I wrote yesterday about the amazing experience I had with Campus Crusade for Christ on the Cal Poly campus. I am so grateful to have those days as a part of my spiritual heritage. Blessed. However, with any good story there is always a “back story”. I gravitated toward that lovely community of people for a reason….18 year old Jenn thought “rules” could save her.

The recipe is simple, ask Jesus into your heart, believe in Him alone, and you go to Heaven. Enough said. Then comes (wo)man to add a few extra ingredients, rules if you will. Because really, it can’t be that simple. Really.

What you have in the end is something so far from the boundless grace and truth of God’s Word that it is barely recognizable. Everything is a rule, a formula to be memorized with great precision to detail. 21st century Pharisees abound because of these rules. I am guilty of being one of them. You see, I am darn good at following rules. I like them, I like the predictability they offer, the justice they promise. Sadly, it wouldn’t be until almost 15 years into my walk down Faith’s road that I saw my Christianity for what it was. A series of rules that I believed if I followed I would be called “good” by God. Ick.

Jesus was clear in His message. My ears were filled with cotton. I wanted to believe that being good meant something. I wanted order, a plan of action that if followed, promised success. All I got with this plan was continual failure and guilt. Not Jesus.

It all started the day I dumped my CD collection and started listening to Christian music only. Sitting in the basement bedroom that I paid way too much rent for in San Luis Obispo, I threw out Cobain and his friend Vedder and I *shudder* replaced them with Michael W. Smith and Crystal Lewis. The act of doing this wasn’t in and of itself wrong, my reasons were. I wanted so badly to be perfect, without blame, so that God would love me. I thought if I followed Christian rules that would happen.

At the time, I was a part of a beautiful group of people on the Cal Poly Campus who loved Jesus and were finding out what that meant for their lives, for their campus. I wanted to be a leader in this group so I pursued blamelessness with aplomb. My friend Jesus must have been shaking His head, wondering where He could have been more clear. It wasn’t about what I could do, but what HE ALREADY DID.

Fast forward10 years. The pride of my christian”accomplishments” had grown in my heart like ivy and endangered my ability to even hear my Savior’s voice. I had gone full circle from desiring to be perfect so as to be pleasing …to quite the opposite. Years of struggle and failure and a vast spiritual desert had lead me to decisions that were beyond questionable. I figured if I couldn’t get it just right, then what would it feel like to get it all wrong?

When I look back on the girl who threw away some of the best music ever made in an attempt to be “good,” it would be reasonable to shake my head in disdain. I did that for some years. However now, I love her with all the love my heart can offer. I love her desire to do the right thing, even if it wasn’t for the right reasons. I now know that it was all a part of the journey I am on to finding connection with God. Sometimes you have to see your own sin as clear as the sunrise in order to know how great His sacrifice was. Avoiding temptation only gets your heart halfway there. The rest is humble recognition of His power to rescue a heart so black that you can’t see its’ outline.

I wouldn’t trade those days on campus for anything. I wouldn’t trade the next ten years of banging my head against a wall either. It is part of the Faith walk. Everyone gets there in their own time. Jesus is nothing if not patient. Sometimes I envision Him walking with me down the road and as I start to wander, He sits on the dusty ground and hums a tune while He waits for his child to veer back onto the path of Life.

The following excerpt from a blog friend Katie, got me thinking:

A lot end up circling me around and around within a very special world that I feel down right blessed to have gotten to be a part of. SLO. Oh those three letters; could they possibly evoke more emotion? Could they surge more feelings of pride? Could they encompass more fulfillment to me? More favor?

If Katie felt this way and I felt this way, how many others are there? Hence, the birth of the following post:

Some people go to college and “find” themselves. I went to college and found Jesus.

Sadly, it wouldn’t be until years later I would “find” myself and it took some unraveling of the Jesus part in order to do so. That will be the subject of Part 2 in this series.

Yet, my memories from the college days and the “finding of Jesus” are sweet like summer fruit in my mind. For those of you who walked this journey with me, who stepped on the hallowed ground that was Campus Crusade for Christ at SLO, you could fill this page with a similar story. We all found something special on that campus, in that time. Life existed in a vacuum of fellowship and creativity. We studied God’s word, we witnessed a body of believers grow from 20 to 200, then 600 and more. We shared bagels, we sang His praises and we gathered to conspire on how to share Him with our campus. It was innocent, pure and so lovely. I often wonder why God allowed me to be a part of such a thing, such a clear and obvious harvest of His love, His community and His joy. Considering a few years later I would be wilting on the vine, wondering why my God had left me to languish in a church when all I wanted was the SLO Crusade community again. I wanted to be surrounded, challenged and joyful. Not sitting in another women’s group, lamenting about how little time I had for my “quiet time” or planning the next women’s banquet. Blah. Double Blah.

Every Tuesday, clad in my favorite Gap overalls (hellooooo 1990′s) and my “Rachel” haircut, I made my way to the business building on campus and prepared for a time of joy. That was the difference. Joy. We were all genuinely excited to see what God was doing. We giggled at Noah’s announcements, we laughed uncontrollably at Captain Crusade (He’s the Captain!) , we sang with abandon with Joel and we were challenged by Ken or Jamie or whoever else God had brought to our meeting that week. There was freedom. Freedom always produces joy.

It didn’t start out with grandeur. We didn’t know what we had, what we were all in for. We were a pretty measly group in the beginning. Maybe 20 of us, in the Ag building singing a pretty sad rendition of “As the Deer.” In spite of us, God grew our numbers. He increased our size and the miracles began. Story after story. My story no different than any of the others. A moment on campus, a word spoken in a class. A meeting with Tori. Lives began to change, the group had synergy and we all experienced God’s amazing grace.

I can’t help but think that those of us on that campus during that time were there for a reason. God raised up a lot of missionaries, people who would sneak Bibles into closed countries, risk personal health and well being for the gospel. God took some people who could have made a million in the market and plopped them on the mission field instead. He raised a generation of leaders. He gave us a taste of His joy, His community and asked that we follow.

I am friends with a lot of my fellow crusader’s on Facebook. We all went on with our lives after those momentous days on campus. I can’t help but wonder if any of us (myself at the FRONT of that line) are squandering what God gave us in SLO? What are we doing with the leadership that was invested in us, with the knowledge of God’s miracles, His work in our lives?

I spent YEARS after college trying to re-create the atmosphere of my crusade experience in my church, in my home, in my small groups. It never happened. So many years have now passed, that I am starting to forget what it felt like to be a part of that community. I am starting to forget what it was like to wear a shirt that said “I love Jesus” to a Political Science class. I don’t want to forget. I want to build a monument to God.

Will you join me? Fellow crusaders – tell me what God did for you during that time. Leave comments and let’s remember Him in SLO. It was a special time, it was God time. I want to honor Him with our memories Tell me how He has used that time in your life, how did you grow? What has the harvest produced?

It is easy to think you’re fancy when you live in a house with an ocean view. Every once in a while, glass of wine in hand and Pacific Coast sunset in view I can feel like hot stuff. Then I remember. That one time. Oh, and that time too. Dang it.

I am reminded that it is a good thing we aren’t the individual stories from our past but a furtive collection of their sum. I don’t come from much. I still don’t have much (besides that ocean view). For years I tried to accumulate in an attempt to fill the void you have in your heart when you don’t come from much. That didn’t work.

 I spent some summers of my youth hanging out at my grandma’s mobile home park. I thought it was awesome for a while, then I was kind of embarrassed by it. You can guess about what age I began to be embarrassed.

One summer, I was about 13, I met a boy there. Dear goodness this story just gets better. So he was the nephew of the couple that managed the mobile home park. I remember their names were Connie and Rick. I think they were later fired for embezzlement. Rick was on disability and Connie drove a golf cart very authoritatively around the park looking for code violations. She also had a nose that looked decidedly like a bird beak. Anyway, their wayward nephew came to spend some time with them because his mother was at wits end and needed a break. Well hello Fate, nice to meet you.

We were the only two kids in the park that summer. It was hot, over a hundred degrees every day. I would sleep in, listen to 80’s music on my Sony walkman and lay out by the pool. In the evenings, my Grammy and I would pay gin rummy and eat ice cream sundaes. When the wayward nephew showed up, I found reasons to hang out by the clubhouse. I would linger by the used romance books available for check out, watch the old men play pool and sneak popsicles from the common refrigerator. All hoping he would see me. Silly girl.

So the boy and I started hanging out. We would watch MTV and listen to music. Paula Abdul was a favorite, specifically “Rush, Rush”. Oh yeah, the video with Keanu Reeves was a real teen girl swoon inducer. One night, when we were both supposed to be back at our respective trailers (stay classy Jenn), we kissed. He was a little older than I and even at 13 I had a sense he was a bad idea. He kissed me for a moment and then moved his lips quickly to my neck. What happened next has either been shut out because of post traumatic stress or selective memory reduction, either way, thinking about it now keeps me humble.

By the light of the deep summer moon, the smell of a freshly chlorinated pool and sporting my favorite rolled up jean shorts, I received my first and only hickey. Oh. My. Gawd.

When the vampire session concluded, I ran back to my grandma’s and looked in the mirror. I was shocked and a little upset at wayward nephew boy. I didn’t bargain for a physical reminder of my teenage curiosity, but there it was, all red and angry on my neck. It might have been the first time I felt real shame. I knew that I shouldn’t have been alone with this boy and now I had proof that my intuition was right. Grammy was going to freak out (or as I would have explained it then, “totally spaz”).

The boy left a few days later and thanks to my fashionable sleeveless mock turtleneck I was able to hide the evidence from everyone but Connie and her beak. She sniffed out the trouble and pulled me aside to say that even she knew her nephew wasn’t a good idea for me.

Looking back on that 20 year old memory, I can’t help but think I’ve come a long way. Yet, I am sure I am often just a few bad decisions away from those vulnerable, childlike moments where giving in seems better than walking away. Maybe I’ve learned better than to make decisions that leave trails of physical evidence but I can’t say that some of my decisions haven’t left red, angry marks on my soul.

Whether 13 or 33, all I can hope for is a little grace from a big God. I am pretty sure that just like that turtleneck did all those years ago, God’s grace covers my bad decisions and gives me time to heal. I just have to put it on and be patient.

It is a season for change in my life. I am doing a lot of writing, just not here. Some of it is too personal at this point. Some of it needs to be refined before other eyes take it in. I am working on me. All of my longings, my desires – where do they come from and why are they there? It is a season for self introspection. The girl in me thinks that it is time to grow up, in a good way, a healthy way. I have been living with the heart of a 17 year old on my sleeve for many years now. I love her enthusiasm, her hope for all things possible. However, she’s not fit to be a wife or mother of three.

As I put down my toys and turn toward real life, good and sweet as it is, I am also turning toward the One who made me. He has taken my hand in a new way and has asked, so gently, for me to look and see what He sees. With His eyes, His grace.

I love watching the Olympics. Not always for the sport – curling? really Canada? – but mostly for the personal stories. I am fascinated by what makes up an Olympic athlete. The talent, the skill, the training are all just a part of the person – not the whole story of what drove them to compete at the Olympic level. At some point in their lives, each athlete decided to forgo something, everything else, for the sport. I am in awe of this decision – the wholehearted nature of the full plunge into something.

I was watching NBC’s canned coverage of the Olympics last night (which by the way makes me angry -hate being the last to know the results just so NBC can show stuff in prime time and make extra $ off of commercials). Anyhow, I saw Maelle Rickerwin gold for Canada in women’s snowboard cross and it got me thinking. First of all, snowboard cross is INSANE! These ladies have some serious guts and they are amazing. Again though, it is the back story that makes it all so amazing. In the last Olympics, Maelle was airlifted off the course due to injury. Four years ago she left the games with a concussion, this time with the highest honor her sport can offer.

I see two things at play in this story that so translate to my walk with God. One is, never give up. I am pretty sure that helicopter ride out of Torino four years ago was a pretty dark moment but she didn’t make it her last. I want to be that person – the person who, in the darkest time, can keep the vision for the future. To see the goal ahead even when sitting on the sideline wondering if I will ever get back on course. That type of vision is a gift, a gift that I desperately want.

The other insight these athletes offer is the ability to “show up.” The difference between “being on the podium” and not, in these races is milliseconds. What drives an athlete to go into such a high stakes competition and have the ride/skate/run/swim/ etc. of their life? I am amazed by any professional athletes’ ability to perform at the level of excellence when it matters the most. When I played tennis in high school I was always better in practice than I was at a match. During the match I would get in my own head and defeat myself mentally. One double fault and you can pretty much guarantee I am going to loose the set. These Olympic athletes show up in a major way when everything is on the line. This is an amazing quality to possess.

When it matters, I want to be the person who comes through for my family, for myself. I want to win gold in my faithfulness to God. When all is stripped away, I want to still be committed. Committed to my marriage when it feels like its’ failing. Committed to my children when it seems like they just aren’t getting it. Committed to my job when it feels like it isn’t fulfilling. Committed to my friends when they let me down. I want to perform with God’s grace at my side in all aspects of my life, but especially when the stakes are high – when they are Olympic in nature.

As with any sport, my walk with God – my ability to show up – takes training. Time to strap on my running shoes and start the race.

“What you learn from them (your parents) will crown you with grace and be a chain of honor around your neck” – Proverbs 1:9

“Never let loyalty and kindness get away from you! Wear them like a necklace; write them deep in your heart.” – Proverbs 3: 3

“My son, obey your father’s commands, and don’t neglect your mother’s teaching. Keep their words always in your heart. Tie them around your neck.” – Proverbs 6: 20-21

These are just a few of the references to “neck” in the book of Proverbs. As I was reading through this book recently I started noticing the emphasis on this body part. What we wear around our neck says something about us. Some people wear diamonds, some pearls, some wear lockets with pictures of loved ones and some of us wear cheap costume jewelry. (I think that means I’m cheap?)

Anyway, I think it is interesting that God’s Word advises us to heed wisdom and knowledge by saying that we should wear it around our neck. We should wear kindness and loyalty like we do our favorite piece of bling. If I had some amazing 2 karat Tiffany bezel set solitaire necklace (not that I’ve thought about this at all) I can guarantee you I would think about it first thing in the morning as I rushed to put it on. I would wear it with pride (and apparently very little humility) and I would find outfits that accentuate its’ beauty.

Do I do the same thing with my spiritual jewelry? Do I rush to put on my kindness and loyalty? Do hope to display my wisdom and knowledge that is written deep in my heart? The answer to that is, I’m afraid,…not so much. I am pretty sure I would be more aware of a 2 karat diamond than I am of my mother’s teaching or my loyalty to others. For that, I am not proud.

The best part about God though, is that He accepts us where we are…where we are starting. Today, I desire to increase my spiritual bling. I want to adorn myself with His Word, His Kindness, His Loyalty and most of all His Grace. I want those qualities to fill up my neck like precious jewels, sparkling and clean.  Better than a Tiffany diamond.

As a side note, how amazing would it be if those of us who call ourselves Christians displayed these qualities? If we were known for our loyalty and kindness? I long for that, more than anything.

What, my friends, do you wear around your neck?