Running to Jesus?

by Jonathan

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Running to Jesus is not always the answer.

Recently, I read about the rich young guy who did what we typically label a great thing: he ran to Jesus. In Mark 10:17, we read that he “came running up to [Jesus], knelt down, and asked, ‘Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?’”

But why was he running?

Was he running because he had a ton of important stuff to do? Was he coming from some uber important business dealings, looking to get a quick Word from Jesus so he could return to real life?

Was talking with Jesus an afterthought, something he might just be able to fit into an otherwise stuffed schedule?

Why was he running?

Was he running in desperation? Had he reached the end of himself and realized his need for salvation? The text doesn’t seem to say so. Actually, the text shows us a guy who’s pretty sure he’s got it all together. He’s got money, for sure, and he’s got pride. But it’s not really the bad pride, right? It’s the kind of pride that says, “Well, actually, I’ve kept the entire law all my life.” Oh snap, that is the bad pride.

But why is he running?

It looks like a bullet point to me, an agenda item – “Ask Jesus how to be saved.” Check.

Jesus sees this guy, the man with all the right answers to the wrong questions, and feels “genuine love for him.” Even so, Jesus doesn’t throw open his arms or the gates of heaven for this man. Because this isn’t how a person is supposed to run to Jesus. He is not prepared to enter the Kingdom of Heaven.

So why does he run? Well, because he is us.

We run and we run and we run, and then we see Jesus in someone, or we read a powerful book, or listen to a touching podcast, and we cry out, “I want that! I want peace and love and joy and salvation and whatever THAT is!” But we’re still running. We’re still loving our busyness or our business. Our legs have carried us to a legitimately good question, but our hearts are three miles behind.

I want to stop running.

I want to walk with Jesus, slowly learning his ways, hearing his voice.

I want to remember that Jesus doesn’t dole out life-changing maxims in 140 characters. He says “Follow me while I walk. Watch me. Be with me. And I will show you.”

It’s a slow faith, without shortcuts or belief-hacks.

May we follow Jesus like that.

And when we do run to Jesus, may it be with childlike confidence and joy. I think he likes that kind of running.

I’ve come to believe that Jesus is not a big fan of fast faith, where I try to fit my big questions into little boxes, hurriedly scarfing down truth.

I need to walk with him, slowly.

Do you?

Small Thoughts

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An Open Letter to Single Ladies Serving Abroad

by Jonathan

You are loved. Cherished, even.

Not because you were brave enough to move overseas “alone.”
Not because you ignored the caring relatives who asked, “How in the world will you find a husband over there?”

You are loved. Adored, even.

Not because you’re an independent thinker, a strong person.
Not because you’ve sacrificed.

You are loved. Anticipated, even.

Because of Him.

You are loved by the eternal God, your Harbor.
You are loved by a Dad who wraps you up in his everlasting arms.

You are loved by the One who knows the true depths of loneliness and the rich intimacy of friendships.

Indeed, you are loved.

You are valuable.

And you are needed. Our churches, our teams, and our families need you.

You probably know that already. You probably feel that already. But just in case you don’t, as a brother, father, husband, team leader, pastor, and friend, let me remind you how much we value you and need you.

We don’t need you to be a wonderful Christian woman. We need you to be a wonderful Christian human, unique because of your personhood, not just because of your womanhood. We need you to love people uniquely, heartily, and with passion.

You see the woman caught in adultery differently. We need your eyes. You are more aware of the emotional needs behind the physical needs. We need your awareness. We need your heart.

We need you to lead. Your perspective is valuable, your needs valid, your abilities real. You see problems and solutions differently. We need your intellect.

We need you to support us. Not like a cook supports the troops, but like a soldier supports a comrade. We serve side by side in this thing.

My kids need you. And not as a babysitter.

My sons need you to show them what a strong woman looks like. Teach them that a woman’s value does not come from the fact that she’s got a body, or a husband, or kids.

My daughters need you. They need to see a woman who’s willing to follow God’s call regardless of who joins her. They need to see a woman who pursues God on her own, enjoying her own relationship with him.

You are not half a unit. Some stray ingredient that I guess we’ll mix in with the “real” ingredients of teams and churches and potlucks.

You are not leftovers.

Without single women serving abroad, there would be a gaping hole in the Church and in the history of modern missions. And in my own life.

Growing up, the names (and books) of Amy Carmichael, Gladys Aylward, Corrie ten Boom, and Elisabeth Elliot taught and inspired and coached me. I read their books, listened to their stories, and learned from their faith.

Single women still teach, inspire and coach me. I am grateful for ladies like Amy, Sara, Yvonne, Tanya, Christina, Rhoda, Ann, Jenny, Sue, Sarah, Mary, Sovannara, Emma, and so many more. I listen to them speak, I read what they write, I watch them love people, I observe their journey through Facebook status updates, and I am grateful.

I need them. The Church needs them.

And Jesus loves them. And he loves you too. Not because you’re awesome or beautiful or perfect. Not because you’re really good with Instagram filters. But because you are part of his Bride, his people. Immensely valuable.

Every day, Elisabeth Elliot began her radio program with this reminder, “You are loved with an everlasting love – that’s what the Bible says – and underneath are the everlasting arms.”

May you remember his everlasting love,
May you rest in his everlasting arms,
Today, tomorrow, and everyday.

With deep appreciation and gratitude, your friend,
Jonathan Trotter

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*This article originally appeared on Velvet Ashes.
Used with permission

What toilet paper art is teaching me about life and creativity

by Jonathan

Every evening, my little girls create.

Every evening, my little girls take the cardboard innards of toilet paper rolls and they create beauty. In the bathroom.

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Every evening they create, and every morning I find the dried up pieces piled up on the floor.

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They don’t seem to notice the great impracticalities of their efforts. They don’t seem to care that no one will see their work or admire their skills. They just do it for the joy. They do it because they like it.

And they remind me that it’s possible to make even a bathroom in Cambodia a place of art. It’s possible to see beyond the leaky sink, the bare light bulb, the plastic door, the smelly drains, the cracked tile, the rusty doorknobs, and see beauty.

I want to be like that. I want to create for the joy of it. I want to write and speak from the fire and joy inside, not for the acclimation or accolades from the outside, and regardless of whether or not the space is perfectly designed for creating.

I want to speak laughter and joy into the mundane.

And when the internet gets a bit tense and people get a bit fired up, I want to remind people that “toilet paper art on plastic door” is a thing.

And whether anyone notices, and whether my work ends up in a pile on the bathroom floor tomorrow morning, I will still create.

Will you?

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*In our house in Cambodia, the bathrooms consist of one small room made entirely of tile. The toilet, sink, and shower occupy pretty much the same space, and the door’s made of plastic.

When God Won’t Give Me What I Want {A Life Overseas}

by Jonathan

Is he really a “good, good Father”? We sing it often enough, and truth be told, I really like singing and talking about the good character that our Abba Father indeed has.

But sometimes it sounds like we’re desperately trying to convince ourselves. Because sometimes we doubt. And no wonder.

Because sometimes we ask for things that we don’t get it. We ask for more support and we’re still blank. We ask for healing for ourselves or someone we love, and they stay sick. Or they die.

We brush up against storms and trauma and we see horrific things and we question him. Where are you? Why this? Why him or her?

Keep reading over at A Life Overseas

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