The real reasons it may be the end times.

I read a status on Facebook the other day, that read something like this: "You know it's the end times, when gay marriage becomes legal in the U.S."

I can honestly say that I was shocked by that statement. 

If anything is pointing towards the ends times, it's not a law made to protect. Regardless of whether or not you promote the LGBT lifestyle, you cannot honestly sit there and say that this is one of main issues drastically affecting our world today. 

There are a number of terrifying, unimaginably hateful  things going on in our world, and this is not one of them.

Isis. That's something to talk about, to fear, to protest. According to abc news, an attack in Tunisia last Friday left 38 dead. We were too busy debating, hating, and discussing biblical implications of the legalization of gay marriage that we missed it.

According to National Human Trafficking Resource Center 3,598 sex trafficking cases were were reported in the U.S. in 2014. And those are just the cases reported. The International Labor Organization estimates that there are 4.5 million people trapped in forced sexual exploitation globally.

According to AFCARS, 510,000 children are in foster care. Children in need of love. Children who may have never had a birthday party, or been kissed when they scrape their knee. Children who desperately need to be loved unconditionally. Do we really even care? 

According to the Foster Club, if nothing changes by the year 2020: 

• "22,500 children will die or be neglected before their fifth birthday"
•  "More than 10.5 million children will spend some time in foster care"
• "More than 300,000 children will age out of the foster care system, some in poor health and many unprepared for success in higher education, technical college or the workforce"
• 75,000 former foster youth, who aged out of the system, will experience homelessness"

This is only a small piece of the pain that surrounds our world, horrible suffering that I have not even mentioned here. This is the stuff worth fighting against my friends. This is the bad stuff, the stuff we need to fight against with every ounce of our being.

We are focused on the wrong thing here. The legalization of gay marriage may offend you, it may straight up contradict your beliefs, it may cause you to question your faith in a way that makes you uncomfortable, but it is not the end of the world. 

The end of the world is that sweet little kiddos have no one to love them. The end of the world is that people just like you and I are being sex trafficked; sold,  beaten, drugged, raped. The end of the world is that there are people all around us with nothing to eat and nowhere to live. The end of the world is that there are groups like ISIS controlling the world by fear and violence.

The world is breaking all around us. Can we not see it?

 “Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world.  For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in,  I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’

 “Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you?  When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’

 “The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’

 “Then he will say to those on his left, ‘Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels.  For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink,  I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.’

 “They also will answer, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?’

 “He will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.’

-Matthew 34-46-

God's favorite. why I'll never be enough

I secretly want to be God's favorite.

I want to be His pride and joy, His perfect daughter, His warrior, His deepest love, I want to exceed His expectations, I want to outshine all His other people.

But then I wake up every morning and fall flat on my face; And sometimes I spend the whole day there, army crawling through the rest of the day.

What an exhausting life it is, when you are trying to be "enough" and there is no such thing.

In our daily lives we are encouraged to have more, be more, do more.

Facebook tells me my life isn't enough, Pinterest tells me my house isn't enough, Instagram tells me I'm not pretty enough, Twitter tells me I'm not witty enough.

Turning on the TV is toxic for the heart aching for enoughness. Every commercial is designed to leave you wanting more, needing more, searching for more.

And we take the bait.

Not all the time, but sometimes. It sucks us deeper into the ache for enoughness. We become slaves of the need to be the best, and the lie that it's achievable.

There's a battle within ourselves. A battle to search for enoughness, and to rest in it. Many of us know where we can really find it. We have known the peace that passes understanding. We have found it in an open field, or by the ocean, washing dishes, or cleaning floors.

It's all around us and within is, but still we search.

In Romans 7:15, Paul says this:

"For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate"

Does that sounds familiar? Probably because Paul was human too and he gets it.

He understands this pull to all this human, and this deep desire for all that is God.

The good news here is that God is our enoughness. He is our bread and our water, our great fortress, our deliverer, our King.

Somehow He knows us all so intimately. He knows the number of hairs on our head, our lying down and sitting up. He knows the deepest places of our hearts.

There is no need to impress Him, no need to win Him over, no need to be something in this world in order to be special to Him.

We will never be His favorite, because it is as if we are His only. In true God fashion, we will never understand how this can be. But we can rest in His enoughness, the peace that passes all understanding, the greatest love we will ever know.

This week in youth group our pastor showed this video to the teens. It's beautifully corny and incredibly powerful. I encourage you all to take 10 minutes and watch it.

Rest in His enoughness. It is freely given.

salmon cakes

When I was home last week my sweet Mama made some good old fashioned salmon cakes. Her mom made them for her as a kid and so she has made them for us. All you need is a can of salmon, an egg or 2, and a bowl of bread crumbs. For less than 50 cents per person, everyone is fed.

Now that I am an adult of sorts, I am noticing more about the world around me. So, when I bit into my crispy salmon cake I took notice (for the first time) of the tiny little bones underneath the flaky crust. I announced my discovery to the rest of my family. "Oh yeah, they're edible," my mom said offhandedly, and went back to her conversation with my sister.

They didn't taste like bones, they didn't even really crunch like bones, but I knew that they were bones. I've always had a weird thing with food consistency, especially in any kind of meat, and thus I was extremely perturbed by my discovery. Thankfully those little cakes are so good that the idea not to eat them at all barely crossed my mind. But it could of. I could've chosen not to eat that scrumptious salmon cake because of the no big deal, easily digestible bones inside.

Sometimes I can't help but wonder If I am living to avoid the little bones in my salmon cake? Am I freaking out about the small things; picking them out of my life although they are barely visible? Am I more worried about the bones than I am about enjoying the meat around them?

I have found that sometimes those "meaty" moments are the most painful.  I have learned more when I feel as if my entire soul is about to break than I do when I feel whole.

There are so many little bones in our lives. So many moments that we let define us that have no business doing so. Are we living out of those moments? Or are we living out of the ones with substance, the ones that will fill our bellies and not just our mouths. The ones that will carry us forward, not stop us in our tracks.

Love your neighbor. baby steps.

It isn't as complicated as it sounds.

Jesus talks about loving our neighbor, as we love our own self. 

As a young girl, sitting in Sunday school with bright blonde pigtails, and knobby knees, loving my neighbor seemed simple enough. I was not yet old enough to really dislike myself, so loving someone as I loved myself seemed very straightforward. As for loving my neighbor specifically, the girl who sat next to me lived on a farm on which I loved to play, and so loving her was not so hard either.

As I sit here contemplating the world we live in, the horrible things we are doing to each other, the ways we have complicated so much, I am looking to my seven year old self for wisdom.

What does it really mean to love our neighbor? Some might say that Jesus did not mean this literally, but as a general rule to love all others. But why does he use the word neighbor? Why not just say, "love everyone"? 

I won't bother defining the word "neighbor", I think we all get the gist of it. But I think  that Jesus uses the word "neighbor" here very intentionally. That is where it all starts. How can I love the world If I can't even love the person right next to me? How can I care for orphans, If I have no patience for the children in my classroom. How can I love those in need, If I can't love my own family well.

It seems as though Jesus has not misspoken here, or hidden some kind of in depth meaning in these words. He means it literally, because he knows how we are. We need those baby steps. "Go love your neighbor," he says, "and then we can work on loving the world". Smile at the lady  ringing you up at the grocery store. Pay for the couple's dinner in the booth next to yours. Serve in the nursery week after week at church. Bring cookies to your neighbor. Mow the lawn of a friend.

Baby steps.

Jesus knows we are weak in love. And so He meets us where we are and asks us just that we love our neighbor.

Love the person closest to you in each moment.

This is not to say that loving others is always an easy task, or even that you have to like the person closest to you in each moment. But love them. Treat them with kindness, respect, patience.

How different would our world be if we all did our best to live this out?

I challenge you in every moment; turn to your neighbor and love them.

Oh that clock!

As my alarm screeched at me to awaken this morning, I couldn't help but feel like Cinderella talking back to the old clock as its chime tells her once again where she must be;

"Oh that clock! Old killjoy. I hear you. Come on, get up, you say, Time to start another day. Even he orders me around."

 My senior year of college, I spent the month of January in Costa Rica. The day before I left, I made sure to tuck my wristwatch securely into my suitcase, ready to keep me on time and in control. That watched stayed firmly strapped to my left wrist from the time we took off out of Newark airport, to the time we landed, a month later, in Newark airport. With every intention of checking it at all times while out of the country, I had almost forgotten I was wearing it.

San Jose is the capital of Costa Rica; a bustling little city, vibrant with color and culture. Our drive from the airport to our accommodations left me feeling right at home as the traffic was horrendous. Honking and cursing, quick right turns, and nascar-type left turns. "Everyone's is in a rush here",  I thought, "where is the cultural difference?"

The next morning our bus driver showed up 45 minutes late. He was a jovial man in his early 50's, a smile that could have lit the sun. He pulled his faded teal bus up the driveway, put it in park, and hopped out. We waited for him to recognize his lateness, apologize for it even, after all, we were late for our very first outing in this beautiful new place. But he didn't say a word about it. He shook our hands, kindly helped the girls onto the bus and off we went. And wouldn't you know, the tour guide that we were arrived late for, had nothing to say about it either.

That is the culture. Time matters very little, as long as you are doing what is most important in that moment. Right on time or two hours later, it's all the same to them. 

But how can we throw time to the wind when being late could cost us our jobs, our important appointments, even our relationships? If I detach myself from a clock for too long I start to miss things that I can't afford to miss.

And so I have started setting alarms. Sitting in bed with a book between work and bible study? Set an alarm. That way I don't have to constantly be checking the time and can read blissfully knowing that my alarm will let me know when It's time to move on to something else. 

If this advice seems exactly like what Cinderella is ranting against in the quote I shared earlier, that's because it is exactly like what she is ranting about. But I have found, that this is a million times better than frantically checking the clock every two seconds.

Must you always be a slave to the chime?! NO! 

On days where you have nothing pressing to be done, throw all clocks under the bed and follow no schedule. Vacations are perfect for this type of thing, but also snow days, sick days, or even personal days. Allow yourself the space to completely unplug from time and task, to just sit in the moment.

All my love daddy

Economists estimate that over 1 million dollars is spent in the U.S. on Father's Day each year.

According to my novice research, The first Father's day was celebrated on July 19, 1910 in the state of Washington; but it wasn't until 58 years later that Nixon signed the proclamation to make Father's Day a federal holiday. Read more about it here.

But regardless of when it started, or what it means in a culture where everything is a holiday, I must share my favorite moment with my dad.

Fast forward through reading aloud C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien before bed. Fast forward through soccer games, and sparring matches, and dance recitals. Fast forward through the week he spent building a treehouse in our backyard that blows away any treehouse I have ever seen.

Press play my junior year of high school. My first day of boarding school. One of the scariest days of my life.

We had arrived in a cloud of dust and silence. I had no intention of running, but no real intention of staying either. The buildings seemed to morph together as I stepped out of the car, water bottle in hand my mouth was still dry.

After a series of instructions that I will never really remember, we were led to my dorm room. It was small with 2 sets of bunk beds, a bathroom, and a sink. My mom and I unpacked my belongings and made my bed. I remember vividly the smells I took in on that first day, St. Ives apricot face wash and Johnson & Johnson's baby shampoo.

As my family filed out glassy eyed and quiet, my dad held me tightly, "The Lord bless you and keep you," he cooed to my frightened 16 year old self, "The Lord make his face shine upon you and be gracious to you; The Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace" (Numbers 6:24-26).

That moment is forever in my heart. Those words carried me through until I graduated. Those same he spoke over Eric and I during our wedding ceremony many years later.

A simple moment, that I will never ever forget.

All my love daddy.

No longer "Enns"

Today is Day 1 of my first writer's workshop.

I'm sitting in a tiny little garden next to the chapel at Princeton Seminary staring down at my name tag and wishing it said something else.

My dad isn't famous by any means (he will tell you so himself), but he's written a bunch of books and travels and speaks and a lot of people love him and a lot of people hate him, which means something.

I am so proud of him. So proud to call him father. Proud when people ask me if I am his daughter. Proud to have a close connection with someone whose writing inspires the lives of others.

But now here I am, at a place where many would know his name, and I am a Petters.

I contemplated asking for my name tag to say Elizabeth Enns, anything to start up a conversation in a place where I know nobody.

I am struck by how desperately I feel I need this safety net.

This is a big moment for me.

Who are you Lizz?

Who are you as a writer, with nothing to stand on but your passion for words and a desire to write?

No hiding behind someone else. Just me.

It never ceases to amaze me the ways that little life things challenge us.

My name changing wasn't some intensely God-ordained event so that I could come to this conference and find myself as a writer outside of my dad. It was the natural progression of life: I get married, name change. But isn't it awesome how He's using it anyway, as minor as it is, to guide me on this journey?

Here we go Elizabeth Petters. It's all you.