Hebrews 11

"Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. This is what the ancients were commended for... By faith Abraham, when called to go to a place he would later receive as his inheritance, obeyed and went, even though he did not know where he was going... These were all commended for their faith, yet none of them received what had been promised. God had planned something better for us so that only together with us would they be made perfect."

I cried.

For the first time in perhaps more than a year, I cried. And perhaps, what's even more embarrassing, I did it in front of others. My brothers. My sisters. It wasn't the soul-shaking sobbing that accompanies the death of a loved one, nor was it the single, dignified tear othat might sometimes accompany the end of a particularly poignant film.

But perhaps I should rewind a bit. I'm not a crier. Not in the slightest. Oh, I've choked up on occasion, but these moments pass quickly, and usually I'm prideful enough to swallow that egg-sized lump in my throat, push away that quivering in my voice, and muster a steady, "I'm doing okay," for long enough for concern to fade. I don't cry ever. And when I do, it's never around people.

So why now? Why this time? Why was I crying?

Boy, is that a loaded question. It's been nearly six weeks since that Sunday when I would say goodbye to some of the closest friends of my lifetime and to a summer that had changed my life. I'm still at a loss as to how I'm going to quantify my experiences. For now, though, maybe all I need to do is to simply... start writing.

Let's start at the beginning. What, really, was I expecting from Project? It's hard to say--that seems like forever ago, and the David Hsieh that made that decision is changed from the David Hsieh who lives and breathes this day. When I agreed with God to be sent on Project, I did so out of a deep conviction that I was being called into ministry--for at least the summer. This wasn't the first time I had felt called. Only the first time that I had trusted Him with it. Previous summers I had devoted my summers to my studies, not out of any real obligation or scholarly need, but out of fear of where and how He might send me if indeed I did trust Him. More than the fear that I would hate it was the fear that I would love it.

Perhaps that fear was well-founded.

I loved this summer.

So much so, that I would say it was the best decision I've made in the last nine years (and only because I accepted Christ into my life nine years ago). Excepting that trump card, the decision to trust God with this summer on Project was the best decision of my life. Why? Because I was reminded once again just how good a life lived with reckless abandon for my Creator can be. How good was it? Good enough to make me cry. Good enough to shake my life to its core and convince me of some hard issues that I had whiteknuckled for the last three years of my life. For now, though, I'll stop speaking in generalizations. Let me outline for you just how good God made this summer, with the disclaimer that mere words can never describe what this summer was for my life, and that perhaps only when we've reached our True Home many years from now will I be able to fully understand what it meant to me.

What did Project change about me? It's funny. Before I left for Chicago on June 5th, I boldly proclaimed, both in my support letters and follow-up appointments, that I fully expected to be a changed man by the time I left on June 9th. In some of them, I even said that I expected to be a, "completely different man" once I emerged from Project. I'm not sure if I knew or believed what I was saying. In his own humorous way, God happily obliged.

Don't worry--I am still David Hsieh. The David Hsieh that left on August 9th, however, was fundamentally changed from the one who arrived June 5th. How? For one thing, I trust God now. That's not to say I didn't trust God before I left for Project, but when it comes down to it, it really is to say just that. In seeing how absolutely wonderfully God could use a summer entrusted to Him, I was also shown just how wonderfully He could use a life entrusted to His care. This means a lot of things, but in the most tangible, immediate way it means that I'm no longer studying to be a doctor, nor am I a biochemistry major. I'm now studying secondary education in biology, meaning that I'll hopefully be teaching science to junior high/high school students. This was a move that I had felt called to for a long time (and many friends had felt called to call me out on it), but it was one that I fought for a long time, really for nothing more than appearances' sake.

What else? I trust God now, and not only with my future, but with the person I am right now. Given my propensity toward self-promotion and my historic struggles with pride, coming into Project I was absolutely loathe to assume any sort of responsibility or leadership. Insecurities about my abilities, about what others thought of me, and my own sin struggles threatened to cripple any sort of ministry that I even hoped to have. If I didn't feel like I was good enough to serve a perfect God or alongside His people, then I tried to pretend like I was. And if I did, in fact, feel like I was good enough to do either of those, then I held it as a sort of spiritual "ace in the hole," to make sure that I always had a certain reserve of "God-points."

What, then, is different? At the end of our time together, for our farewell banquet, we were asked to prepare cards detailing what God had done in our lives while on Project. Mine, though hastily prepared, was nonetheless heartfelt. "I can stop trying to prove myself to others. I can stop trying to be good enough. I can stop pretending to have it all together. Because really, God is my perfect standard. I'm not good enough (nor will I ever be). I will never have it all together. And that's ok. Galatians 3:3."

"Are you so foolish? After beginning with the Spirit, are you now trying to attain your goal by human effort?"

What will I miss most about Project? When I first thought about this question, all those weeks ago in my room at the Automatic Lofts, I was hesitant to say that I would miss the people of CSP09 more than anything else. Not by any means because I wouldn't. Much to the contrary! I knew that I would miss them as dearly as I would miss an absent brother or sister. To say, though, that the family I discovered on Project would be what I missed the most would be... so cliche. But the more I thought about it, the truer it became to me. Because all other things that had happened on Project were things that I could take with me back to my life. The heart-change, the new ideas and attitudes about ministry, the memories, God's very immediate presence, these were all things that I could take home. The family I found in Chicago was the one thing that I would have to leave behind.

What, specifically, would I miss about life amongst these amazing people? There's too much. Too much. Where would I even begin? The outrageous shenanigans of Neil and Jeremy. The intentional encouragement of Katie. The late night conversations with Jess. The unbridled, infectious energy of Leanne. The crazy girls of Room 205. Discussing life struggles with Ray. Will's off-the-wall goofiness. DING DONG DOORS CLOSING. The down-to-Earth authenticity of my roommates. The camaraderie and unified purpose of the worship team. The real vulnerability within my action group. Coming together and stepping forward as a body of believers committed to loving God, loving each other, and loving the city as a whole. Because maybe, just maybe, that's what it's supposed to be.

What am I most excited about? New major. Continuing friendships. Trained in ministry. Trusting God. With my whole life. Watching other people grow up right before my very eyes. Being encouraging. Being encouraged. Loving God each and every day. Heaven.

Am I getting ahead of myself here? I hardly think so. Why Heaven? The longer I live trusting in God's provision, the more I realize simply how good life can be. And when I think life simply can't be topped, God comes through and does it again. I shouldn't even be surprised anymore. If there was one take-away lesson from this summer for me, it would simply be this. If God can take my summer that I've entrusted completely to his care and make it absolutely, life-changingly amazing. Then how much more could he use the rest of my life?

A question I've been asked since I've returned from Project is a simple one. Why was it so good? Why did I love my Project experience so much? I could come up with a lot of answers that, though well-intentioned and technically correct, would only explain part of what this summer means to me. I loved it because it was challenging. I loved it because of the people. I loved it because we got to share the Gospel with people we never would have otherwise met. I loved it because we had a ton of fun.

But really, I loved my summer in Chicago because maybe, just maybe, it painted a heart-picture of what, exactly, life in Christ is supposed to look like. That's not to say that life in Christ is always supposed to be spent on a missions trip to some exciting location, or that we all need to raise support for the rest of our life, or that Campus Crusade for Christ is the best example of how to live the Christian life. It's not that at all. And it's not to say that we had a perfect summer. Far from it.

But...

God's people living in community with one another, sharing in everything and rejoicing (Acts 4:42-47). God's people encouraging and loving one another as true brothers and sisters in Christ (Colossians 2:2). God's people rejoicing with each other and sharing in each others' sorrows (Romans 12:15). God's people learning to completely rely on his grace (Galatians 3:3). God's people stepping forward with one united purpose and fighting for the glory of their righteous Father (1 Peter 2:12).

In our own, incomplete, broken, sinful way, God gave us a taste, I think, of what Heaven will be.

This... this was my Abraham summer. When God called me to step into the unknown of not just the summer, but the rest of my life, and I finally responded, albeit with much hesitation and reluctance. When God showed me how abundantly a life lived resting in his promise can be. When God gave me a glimpse of what hope eternal truly looks like. And now having my eyes opened to how richly he has showered me with that hope, I can step forward confidently, knowing that I step in the footprints of one far greater and more glorious than I. Perhaps our prayer in life should not be that God would pave the road and tame the uncertain wilderness ahead of us. Rather, perhaps our prayer should be that God would provide us with the boots needed to traverse and truly experience the rough terrain of life.

I cried this summer. But I'm so glad God gave me a summer worth crying about.

The Hurricane in Dove's Wings

There are moments in my life where I stumble upon unbelief. Moments where of spiritual vertigo, where I find myself at the center of the storm that is my life. These moments of crisis, where my faith is on trial, threaten to overwhelm me at times. They threaten to crack the bedrock on which the foundation of my life is laid and cast long shadows on the green pastures of God's promises.

It's an almost-audible voice that speaks to me in these moments, in a sneering and condescending tone, a voice that drips with sarcasm and cynicism.

"David, you idiot! Are you serious!? Is this seriously what you're going to condemn your life to? Look around you, for goodness' sake! You are on a college campus of 40,000 college students, the great majority of whom are more willing at this time in their lives than at any other to live for themselves! They're going to make huge money with their educations for themselves! They'll be the ones buying the mansions, they'll be the ones with the fame and the respect, they'll be the ones with the beautiful wife and the scholarly accolades. And you? What will you have? You've committed your life to a lie. Give it up now, and forget this. There's still time for you.

Do you seriously believe that all this around you, this world that exists, this world so full of selfishness and envy and strife, this world in which only the top dog wins, and second place is only the best loser, do you seriously believe that an all-powerful and all-good God reigns over all of this? Do you seriously believe that an intelligent and loving God created you in his image and his image alone? Do you seriously believe that that God was born of a virgin, healed others of their sickness and blindness, willingly died on our behalf, and rose again? And you seriously believe that his life in you and through you will grant you eternal life and eternal rewards in Heaven? You are an imbecile. You are nothing.

And it's in those moments where I'm left speechless, where I have nothing to say, and it's all I can do to cling to the cliff face with my eyes shut and my teeth gritted. It's in those moments where I'm utterly helpless, my strength fails me, and the Enemy seems poised for a final, killing blow. It's in those moments that another voice, almost audible, but completely contrary to the first, makes itself heard. It always begins with a single word, like an echo from a distant valley, or a whisper through a closed door. And although it begins with little more than a whisper, it builds strength swiftly like a wave cresting on some distant beach. And once God speaks, the Enemy silenced. He has nothing else he can say.

"Yes."

"Yes. You do believe this. Seriously."

And it is then that I realize that I do believe this. I do believe that in a God who rules sovereign and loves a world that, by and large, has rejected him. I do believe in the power of a risen God who paid the ultimate sacrifice so that we might return to him some day. I do believe in a faith that is worth fighting for, in a God worth living for, in a love worth dying for. I believe that, beyond all the theology, all the apologetics, all the debate about a Young Earth vs. an Old Earth, all the predestination vs. free will, despite all of our shortcomings and the failings of our generations, our God reigns. And he is unchallenged.

Something I realized recently about these recurring episodes of crisis and doubt that strike me from time to time is simply this: God will not compete for air time. During these times I realize that God doesn't try to interrupt the enemy. He doesn't get into a shouting match with Satan. He won't wrestle with my doubt, nor will he fight tooth and nail for my attention. He has better things to do than to get into a screaming contest with Satan. Instead, he waits. Like a parent who waits until their child tires of screaming in tantrum, like the sun that waits for the tornado to pass before shining brighter than before, God waits. And with a hint of a smile in his voice, he says something.

"Are you finished?"

"Can I speak now?"

And the words alone are proof enough for me that my God reigns supreme. One of my favorite passages of Scripture is in Job, where in a final understandable fit of frustration, Job caves and tries to call God out.

From Job 38-39:
Then the LORD answered Job out of the storm. He said, "Who is this that darkens my counsel with words without knowledge? Brace yourself like a man; I will question you, and you shall answer me. Where were you when I laid the earth's foundation? Tell me, if you understand. Who marked off its dimensions? Surely you know! Who stretched a measuring line across it? ...when I said, 'This far you may come and no farther; here is where your proud waves halt'? ...Can you bring forth the constellations in their seasons or lead out the Bear with its cubs? ...Does the hawk take flight by your wisdom and spread his wings toward the south? Does the eagle soar at your command and build his nest on high?"

And Job's doubts are destroyed. He is speechless before a God whose sheer magnitude is incomprehensible, a God who possesses the means to give and take away, a God who restores Job far beyond his imagination. A God who has given us eternity to get to know him better.

And it's that same God who fights my battles for me, who wakes me up each morning. It's that same God who wrought a permanent and ongoing change in my life all those years go, and is carrying that work to completion in me. It's that God who considered me worth dying for so that I would consider him worth living for.

It's in that God that I do. seriously. believe.