

well then, it probably is.

wide is the space.

by Lindsay Ellyson on Monday, September 6, 2010 at 11:10am

The dreams of yesterday fade in the disappointment of reality today.

Yet in the wispy shadows of their slow departure, the horizon opens. Broad is the expanse, wide is the space. And I see new dreams dancing in the wake of those that flit away...

New dreams that skip to the beat of eternity, that pulse with sure destiny. Hope is their theme, and it is not a dim hope.

I gaze ahead into the wide open space, mesmerized by the bold movement of these vibrant visions and I know that shaking off the lingering traces of yesterday's mental merry-go-round is perhaps finally possible.

Wide, wide, wide is this looming horizon...

Catch me up, Spirit. Catch me up into the forward motion of what I see before me. Spin me and twirl me and pull me into the celebratory sound of eternal purpose. Immerse me in this pounding rhythm until all of yesterday that is mortal and unneccessary detaches itself and falls forgotten by the wayside.

Today I dream of stepping into the very middle of an untouched place,

of going with a handful of soul friends,

of submersing ourselves in the midst of the lost,

and establishing the Kindgom of Jesus.

And these dreams are dancing wildly, trampling on whatever pathetic, energy-less, half-dreams remained from whatever these last months have been.

- September 6, 2010 12:45am

soul ache

soul ache

by Lindsay Ellyson on Saturday, August 21, 2010 at 12:25am

I woke up this morning with an ache.

An ache in my soul.

It's rough when the very first thought that comes crashing into my brain after I've fumbled with my alarm is, "I need something. I need something bad." There's a starkness to that reality that makes drifting back into a comfortable sleep impossible. Hello world. It's 6am, the sun's not even up yet, and the traffic outside my window has just barely begun to zoom. I've only got my eyes half open, my cognition switch flipped on 0.47 seconds ago, and I am desperate.

Already.

Wow, getting out of bed is going to be FUN.

I know the answer, of course. I know what I need. Or who I need, rather. It's weird how truth can be so near the front of your consciousness and yet feel so utterly far away. Nonetheless, even as I half-heartedly grasped at whatever was within arm's reach today, I was entirely aware that each thing I grasped for was going to be sorely disappointing within minutes. Three bites in, and I knew that if stress eating ever slightly worked for me it has by now lost all its charm. My usual mindless perusal of my Facebook home page barely distracted me today. I didn't even bother making phone calls. For a brief moment I considered a movie and just as quickly dismissed that thought. My late afternoon nap eased nothing. If anything, the lull in activity as I sprawled out on my bed made the emptiness all the more keenly felt.

In between each of those graspings at I found myself praying, "I need something. I know that something is You. I need You."

And yet...

You're not in the usual easy places.*

Damn it.

I feel like kicking something really hard. Or breaking something into a million pieces. I could go for a long hard run, but that seems like an entirely too productive way to deal with this mounting frustration inside of me.

Why God? WHY? I want to scream. Why must You pull away? Why must You hide? Why must I go searching for You yet again?

I know You are tenacious about my character development. I know You are building within me a foundation of gold, silver, and stone that will not disappear in the coming flames of turmoil. I know You are beckoning me to be a woman undaunted by circumstance, trusting when I cannot see. I know You are unwavering in Your sanctification of my life. But GOOD GRIEF, God, how much character development can You cram into one 22-year-old body?

I know, God, I know. Okay? I get it. I know I need You. I know everything else is like a sick joke compared to You. I have no problem admitting that. I'm ruined without You! What more can I say? Now where the flip are You?

BIG, FAT S-I-G-H.

Somehow over the course of the day, the piercing words of Job have crept their way into the swirl of my frustration. I stumbled upon them quite by accident this morning as a handful of my friends and I were goofing around before morning prayer. One particularly humorous fellow was pretending to preach, and he jokingly asked us to turn to Job 19, verse 32. As there is no verse 32 of course, we continued on in our playful exchange, and claiming he was dyslexic turned instead to verse 23. In the midst of our innocent laughter the poignancy Job's desire sobered me quickly. His words followed me throughout the day, all the way to my late afternoon nap. Now I hear their echo continuing on into my night:

Oh, that the words I now speak were written!

Oh, that they were inscribed in a book, carved on a tablet of stone!

That with an iron pen and molten lead they were graven in the rock forever!

For I know that my Redeemer and Vindicator lives, and at last He, the Last One, will stand upon the earth.

And after my skin, even this body, has been destroyed, then from my flesh or without it I shall see God, whom I, even I, shall see for myself and on my side!

And my eyes shall behold Him, and not as a stranger!

My heart pines away and is consumed within me.**

Dare I believe with Job that this straining to see You has an end in sight? Dare I remember that a day will come when the last leaf falls and the last page is turned, and You Who Remains will put two feet on sod again. Dare I remember the promise that whether my body is breathing or is deader than dead, I will in fact see You for myself? Dare I believe with Job that You won't be a stranger when You come, but rather The One Whom I Know Best?

Dare I believe? Dead and buried or alive and well, I myself will see the God-Man Jesus walk on this planet Earth once again. Dare I believe that I will know Him when He comes? Not just recognize Him as a guy who saved me once, but know Him. Know that He is the One who has been redeeming and vidicating me over and over. Know that His special name is By My Side.

The little wheels in my mind are turning. If I will in fact see my God when He stands upon the earth, if I will in fact know Him when He comes...

That is a lot of knowing between now and then.

You're still not in the usual easy places. But somehow You will be found by me. Because You won't be a stranger to me when You come. And we've got a lot of knowing each other to do in the meantime. My heart pines away too, Job. My heart is consumed within me too.

* To read my note entitled, "You're not in the usual easy places" written in January 2009, go to this link: http://www.facebook.com/note.php?note_id=47962593423

**Job 19:23-27, The Amplified Bible

***A note about strong language: I recognize that I could have readers who may be tripped up over my use of a swear word or two in this particular writing. Let me clarify. This piece is a lament, a deep guttural cry, an honest prayer to the God of my life. Although they have been translated with nice, "clean" English words, the original Hebrew in which the Psalms were written was often explicit as David and others poured out their hearts before God. I believe that He is quite willing and quite able to handle whatever depth of emotions come over us in our pursuit of Him. David was named a "man after God's own heart." I see that this is because God Himself is not afraid to express His anger, sadness, and joy all freely, and He is actually often quite explicit in the outpouring of His emotions (... have you ever read the books of the Prophets in the Old Testament? If "dashing infants on rocks" isn't graphic, I don't know what is.) I could have edited this writing and shared the watered-down version with you. However, in order to honor my God who created emotion and sees all, I felt impressed to share my raw and honest journey with you.

Spring 2010, Part II

My teammate Wendy and I found this graffitied wall in downtown Kansas City and mused over its irony as we posed for this photo - as followers of Jesus, our lives are anything but trampled by normalcy. Rather, we’ve jumped headfirst into the thrill of adventuring with Holy Spirit in the urban core. Just two weeks ago I was out for a run in my ghetto neighborhood when I felt Holy Spirit direct me down a particular street and give me a word for the 18-year-old single mother of two waiting at the bus stop on the corner. Her face lit up as she told me she’d just given her life to Jesus mere weeks before. She knew absolutely nothing of the ways of God and was in dire need of a spiritual family. It’s been such a delight to begin taking her through the God Story, along with a few other single moms and brand new believers the Father has placed in our paths.

These days I’ve been traveling to campuses around Kansas and Missouri, encouraging students to participate in the 2010 Year of Prayer. I’m also busy preparing for the summer - I’ll be co-leading another Student Church Planting Experience and the whole Campus America team is gearing up for an epic gathering of students at Northfield, the original site where the Student Volunteer Movement launched over 100 years ago. I’m most looking forward to my trek to Central Asia. For security purposes I'm not posting information about that trip online, but I hope you’ll email me if you'd like to know more about that trip.

Pray for me, friends! We have a real enemy, who is none too pleased when Hope is being proclaimed. I am in constant need of supernatural wisdom, protection, strength, and provision. I bank on your intercession for me, knowing full well that the Kingdom of Love can only take ground by prayer and obedience. much love, Lindsay

PS: My 8-year-old godson Preston prayed to give his life to Jesus during his stay at my house last weekend :) I’m a happy god-momma!

The Great Pumpkin Throwdown

What to do when your fridge is a little bare, you've got more pureed pumpkin in your freezer than you know what to do with, you're on a Daniel-approved diet, and Lord knows anything with flour is not an option because you ate entirely too much bread yesterday:

-1 small onion chopped

-3 cloves garlic, minced

-olive oil

-2 cups pureed pumpkin

- 1 cup quinoa, cooked in 2 cups of water

-1 cup-ish of frozen peas

-1/2 cup-ish finely chopped walnuts

-sea salt

-pepper

Saute the garlic and onion in olive oil. Add the pureed pumpkin to the skillet with a little water to thin it out and stir thoroughly. Stir in peas, salt and pepper. Let it simmer for a little while until the flavors meld and you can begin to smell the garlic wafting through the kitchen. Add cooked quinoa and chopped walnuts. Taste-test and add more sea salt if needed.

Delicious. Kind of like that perfectly good-for-you well-balanced meal that happens to be soft, warm, savory, and comforting all at the same time.

Not always does my scrounging of the cupboards and combining in a pot turn out so well. But I would totally make this again :)

One last word about pumpkin puree:

It's perfect in smoothies. Weird, I know. But I add a half a cup of pumpkin puree with a banana, a handful of frozen strawberries, and a little orange juice - mix it all up in a blender, and voila! You have a delicious smoothie with a serving of vegetable that no one could ever detect. Plus, the pureed pumpkin adds to the smoothness of the smooth-ie. Positively brilliant, I know ;)

[good news] Spring 2010: Part 1

Magdalena Esperanza: Her name means “Magnificent Tower of Hope,” and she is in every way a symbol to us of the redemptive change Jesus is bringing to our lives. Her Puerto Rican momma Maria, and her Mexican American daddy Jason, are a dating couple who have both given their lives to Jesus over the course of the last year. Jason and Maria and Baby Lena are all living in the Tracy House, learning along with all of us how to be loved by God, how to love Him back, and how to love each other.

Tracy (trae-cee): A name meaning 1) a road or path; 2) to harvest or to reap; 3) brave.

The Tracy House. 3900 Tracy Ave, Apt. B. When we first moved into the two-floor duplex in August, our home inherited its name rather by default from the street. We were quite thrilled however to later discover the meaning of “Tracy”, and sensed from our first days here that God Himself was giving us both a home and an intentional purpose in the Kansas City

hood. We have continued to experience divine protection, miraculous provision, and unbelievable missional opportunities.

I was all grins as both giant 6‘6” Laurence and tiny 6-pound Lena joined our home this last weekend! Laurence is affectionately known as “L’Boogie” because he’s an amazing hip-hop dancer :) We’ve now got 3 guys livi

ng upstairs and 3 girls living downstairs, counting the baby. 3 Hispanics, 1 Black, and 2 Whities. (I had such fun filling out the 2010 Census!) Most of my roommates have been spiritually & physically orphaned their whole lives, and are just now coming to understand a loving family. We share groceries, eat together, pray together, clean together, take care of guests together, & get in the Word together. It’s all day by day, live-in discipleship.

On any given weekend you can find our home packed with friends from the Boiler Room and neighborhood, visiting students, and other weary travelers. We love to feed people, and we’re forever marveling at how our kitchen always has enough food. Our roommate Scott counted that from August 1 when we moved in until the end of December we’d had 115 guests stay with us! I have no idea what the recent count is... I’m sure we’ve had another 40 or so since then.

Just a few days ago, our 15-year-old neighbor girl came seeking some love. She just found out that she is pregnant, and wanted someone to pray with her. I spent an hour sharing with her about Jesus. She agreed to start meeting with me weekly to read the stories of Jesus... and she asked me to be the baby’s godmother! We’ve been praying for Ashley and her family since we first moved in, and we’ve had several incredible God-encounters with them already.

Campus America: This is a photo of the map of the United States that hangs on the wall in our office. It’s a helpful visual as we pray for students across the nation. We’ve got pictures of our friends who are coordinating prayer on campuses attached to the map to help us pray too. Our team is currently participating in 40 days of prayer and fasting for God to raise up laborers for the harvest on the campuses of America. Add Campus America on Facebook & Twitter to stay informed! I personally update those statuses :)

I was struck this week by Jesus’ remark in Matthew 15: “I am unwilling to send them away hungry, lest they faint on the way.”

May the Spirit of Jesus FILL YOU UP, until you are OVERFLOWING. May He satisfy your hunger with revelation of His steadfast LOVE.

Lindsay

come, be with us.

I sit at my kitchen table today, staring out the window that overlooks the Metro Center on the corner of 39th and Troost. Brownies are baking in the oven, markers and glue are sprawled all over the tabletop. I’m in the middle of making a birthday package to send to my younger brother. He turned 19 years old on Saturday. I know its a few days late, but my brothers and I believe in stretching out birthdays as long as possible, so to us belated gifts just mean the party is still going. I’m proud of my brother and so excited about his life. He’s becoming such a strong, kind-hearted man.

My phone flashes. My friend Adam has just forwarded a notice to me about a gathering to be held this very night on the very corner I’m gazing upon. It’s supposed to be a memorial gathering of sorts, a prayerful time to take a stand against the violence that ravages the urban core.

Two weeks ago today, an 18-year-old black male was shot and killed in broad daylight. I remember the day clearly. It was the middle of the afternoon, and there was swarms of cops cars, loads of tape, the local news station. We could see most everything from our second story kitchen window.

It’s not that commotion is an uncommon sight. I mean, we certainly see our share of it. Last week we watched as police apprehended man outside our house. He was trying to escape after causing a car accident a few streets over, a hit-and-run situation. I don’t know if anyone was killed, but there was certainly a lot of ambulances. Before that there was a cab driver shot in front of our house. One of our roommates felt the vibrations from the gunshots in her bedroom and made the call to the police. Then there was the Christmas party we had, in which our departing guests literally had to walk through a line-up of officers who had a few troubled teenagers handcuffed on our sidewalk. We’ve had several full-blown manhunts occur on our block in the few months we’ve lived in this house. One night a house guest was not even allowed to return to our home, as an entire ten-block radius was barricaded for what turned out to be an all-night search for a guy who’d shot a cop.

And they say we live on a good street.

A good street for this side of town, that is.

Ahh. So there I am today, sitting at the table, writing my brother’s birthday card. I know as soon as I get the text from Adam that I will go tonight. My heart is heavy as I finish writing his card. Two weeks ago, my brother was an 18-year-old male. Today I celebrate his vibrant life, his bright future, and another year that he will live. He made it to 19. That’s more than Avion Williamson can say.

Evening comes, and I slip out of my house to walk soberly to the notorious corner. A huge stone church sets opposite the Metro Center, and it seems this is where the crowd is gathering. A lot of church folk, from various congregations. Avion’s family. Several policers officers. Quite a few young people - his friends maybe. Representatives from different community organizations. A guy with snapping pictures. A rickety old monitor and a microphone that cuts in and out. Mostly black folks have gathered, with just a handful of white folks sprinkled throughout the crowd.

A prayer is prayed before bishops, officers, and heads of this or that all offer their condolences and make a plea for the community to become unified in its crack down on violent crime. Tears keep flooding my eyes as the session progresses. If I gave way to my emotions I would just weep and weep. 16 people have been murdered in Kansas City since the turn of 2010. 13 of them have been black males. 5 of them have been teenagers. I guarantee that most, if not all, of those murders have occurred within a few miles of my home.

One of the speakers asks the crowd to raise their hand if they have ever had a family member murdered. Something like two-thirds of the crowd raises their hand. He then asked who had attended a funeral of someone who had been murdered in the last eighteen months. Again, much of the crowd had their hands raised. I feel like I cannot breathe.

There’s more jabbering about how if only all the organizations were more unified, the violence would never happen. All I want to do is get on my face in the asphalt church lot and start crying out for mercy. Some of what is said is good, but it seems to be mostly talk amongst people who cannot really change a thing. And barely anything at all is directed to the only One who can actually save us.

I’ve been thinking all day that I want to put words to the stirring in my heart. It’s these kinds of days that make me want to write words that provoke the human soul. It’s these kinds of days that leave me feeling raw and wanting to shake up the emotions of every heart that slumbers.

And its these same days that leave me feeling like there is nothing left to say. I want to be able to deliver some crazy powerful punch line at the end of this note. But my soul is strangely quieted. The somberness has seeped in and drowned out whatever rage was in me.

Perhaps, just perhaps, He wants this moment.

And in that case, You shall have it, Lord. Come, be present with us in our celebrating and grieving. Come, be present in our gaining and our losing. Come, when there is nothing left to say... Come, be with us.

03-08-10