For the Love of Truth

Miss Mia and Me

2008-12-30T15:32:00.000-08:00

Anyone who knows me can testify to the fact that I LOVE my dog. I mean, let’s face it—until I have kids of my own, Miss Mia will be my baby girl. (In all seriousness, I do grasp the fact that dogs are not humans, and all that it implies. That said, indulge me for a bit.)

Mia and I spend a lot of time together. Whether she’s running beside me on the mountain biking trail, or waiting patiently in the back seat of my car while I grocery shop—wherever I go, she goes…within reason. She is as faithful as they come.

I laughed out loud the other morning, as I marveled at the way she followed me around the apartment while I got ready for work. I was running back and forth, from the bedroom to bathroom, from the bathroom to the kitchen, and then back to the bedroom to scramble for an outfit that wouldn’t look horrible on television. (Which is another blog altogether!) And all the while she stayed right by my side, following me from room to room and never taking her eyes off me.

And in that moment, as I paused to thank God out loud for my as-close-as-it-gets-to-perfect puppy dog (seriously, she’s amazing), I realized that she has been such an awesome illustration of what it looks like to walk with God. We just have to keep watching Him--doing what He does, and following where He leads. Even if it’s as mundane as following him from the kitchen to the bathroom (or say, from the workplace to the grocery store)…He’s always up to something.

I remember one time, shortly after I got Mia from the pound, a couple of friends and I took her to the river. Because she had experienced some trauma as a puppy, she initially had a tendency to act more like a scaredy cat than the brave, adventurous dog that she was born to be…and she was petrified of the water. We did everything we could to coax her in, but she just stood by the shore and whined, tail between her legs. I wasn’t asking much of her, I just wanted her to cross a short section of river so we could get to our favorite, little kayaking spot. But she wanted none of it. Finally, after wearing out all my options, I decided to leave her at the shore and head for the play hole (the river was at a perfect level that day.) As she watched me hop in my boat and start to paddle away, the whining grew louder and more desperate. Then, in a moment of glory, she shocked us all and jumped in after me. It’s not that she wasn’t afraid—her fear of water was almost palpable. But her desire to stay close to me trumped her fear, and she went for it.

Anyone been in a similar situation with God? We know He’s asking us to do something, and we’re all stoked and ready to live by faith…until it gets us WAY out of our comfort zones, and we cannot possibly imagine doing what He’s asking us to do. Then we, like Mia, do the little whiny dance on the shore with our tail between our legs and wonder why God is being so tough on us. We wonder how He could ever ask us to do something so scary. Doesn’t he know what we’ve been through? Doesn’t He remember how wounded life has left us? Ah, but praise His name, that’s only the beginning of the story. Because God, in his infinite patience and loving kindness, teaches us to trust Him and dare to take that first step out into the water so we can join him in the river of grace. He’s not asking us to swim the whole thing in a day, or conquer every fear and weakness all at once. He’s asking us to trust Him, to walk with Him, so He can lead us to His favorite spot on the river.

By the way, my dog is now an awesome swimmer and I couldn’t keep her out of the water if I wanted to. It’s what she was born to do. :)

Crash and Burn, Crash and Learn

2008-09-23T17:54:00.000-07:00

Anyone who has ever even attempted to learn to snowboard will tell you that one of the most important things you have to learn--a foundational skill that absolutely must be developed--is how to get up from a fall. Because here’s the thing about snowboarding—falling is inevitable, especially when you’re first learning how to ride. And, speaking with a bit of personal knowledge, I can tell you that catching an edge and biting the dust can be one of the most challenging, frustrating, and painful experiences.

But the bottom line is, even the most phenomenal snowboarders have crashes. Falls happen. That’s life on the mountain. And if you don’t learn how to get up from a fall, you’ll never get off the bunny trail.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how this is so similar to walking with God. We can be cruising along the trail, ripping it up and enjoying every minute of it…and the next thing we know, we’re flat on our faces. Falls happen for any number of reasons, and the great thing about falling once is that you can usually recognize if you’re about to fall the next time. You might still fall the next time, but you’ll be able to get up faster because you know what to do after a crash. And eventually, as long as you consistently hit the slopes, you’ll spend a lot more time on your feet than on your face. And you’ll appreciate those times when you are on your face, because you’re probably learning a valuable lesson in what not to do.

For many people, including myself, the scariest thing about a snowboarding crash (or really, any crash) isn’t necessarily the physical pain (although, I’ll be the first to admit, it hurts!)…sometimes the most intimidating thing is just falling in front of people--especially if you’re on the trails with some really good snowboarders. You just feel stupid. You feel like everyone is probably secretly thinking what an idiot you are, or they’re at the bottom of the mountain talking about how bad you suck, or maybe they’re wishing they would have left you on the greenie slopes…or whatever. And honestly, that fear alone keeps lot of people sitting warm and cozy by the fireplace in the resort lodge, rather than risking looking like a fool on the mountain. Most of us would be much better snowboarders if we weren’t afraid to crash in front of other people.

Falls can make us feel a wide array of emotions—embarrassed, disappointed, hurt, discouraged, etc. In those moments when we’re feeling less like warriors and more like defeated foes, we have to decide if we’re going to act on how we feel, or on what we know. Sometimes we are so conditioned to defeat that it seems more natural for us to believe accusing, condemning lies than to believe God and what He says about us. So we must deliberately think to ourselves, “If I was a person who believed that I am who God says I am, what would I do?” And then we must do that. Crash and burn, crash and learn.

Proper Footwear is Essential

2008-02-21T13:40:00.000-08:00

There is nothing that can you ruin your day like a bad pair of shoes! I remember one of the first times I ever went to New York City, I was so excited to roam around the Big Apple and squeeze in as much culture as time would allow. I wanted the “underground” experience--you know, to truly get a taste of the local flavor. This end was covered, as my traveling buddy was born and raised right outside of Manhattan. We were going to hit all the best street vendors, listen to the most bona fide musicians on the island, and eat at the best sushi bar east of the Mississippi. I was happier than a pig in poop.

My blissful state, however, came to a screeching halt about fifteen minutes into the tour, when I became painfully aware of a blister forming on my right heel. (Okay, to be honestly, I can’t remember if it was my right foot or my left foot, but I think identifying a specific side makes the sentence sound more complete. Work with me.) At any rate, it was only a matter of minutes before I had to sit down because my feet hurt so badly. Given the fact that I was wearing three inch heels, the problem should have been foreseeable. But you have to remember, this is New York City. Any girl will tell you that fashion always wins over function on the streets of Manhattan. So I decided to keep trucking.

I walked for a few more minutes, trying to force a smile as I admired the cute outfit I was wearing every time I saw my reflection in the glass. (I was terribly vain in those days. I pray this has changed, at least in part.) As I continued to try and convince myself that pain is beauty, my mood continued on a downward spiral. Never mind the irresistible smell of Famous Joe’s pizza, or the colorful array of skin tones that should have been captivating my culturally inclined eyes. I didn’t care about the classically trained saxophonist playing on the corner, or the fact that I had heard four different languages in the last thirty seconds. All I could think about was my aching feet. And it was ticking me off.

At this point in the day, I faced what screenwriters refer to as a “momentous decision”. Simply put, a momentous decision is “one that constitutes a turning point in the character’s life” (Egri, 181). For me, the choice was simple: either I could keep wearing my hip and trendy, yet agonizingly ‘high’ heels, or I could pop into the nearest Payless and pick up a pair of terribly unfashionable, highly functional ‘comfy’ shoes. Listen, I know this sounds shallow, but as a girl of twenty-one, this is what mattered to me. I was all about image. Look the right way, say the right thing, hang with the right people, and ignore the pain. But even then, at that time in my life, there finally came a point when wearing the good looking shoes caused so much pain that it was ruining everything else. And I was SO over it.

Finally, in an act that surely required wisdom beyond my years, I traded in my heels for cheap, furry flats and spent the rest of the day roaming around New York City with more energy and excitement than a toddler who’s just learned to walk.

The Bible says that we should put on the shoes of peace (Galatians 6:15). So often, we put on the shoes of stress, or the shoes of self-absorption (I think I wore that pair out!), or the shoes of fear, or the shoes of depression, etc. and we let that awful pair of shoes ruin our journey. I believe it is totally possible to walk continually in a peace that is “far more wonderful than the human mind can understand” (Philippians 4:7). They may not be what everyone else is wearing, and you’ll probably get some sideways stares (especially during those times when life happens, and you suddenly become the only person in the room who isn’t freaking out), but you will surely be thankful for those shoes of peace when the day is long, and the journey far. Life is messy, and most of us constantly find ourselves in situations that require, on some level, a momentous decision. Choose peace. Proper footwear is essential.

(Egri, Lajos . “The Art of Dramatic Writing: Its Basis in the Creative Interpretation of Human Motives.” Simon and Schuster. New York, 1946.)

Moving with Love

2008-02-18T18:49:00.001-08:00

Back when I was living in Costa Rica, I used to walk to the top of this “mountain” (the locals called it a mountain, but if you’ve ever lived in the collegiate peaks of Colorado, you’d think of it more as a giant hill). Either way, I loved lacing up my running shoes and heading to higher ground.

There were definitely days when the uphill climb felt brutal, especially under the hot, Costa Rican sun, but there was nothing like the view from the top. It was so surreal. I remember looking down on the whole town of Dominicale--the surfers looked like little dots on the ocean waves and the dirt roads dividing neighborhoods made it look more like a village than a developing, tourist hot spot. The seemingly endless ocean was mesmerizing, and it always reminded me of grace.

I’m thinking of one hike, specifically, when my mind felt clouded with doubt. I knew that to walk with Jesus was to walk in ever increasing light, but I had never felt so confused about life. I knew I was going to be leaving Costa Rica soon, to come back to the states, but I had no idea where I would live or what I would do. And I didn’t feel like I was getting any answers from the Lord. The more I walked, the more lost I felt. The twists and turns of the trail were like a literal representation of the messy knot that my brain had become, and I remember finally just crying out to God in desperation (and frustration). I wanted Him to tell me specifically where I should live, what I should do, when it was going to happen, and every detail in between. In retrospect, I see the Lord was teaching me ruthless trust, but it was (and still can be) a very uncomfortable lesson to learn. I wanted the “five year plan” (as my mom likes to call it) and the Lord wanted my trust, my confidence, my heart.

One of the many things I love about God is that He is so sweet. I realize that may sound like a simple way to describe the Most High, but I have had so many intimate revelations of the sweetness of God’s heart that I really can’t think of a better word to explain it. You know, those times when you can feel His eyes of burning passion gazing straight into your heart. Those moments when you just sit and listen as He sings love songs over you through His Word, and you actually believe you’re standing before Him without a spot or blemish. Those precious times when we finally throw our hands in the air, giving up every defense and allowing every hard spot in our hearts to be melted by His fire, and we simply let ourselves be loved.

In any event, I was not having one of those days. I was on the verge of freaking out. And right in the middle of my doubt and confusion, after I had bowed down (yet again) to unbelief and fear, the King of kings met me on that mountain. And He started speaking to me with such clarity that there was no way I could doubt it was my Father. And He told me exactly where I was going to live. He said, “My presence is your home. No matter where you live, you will always be at home in my presence. You need to chill out and stop worrying about where you’re going to live, because you are already here. My heart is your home. Remain in Me.”

That word, that simple concept, has stuck with me. There is such a peace in knowing that, wherever I go, wherever I move, I’m moving with Love. His love is ever before us, and it is our rear guard. His love is a shield of protection around us, and it never fails. My job is to remain in that love, to make my home in His heart, and let myself be loved.

"Waiting for Life to Begin" documentary

2008-01-18T07:11:00.000-08:00

Click here to watch a short documentary I produced on the current foster care crisis in America.

The film is also available to watch on www.myspace.com/fostercarechildren

Bystanders Are Not Innocent

2008-01-15T17:59:00.000-08:00

By Becky Banaszak

Almost two minutes have passed since I wrote the headline. It’s not because I’m a terribly slow writer (although I am) but I just realized I’m guilty of apathy.

Two children per minute.

I’m counting the number of children that have been trafficked for sexual exploitation since I sat down. It’s been about five minutes. That’s ten kids. A few more minutes and I’ll be out of fingers and toes to count on.

In the time it takes to watch an episode of “Grey’s Anatomy,” 120 kids will have been forced into the most dehumanizing form of slavery. Annually, that’s about 1.2 million children.

I wonder which little lives will be stolen this minute. What do they look like? Where are they from? Who will help them?

According to the U.S. Department of Justice, 13 is the average age of victims when they’re first forced iinto prostitution.

When I think about human beings as sexual slaves, I picture a timid, petite, 13-year-old girl with messy braids. The young girl has one yellow bow in her hair. The other one has been ripped out. She’s being forced to perform sexual acts with a 45-year-old pedophile. He’s almost three times her size. A size that crushes her miniature frame.

Silent tears fall from her brown eyes as her innocence is robbed for the fifth time today and her mind tries to make sense of what’s happening to her. But she smiles because they tell her to. Smiling slaves are good for business. And business is looking good — real good.

According to The United Nations Children's Fund (UNICEF), human trafficking generates $10 to $12 billion dollars a year for organized crime. Did you catch the “b” before “illion”? That’s at least $9 billion more than the $50 million our government spends to combat this crisis.

It’s been 24 minutes. We’re up to 48 kids.

If I continued to count kids more than the calories I consumed, or the cell phone minutes I used, I wonder how affected I would be. I wonder if I could ever be more aware of what’s happening to those children than of my waistline, or my phone bill, or myself.

It shouldn’t be that hard. Everywhere I look, I see faces of children around the world who are suffering needlessly. They’re in my mailbox, on my television screen and in between the lines of most news stories.

They’re beaten, broken, tired, hungry, thirsty, lonely and crying out for someone, anyone, to just do something

Distracted, I turn away unaffected and apathetic.

Distracted because I live in America, a place where it is easy to escape reality. I have a computer and a MySpace account — the ability to flee. I have a television that dictates reality in shows like, “The Real World.” I have a job and a cell phone. My social life is very demanding. I’m just too busy.

67 more children.

Unaffected because my life tends to revolve around things that have to do with me. If it doesn’t directly impact my personal well-being, it doesn’t exist in my world. I live in a bubble. And it has a steeple.

Apathetic because my heart doesn’t break at the thought of even one child being enslaved. I’d like to say it does, but I’ve felt the pain of a broken heart. I don’t want to feel brokenness because I’m afraid of what I might feel if I felt what those kids feel. I like not hurting.

80 and counting.

100.

I can’t get the words of Holocaust Historian Yehuda Bauer out of my head.

“Thou shall not be a victim. Thou shall not be a perpetrator. Above all, thou shall not be a bystander.”

I’m no longer an innocent bystander. I’m a guilty one.