mrslasuik

c h o o s e

Furrowed eyebrows. Befuddled silence fills the empty space of the car. As I drive, groggy tiredness that seems to have no logical source makes it hard to focus on the road.

Leaving my restaurant crowd mid-afternoon, I feel a surge of restless discontent as soon as I am gone from them.
Why? Why would I feel discontent after a morning of delighting in worshipping my Lord and hearing from the Word? Why would I feel discontent after a delicious lunch with friends, peppered by fun conversation?
Mr. Malcontent, from where do you hail on this sunny Sunday afternoon?

In my purposeful wanderings through grocery stores, I continue to feel this sense of dissatisfaction. As though I have an unmet expectation. As though there is some sense of disappointment, resulting in frustration.

My erranding lands me at home. Home. My sweet little basement suite, lately settled. Cool, yes, but cozy and inviting nonetheless, because it is my own. The warmth of this space that is an extended expression of myself and what I love is lost on me as I wander in with a fuzzy disgruntled mind.

As I shuffle about the kitchen, getting out the ingredients for fudge brownies, I begin to talk to myself internally. My brain’s dialogue goes something like this.
Ok, Amy. You have to choose. Shove off this discontentment and choose to be delighted. You can bake, listen to music, write, rest…
And as I begin to mix the chocolatey concoction, I settle into the realization that so much of my life is based on what I

{ c h o o s e }

A Sunday afternoon alone at home can elicit anxiety. How do I get through an afternoon alone?! It could be lonely, depressing, boring. Somehow the word “alone” and the concept embedded therein can have very negative implications for a single twenty-something girl on a Sunday afternoon.
However. If I choose, a solitary Sunday might also bode peace, rest, creativity, communion, productivity. After the end of a hectic school year and frenzied start to summer, this afternoon’s seeming emptiness can be a delightful opportunity. It is the kind of time that I have craved for months; time that is mine to cultivate however I

{ c h o o s e }

And quite suddenly, a scary empty Sunday turns into a time of rest and creativity, a time of reflection, a time of worship.
And now, at the real start of summer, I find the Lord is bringing me back to the age-old chapter of learning how to rest and reflect. How to constructively pass the time. How to delight in solitude.
What treasures are mine in the quiet, secluded company of God if I will only choose to receive them.

if He had…

Edited-67

I remember that morning like it was yesterday. Lazarus was very sick, nearing death. As I cared for him, I remembered all that I had seen and heard of Jesus – His miracles, and now especially, I remembered the healings He had done. But He was across the Jordan River – nearly twenty miles away. It didn’t take long for Mary and I to decide that Jesus needed to know about Lazarus. He loved our brother. He would want to know that His friend was sick. If Jesus came, He would heal Lazarus.

I called for a messenger.
“Make haste,” I told him, “Take this message to Jesus of Nazareth. Say to Him: ‘Lord, the one You love is sick.’”
I was hopeful. If Jesus could get here in time, Lazarus would be healed.
But shortly after we had sent the messenger on his way, our fear was realized.

Lazarus died. Our brother, our provider – dead.

We began the traditional burial preparations immediately. I went through the motions numbly. Mary and I lead the burial procession outside of the village to the tombs. I couldn’t help thinking, If He had been here, my brother would not have died. As people came from Jerusalem to mourn with us, I thought,
If He had been here, our brother would be alive.

The next day the messenger returned. But Jesus was not with him. Our Master did not come. And anyway, now it was too late. I would not see my brother again until the last day, the day when all the people of God are resurrected from the dead. The scriptures about resurrection and eternal life were our only comfort.

But if He had been here, my brother would not have died…

It was the fourth day since Lazarus’ burial. The week-long rituals continued. We were surrounded by mourners.
I was sitting in the house with my sister, trying to console her. Somebody approached me with an urgent expression.

Jesus is coming.

I didn’t lose a moment. I left Mary without a word, and ran to meet Him. I kept thinking about the scriptures’ promise of the resurrection. And I thought how, if Jesus had come, if we had sent for Him a little sooner, Lazarus might still be here…

When I came to Him outside the village, my thoughts came tumbling from my lips.
“Lord, if You had been here, my brother would not have died.” He looked at me.
“But I know that even now God will give You whatever You ask.”

“Your brother will rise again,” He said to me.

“I know he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day,” I replied, thinking of the scriptures I had been reading.

“I am the resurrection and the life,” He said. “The one who believes in Me will live even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in Me will never die.” He looked steadily at me. “Do you believe this?”

“Yes, Lord,” I responded, a little exasperated. Why did He question my belief? “I believe that You are the Messiah, the Son of God, who is to come into the world.”

With that, He wanted to see Mary and asked me to go and get her; so, I ran back to the house. His words resounded in my mind: I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in Me will live even though they die…

I found Mary just as I had left her.
“Mary,” I said, “The Teacher is here, and is asking for you.”
Without saying anything, she got up and ran out the door. I followed her to where Jesus was waiting. She ran to Him. I saw my sister fall to the ground at His feet, sobbing.

“Lord!” she cried, “if You had been here, my brother would not have died.”
Jesus looked troubled. “Where have you laid him?” came the gentle voice.
“Come and see, Lord,” we said to Him.

And then I heard His sobs.
Jesus wept.
The Messiah cried for the loss of His friend. He cried for our loss.

Mary and I lead Him to the tomb.
“See how He loved him!”, I heard someone whisper.
“Could not He who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?” said another. Their questions echoed what I had been thinking those recent days.

Jesus came with us to the tomb. The stone was rolled over the entrance.
“Take away the stone.”
I looked at Him, shocked to hear His command.
“But, Lord,” I protested, “by this time there is a bad odour, for he has been there four days.” I studied my Lord’s face. His cheek was stained with tears.

He looked at me. “Did I not tell you,” He said, “that if you believe, you will see the glory of God?”

The only way I could seem to respond was to motion for some men to move the stone. We stood well away from the tomb, expecting a horrible stench.

Jesus looked up to the sky. “Father,” He prayed, “I thank You that You have heard Me. I know that You always hear Me, but I said this for the benefit of the people standing here, that they may believe that You sent Me.”

I looked at Him steadily. I watched as He looked down and toward the open cave.

“Lazarus!” He called, “Come out!” I pulled my eyes from His face to the tomb.

I couldn’t believe what I saw!
A man emerged from the dark entrance of the tomb. A man – my brother! – wrapped in grave clothes from his head to his feet. The mourners gasped. Mary and I stood speechless.

My Lord’s voice interrupted my astonishment.
“Take off the grave clothes and let him go.”

If You had been there, my brother would not have died.

I will never forget how He replied to me.

“I am the resurrection and the life.” I still do not understand what exactly He meant. All I know is that my brother was dead, and now he lives. All I know is that Jesus of Nazareth is the Messiah that was promised in the scriptures, and even death has to obey His command.

Photo by Lynette Anne Photography

plans

“God has only plans, not problems, for our lives.”

Has this been your experience?
If you are anything like me, you have probably come across many problems in your lifetime. Life can be running along smoothly, and all of the sudden you get slammed by a problem and find your normal gets snatched.

From a very human standpoint, problems are just a part of life.

If you asked me to describe my experience of 2017, I could recount a plethora of problematic predicaments to you without hesitation. Honestly speaking, it’s been one of the most spiritually, emotionally, and mentally difficult years to date.

If you asked me to describe my experience of 2017, I could recount a string of profound blessings and mercies to you — without hesitation. Truthfully speaking, I do not know if I have ever been so humbled by the grace of God and the love He lavishes upon me so undeservedly.

God has only plans, not problems, for our lives.

Your ability to receive, internalize, and stand on a statement like this, depends on your point of view.
Are you looking at life’s challenges through a magnifying glass? Because if you are, you, like me, will find it all too easy to recount the problems of the last year. And whatever problems you recall — broken hearts, disintegrated dreams, disappointments, lost opportunities, rejection, health challenges, personal loss (I’m sure the list could go on) — friend, these are all real and legitimate.

But the truth is, God does not look at our lives through a magnifying glass. He is so personal that He is fully present in every moment of our lives. But He is also so eternal and sovereign that He sees the big picture.

It is cliche to the ears and eyes attuned to the words of Jeremiah, “God has plans to prosper and not to harm you,” I know.
But however cliche it may seem, it is nonetheless a gloriously undiminished reality for those of us who are in Christ.

Corrie ten Boom was known to frequently say, “God has only plans, not problems, for our lives.” To give you some context, she was put into a concentration camp during the Second World War for hiding Jewish people in her home. She was the only person in her family who survived WWII. After she was released from the concentration camp, she travelled the world sharing the gospel.

I will not miss much about 2017. I am ready for it to graciously become a memory. And as the unknown of 2018 approaches, with a trembling and hopeful heart, I take courage from Miss ten Boom. God has only plans, not problems, for my life.

“Jump! teeter-totter, hop, hop, hop”

This is an analogy that my roommate recently used to help a piano student understand articulation on the piano. “Jump!” — an accented note. “Teeter-totter” describes the motion of the hand play legato notes in a particular passage. “Hop, hop, hop” refers to the staccato notes.

With beaming eyes and a growing smile, she tells me about how her students’ faces light up when something makes sense to them. The right analogy can do wonders for a student’s understanding and application of the proper technique. Guided instruction, successful implementation, followed by emphatic praise from a teacher, and you have happy students who are eager to move forward in their learning.

As a pre-service teacher, testimonies like these inspire and excite me. My own discoveries in learning, as I study to help others learn, are invigorating. Exploring concepts, and having “ah-ha!” moments, in class with my peers gives me a glimpse of what it might be like working alongside a student and helping them understand something they’re learning.

Learning is exciting! And it is now, in my first year of a bachelor of education degree, that I am becoming conscious of this in my own learning. I am grasping the power of curiosity, and of a willingness to engage in a “productive struggle”, as my professors like to call it.

Amid the busy-ness and mounting assignments of mid term season, it is good to be mindful of the bigger picture. I try to let the prospect of teaching float like a shimmering dream in my mind as I learn, write, hand in assignments. Every assignment I complete, every discussion I engage in, every concept I wrestle though — none of this is for me. Well, it is in one sense. It is for me to become a good teacher. But it is for me to become a good teacher so that I may benefit the students I have yet to teach.
I am already serving my future students in my work. I am loving them before I know their names. I am becoming my best so that I can help them become their best.

And that, dear reader, is a bright possibility!

amatus

Version 2

Suffering is a strange invitation to explore.
Suffering has lately compelled me to explore my name.

I think I have been mostly desensitized to my name for most of my life. I have encountered it in some form every day since I was born. It is as normal as breathing.
Who is Amy?
Well, that’s just me.

But Suffering has invited me to get to know my name a little bit better.

Words are extremely powerful. God spoke the world into motion. The book of Proverbs spends a notable amount of time admonishing the reader regarding the potency of words, comparing the words of the wise with the words of fools. Jesus is called the Word and the Word in flesh. Language is a powerful medium of communication. Words contain the power both to heal and to hurt, to love and to hate, to give life and to deliver death blows. Words can be prophetic.

Honestly, I could conjure up an entire post about words.
But the word “Amy” — my name — has captured my special interest.

Amy is an English name that means “beloved”.
Amee is a French spelling, derived from the Latin amatus.
Amatus means “loved” or “beloved”.

I’ve known what my name means for years. And it has often made me smile to think of what it means. I confess, it has even procured a sense of pride at times. Funny, that I could feel pride over something that I can in no way take credit for.

Lately the meaning of my name has been able to bring tears to my eyes. It has overwhelmed me to realize that belovedness has been spoken over me every day since I was born. For the last twenty-one years, eight months, and ten days I have been called “Beloved”.
Pondering this has caused me to think of all the people in my life who love me. And it is astounding. It is deeply humbling. It inspires gratitude.

And the craziest part of it is that this is who God says I am.
Before my parents chose the name “Amy”, God knew it. Before my conception, He foresaw every single moment of the life of this girl. And before I had a name, He named me Beloved.

Every day, the Gospel is spoken over me. I am beloved because God has called me His beloved child. Jesus has imparted His belovedness to me. How utterly desolating. How supernaturally life-giving. How personal, how kind, how gracious of my Creator to call me His beloved daughter.

I love my name. Every day I am reminded that I am loved. Every day I am reminded that the belovedness of Jesus has been given to me through the Cross.
And I can take no credit for it, thank God.

Amy. Amatus. Beloved.

chapters and changes

Version 2

Where does one begin?

Seven and a half months ago I was stepping onto campus, starting the third and final year of my undergraduate degree. Did I know that this would be the hardest year of my degree? Nope. Not a clue.

I did not anticipate the academic demands. I thought nothing could beat second year for school stress. Boy, was I mistaken.
I could not know then that I would experience the heartache and loss, grief and tear-jerking disappointment, brokenness and weakness that I have known.
I could not know that God would strip away and shatter dreams.

But all that happened.
And with all of that, I grew to treasure the One who is
E V E R Y T H I N G to me,
more than I did before the desolation.

I also did not know that through these things God would teach me to walk by faith in ways that I have not before. I could not foresee the favour that He would give me in places unlooked for and undeserved.
I could not imagine how He would turn my mourning into dancing, my grief into leaps for joy.
For a season I struggled to see the twinkle in His eye as He stripped away the shallow, temporary things of this world that I was putting my trust in. He broke down my confidence in things so that all my expectation would be from Him alone.

Of course, hindsight is 20/20. It is delightfully easy now to look back on the last eight months — even the last three years — and be so grateful for everything that God has done; the hard things, the easy things, the open and closed doors, all the varying answers to prayer and so on.
But hard stuff will come again. Tears will come again. And that’s ok. God will be there.

So the page turns. Finals — what a strangely symbolic term — graduation, summer… Who knows?
But the Lord gives, and the Lord takes away.
Either way, blessed be His name.

Selah.

p o e m *

Out with you! Beguiling sentiment
Remove yourself from my aching mind
Your presence is not welcome here
Though born of my own thoughts
you are, I find

I cannot hide from what you show me,
Ideal imagery
But I can drive you hence for a while
Whilst my heart quakes
within me.

Well-contrived emotion
I do not love your piercing touch;
Although it seems that, by decree,
I’m bound to live
with such.

“How do I love thee?
Let me count the ways”[1] –
how my feeling soul
aches at that
phrase!

“How do I love thee?” –
nay, say no more;
let repose and resignation
to my mind be
restored.

* * * * *

[1] From Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s “Sonnets from the Portuguese”, Sonnet 43 (1845-1847).

blessed are the weak

Version 2

Forty-one days into 2017.

And my thought is this: blessed are the weak.

This is not an actual beatitude. Although it very easily could be.
The poor in spirit (Matthew 5); those who mourn (v. 4); the meek (v. 5); those who hunger and thirst for righteousness (v. 6); those who are persecuted (v. 10) — could all likely be classified as weak.

“My strength is perfected in weakness,” says Jesus (2 Corinthians 12:9, paraphrase).

2017 has had a challenging start. It has so far been characterized by mourning, heartache, disappointment, confusion, doubt, tears, brokenness, weakness, exhaustion, conviction.
With these sharp, piercing companions I have also known joy, peace, quietness, surrender, wonderment, hope, grace, mercy, extraordinary love. I daresay that these latter cannot be fully experienced and enjoyed without being preceded or accompanied by the former.

Blessed are the weak.

Sometimes God’s greatest mercies are also our most painful experiences.
In His mercy, He exposes my idols and calls me to cast them down.
In His mercy, He says “no” to this so that I will say “yes” to Him.
In His mercy, He crushes my dreams so that I will be open to His dreams.
In His mercy, He allows me to feel deep pain, coupled with a deeper longing, in order that He might be my refuge and healer.

His mercy sometimes feels like losing a limb. It desolates. It cripples. It cuts to the heart. It reveals a sickness that exists beneath the surface wound.
But I would rather be beautiful to God in my brokenness then to grieve His Spirit in my stubborn wholeness.

I am learning to be weak. I am learning — slowly — what it means to walk in grace when I have no energy to do so. I am learning to be vulnerable to the Lord. He knows everything about me, but sometimes I try to be strong in front of Him anyway. How silly of me. My strength means nothing to Him; only my weakness brings Him delight, so that HE can be my strength.

My mantra of late has been this: that God has greater and more fulfilling plans for my life than anything I could possibly dream up. And, friend, I must believe this; because much of what I have dreamed for myself has not come true.

But He is able to do “exceedingly abundantly above all that [I] ask or think” (Ephesians 3:20). It is in His mercy that God does not forget the times when I have prayed that He would preserve Himself as my greatest treasure (to quote John Piper); that He would do whatever it takes for me to totally surrender my life to Him, no matter the cost; that, no matter what, I would learn to love Him more than anything this life can offer.
I all too quickly forget that I pray these things. He does not. And He is still answering these prayers, much to my desolation — sometimes frustration — and ultimately to my good.

God will always do what brings Him the most glory, even if it means stripping everything away so that He is all I have left.
Thank You for Your mercies, God.

8 tips on university survival

I am no expert. But after two and a half years of being a student, I may have a few helpful hints…

1. Support System. Make sure you have a good one. Don’t be afraid to ask people for prayer and encouragement. Let people be there for you and help you through the challenges of these years. Contrary to our society’s individualistic idealism, you do need other people to thrive.

2. Quiet time. It is very easy to neglect spiritual/mental refreshment when your first and last thoughts of the day are of the lengthy list of things you have to do. Even ten minutes can make a huge difference, trust me.
Reading the Bible, doing a devotional, journaling, praying, and listening to worship music are all refreshing ways to refocus. My day is always better if I take time to spend one-on-one with the Lord.

3. Get organized! It has taken me almost three years to figure out a way to stay organized and have a handle on my semester. For your own sake, get organized sooner rather than later! Find a system that works for you, and map it out within the first couple of weeks of school.
I find that writing out all my major assignments on sticky notes and putting them on my wall is a neat way to have a visual overview of what I need to get done. It also provides the satisfaction of ripping sticky notes off the wall when you have completed an assignment.

4. Sleep. Yes, some of us may be able to function on minimal sleep, but it is not worth it in the long run. Your brain and body will function better if you can get a good sleep on a regular basis. aim for at least 6-7 hours a night.

5. Do fun stuff that is constructive! I don’t just mean Netflix. I mean fun stuff that is also good for you!
Go for coffee, go for walks, do something active, colour (seems to be a trendy thing these days), take up a musical instrument, play games with friends, read a book that is not part of your required reading, go for dinner once in a while, go swing dancing, employ your creative writing skills, clean something (this is therapeutic for me!), play recreational sports, have cuddle puddles with friends, exchange massages, throw out old assignments &c. You can do fun things that are stress-relieving and still engage your mind and body in productive ways. Sometimes productive enjoyable activities are more refreshing than just plopping down in front of video games or a Netflix series. (There is a time and place for movies, video games and TV shows, but if that comprises the majority of your down time, you might want to change it up a bit.)

6. Be active. I guess this also falls under the fifth point. I am someone who definitely neglects exercise; however, I would recommend finding a physical activity that you enjoy and doing it at least once a week.

7. Do NOT believe everything your professors tell you. Yes, they have masters and PhD degrees in their areas of expertise. Yes, they do know what they are talking about most of the time. But remember that they are human beings and are not always right. People may have told you that you will figure out who you are in university, and there is a good chance that they’re right. So be critical — not just in the way that your profs are teaching you to think critically, but also in determining how much you should absorb, and how much you should filter what you are hearing in class and reading in textbooks.

8. Do not take yourself too seriously. Seriously. School is more fun if you can learn to laugh at yourself and be humble enough to learn from your mistakes. So chill out!

Oh. And don’t forget to breathe.
You can do it!

And further…be admonished by these. Of making many books there is no end, and much study is wearisome to the flesh.

Let no one deceive himself. If anyone among you seems to be wise in this age, let him become a fool that he may become wise.

~ Ecclesiastes 12:12, 1 Corinthians 3:18 ~

forget me not

A few hours ago I stood by my grandfather’s graveside, in approximately -37 degrees celsius, and observed as his coffin was lowered into the ground. His skin was slightly discoloured. He was dressed sharply in a suit, with a red poppy symbolically pinned into his jacket. I had the privilege of being the first woman to assist in throwing dirt over his coffin — joining my father, brothers, uncles and cousins in performing the last duty to my veteran grandfather as we laid his eighty-something year old body into the ground. Today I am proud and deeply grateful to be numbered among Jan Michnik’s grandchildren.

The funeral is over. My Jewish Grandpa, a WWII veteran and Holocaust survivor, is in the ground next to the body of his late wife, Justina, who beat him to heaven by twenty-five and a half years.
I am so thankful that the formalities are over. Certainly there will be more tears yet; I can still feel them in my system. But I saw his body — his husk, his shell — and I knew the instant I first saw him in the coffin that that was not my Grandpa anymore. The body was his, yes, but all the life and spirit and spark was absent.

He is probably playing a game of chess with one of his friends or relatives who have gone before him. Or perhaps he’s having a conversation with Grandma. However he may be spending this evening in eternity, I would imagine he is smiling with the most genuine radiant smile he has ever worn. The horrific memories of war-torn Europe — the concentration camps, the dead bodies, the deep sorrow, the fear and loneliness he knew as a child and teenager — all of that, I think, is disintegrated by the glories of heaven. I imagine that my sharp, ever-thinking, analytical grandfather is now basking like a child in the peaceful presence of Jesus. He has never known peace like he knows today in paradise.

The grief will be with us for a long time to come. My heart aches for my dad’s grief. But I do not wish Grandpa back with us. He has run hard. He was weary in body and spirit, and I am so happy for him that he is with Jesus now. I look forward to a golden game of chess with him someday, but for now I can smile and praise God knowing that he is unencumbered by the brokenness he knew in this life.

Rest easy Pops. See you at the wedding feast.
*snort snort*
With love, your proud granddaughter