On the Matter of Sacrifice

I just finished reading a book called “Revolution in World Missions,” and it has got me thinking. Time and time again, there is the issue of sacrifice. It is not anything sadistic, like human sacrifice, but self-sacrifice. Sometimes, I think I’m doing pretty well. I don’t have a job currently, so monetary sacrifice isn’t a primary focus. Even when I do give out of what I have saved, however, I feel fine about it. It was a sacrifice. But really, how big of a deal was it?

Giving the portion of money I did, however big or small, is not going to make me go hungry. It will not impair me from walking around outside with securely covered feet, or make me colder when the winter months come around. It doesn’t keep me from occasionally going out with friends or even from the luxuries of dessert. What, then, am I truly sacrificing? I have known that I am blessed in so many ways. I have a great family, amazing friends, Godly leadership, and I know no important material want or lack of sustenance. I wonder what it is that I have actually been sacrificing. The only thing that comes to mind is time. Even with that, I know it has not been enough.

Now, that feeling, the internal push to give, do, and sacrifice more, is even stronger. It is a feeling that says there is so much room for growth, and then more room beyond that. There is a deep challenge here. This kind of sacrifice is directly tied to giving, though giving alone may not be sacrifice. The way I look at it, giving is not enough unless you give and give and give and until you finally meet some kind of actual sacrifice. I am not saying we must go hungry to do right, but I hardly understand how we can give ourselves a pat on the back for something that took no effort. I don’t mean to sound preachy here. Mostly, I am talking to a mirror.

There is so much think of. There is so much self-evaluating to do. On top of that, there is so much potential to change for the better.

The Thespian In Me

                I had been in high school theatre for all of one year and I loved it. Being in church musicals in elementary and early junior high was a completely different matter. Here, there was more challenge. People weren’t looking for some cute to kids to prance around stage; they were looking for skill and a good performance.

                Not wanting to have to go through the Theatre Arts class that only worked out of a textbook and did the occasional skit, I decided that I wanted to audition for the Theatre Production class. It was the end of my freshman year and I had had encouragement from friends in theatre to just “go for it.” I prepared a monologue and came before the drama teachers for audition. It actually went pretty well. They put me in the Theatre Production class for the following year and I looked forward to it through the summer. When my sophomore year started, auditions started up right with it.

                The first play was a comedy that everyone was excited for. It turned out that I actually snagged a role! This was a big deal for me since I was the new kid and there had been plenty of previous members who were not cast. When the next show came around, a melodrama, I was cast again! Already, I was a part of the old theatre crew. Practices were long and happened most days of the week, but it seemed worth it. By the end of the year, it was UIL time, the ratings and competition between schools. Even with the small cast the play held, I still got a role. It may have been a smaller role, but I was a part of UIL! It was huge that they trusted me to be a part of this.

                Practices were really getting to me now. I hardly had the time to do all my homework when I got home every evening. I knew that the next year was going to be tougher than this one, but I wanted to keep with it. As scheduling turned out, however, I had to make some adjustments. I was not able to fit the production class in my schedule. I reassured myself and others that I would still be a part of drama; I just couldn’t be in the class. Besides, there were people involved in the plays that were not in the class. It was possible.

                At the beginning of the next year, we had auditions. I was given a significant role and was pretty happy about it. From the audition sheets, I had pretty much decided that this was the role I wanted. When the read-through day came, everyone who had a part was given a copy of the play. We sat in a circle and read our way through our parts. My part was not exactly what I expected. There were areas that, although not bad, I wasn’t comfortable with. Actually, I was pretty sure I didn’t care for it. Situations in the play were awkward and I felt even more awkward at the idea of portraying it.

                On top of that, when I got the rehearsal sheet for the month, I could not even see how I would be able to fit all the practices in with all the homework I would be getting. The previous year had been hard enough. This year would be harder.

                After talking it over time and time again with my parents and other people I trusted, I made the hard choice. I had to tell my drama teacher that I could not accept the role after all. I was embarrassed by the situation I felt I had created, but I knew it was necessary. It was unfair of me to have auditioned in the first. Still, I just had to keep working from where I was.

                I never ended up getting back into drama that year or any of the years since. I loved it while it lasted, but it seemed unpractical to try and be involved in drama with all the other things I had to do. Perhaps there will be times in my future that I can bring out the Thespian in me once again, but I will try and be content with my dorm-room theatrics for now.

Now and Later

I was given more at birth than just a name. I am not the eldest but the youngest, so I don’t have the biblical birthrights and that go to the firstborn. This is not discouraging to me, though, because the Bible is filled with examples of God using the younger of the children to do great things for His kingdom. What I would consider to be my own birthrights are different qualities and giftings that God has formed in me. He has proclaimed to my heart and to others since I was a child that I would sing for Him. I also believe that He has instilled within me a lifelong love of writing. I have learned over the years that God can use anyone He calls, whether they are the most talented or not. So, while I may have a longing to be great at whatever I do, I know I cannot become discouraged when others are better. God measures me by His own standards and by how I use what He has specifically given to me. It is instead for me to work at being a good steward of these gifts.

I have noticed that, for some reason, people tend open up to me. I believe a big part of it has to do with the fact that I am a listener by nature. Even so, I am still surprised when I realize someone has chosen me to be someone they talk to. These people trust me, and I do everything I can to honor that trust and be a positive influence on them. Even when I may not have the answer, I try to point them toward where the answer may be held.

There is also a totally different side of me, as there is with all people. In complete contrast with my tendency to be meek and shy (especially in group settings) is my flat-out silliness. I love to laugh and make my friends laugh, even at my expense. I am, like my dad, a complete goof at times. Unlike him, however, I can lack the boldness to bring it out whenever I want. Although I have come out of my shell tremendously over these years, I still have a hard time with getting to that comfort level with new people or in large groups. As it tends to go, the larger the group, the harder it is.

All in all, I am still developing. I have hopes and dreams, yes, but I want to stay flexible. Whatever God has for me I am sure is better than anything I can come up with on my own.

Name-Sake

The history of my name doesn’t have much substance to it. I wasn’t named after a great biblical character or anyone in my family tree. There is, however, a little back-story. As it goes, my mom was leaning toward the name Amber, but my dad was really vying for the name Shana. The origin of the name Shana is uncertain, but is said to be Yiddish for “beautiful.” It is also said that it may be a variant of Shoshanna, which is Hebrew for “lily” or “rose.” While my mom also liked this name, there was already a young girl at church who had the name Shana, and my mom didn’t want me to be dubbed “Shana number two.” To fix this, my parents simply altered the sound of the name and contacted a baby naming service to find out what spelling would be best. My middle name, Christen, is a female variant of Christian and I am very glad to have it. The sound doesn’t flow when paired with my first name, but I like it just the same. My last name, Nix, is most likely of German origin and can mean two things. The first one, which the family members from my dad’s side are less fond of, is that Nix is a sprite or water fairy. The other is that it means nothing. Literally, nothing. It can vary within the German language to also mean “no” or “zero.”

One day last semester, a friend humored me enough to say that in Hebrew, the word Shanae translates to “year.” This same person tends to trick my gullible self all the time and I have since been told that he was probably just at his normal trade during the conversation. While I was still under his influence, however, I came to be entertained with the idea that if this were the case, then my first, last and middle name put together could come to represent the first coming of Jesus. However much I stretched the concept, I liked that my full name could mean “year zero” when “Christ” came. Well, it was pleasant while it lasted. Whatever my name here may or may not mean, I am much more interested in what my heavenly name will be. Now that is something to look forward to!

Keep the Land

As the age-old saying goes, “What goes around comes around.”  This usually refers to relationships between people, but it is equally as true regarding the relationship between man and nature. We are dependent on the land. There are no ifs, ands, or buts about it. There is a connection and a balance between all of the life on the earth. In light of this, it would seem reasonable that each man would respect the nature that surrounds him, but it is not so.

Nature teaches that there is a balance which everything revolves around. Just comparing two predator-prey species shows this. When the fox population grows, the population of rabbits begins to decrease. After a while, there are not enough rabbits to feed the high number of foxes. The number of foxes begins to, in turn, decrease as well. As their numbers dwindle, the rabbits have fewer predators hunting them. The number of rabbits rises. There is now more food for the foxes that will yet again grow in numbers. It all starts over again. It is a cycle that is always weaving above and below a median line as if seeking some unspoken balance. Without meaning to, these animals show how intertwined life is.

Alan Paton said about land “Keep it, guard it, care for it, for it keeps men, guards men, cares for men. Destroy it and man is destroyed.” Across the planet there is the problem of abusing land. Desperate farmers till, plant and harvest the same fields again and again, stripping the soil of life. In not too long, these over-worked fields become dead and useless. This problem is especially prominent in third-world countries. Lands that were once fertile turn to desert. In efforts to produce more, the problem of deficiency becomes worse. Village societies struggle even harder to survive.

There is an understanding that needs to be reached. The delicacy of the balance of nature needs to be realized. Ways to revive the land can be taught to people ignorant of alternative methods. It all starts with being aware. A respect for the relationship between man and nature can be developed so that good goes out and good comes back. It won’t work without this.

The Car

One steers a car as one would maneuver through a shopping mall- staying away from collisions but keeping the destination in mind. Not daydreaming at the wheel, but quietly focused, taking in what is happening around. The car is not for getting, but for going to what lies ahead. Like an easy book, it waits on the driver, and then, it’s off! It moves forward, followed by a cloud of gray. The road succumbs, making way for the hovering machine. Still, after taking to the road so many times, I still wonder at this phenomenon- secret coils and chambers of energy creating motion. Beyond this, I am amazed at the idea that this design is under my power, that my shifting hands and pressing foot control it, that we together make a forward-moving force.

A resolve seeps into my mind and stretches to my two hands and my foot. It is the focus of a goal that has doubled over nervous energy. This is what leads me to turn the key and shift into drive.

Not the Fake Stuff

I had been so wrong about snow! I had never had too much chance to be right about it anyway. The southern area of Houston is not graced with this mysterious phenomenon too often. Snow is what I had seen in movies. Snow is what had fallen in lumps from the sky two Christmas Eves before when my cousins were all over at my house. Snow is what we had scrapped from the cars and readily squashed into dense balls which we hurled at each other for hours. Snow was white and watery and instantly turned to slush when it hit the ground. It was, I imagined, like the shaved ice that my family would get on a hot summer day, just without all the rainbow colors that dyed our lips and tongues.

This pre-conceived idea is what got me laughed at when the first “snow” came to my new home-away-from-home in northern Texas. The stuff was gritty. Sidewalks and grass were covered with what seemed like the most miniature version of hail possible. Frozen H2O had fallen from the sky. It was snow enough for me, which was reason to celebrate! I popped the lids off of my plastic storage bins and my friends and I used them as sleds to go down the mole hill behind my dorm. When I came across my friends from the north, however, they chuckled as I referred to the white grit as “snow.” Over and over, they informed me that this was not even close to actual snow. “When the real stuff comes,” they said, “we will let you know.”

Thankfully, this was not long in the waiting. Just a couple days later, I looked out the window and it seemed like the air had turned into a whirling white storm! Every soul was outside in a minute, relishing the falling snow. Pretty soon, I realized that this was completely different from what had fallen two days before, as well as what had graced Houston a few seasons ago. This new snow was like frozen dust! My mind was completely blown. As it accumulated beneath my feet, I felt as though I was walking through fields of bleached baking flour. I had never imagined it would be so soft. Even more mind-boggling, it seemed to completely lack moisture. Even the coldest snow-cones were wet to a degree. This, however, was dry, and I could not make sense of it.

My efforts to form snow-balls were futile. This cold powder would just fall out of place the moment I released the pressure of my palms. How in the world does it stick? People in movies make snowballs all the time! My northern friends explained that it would be much easier to form snowballs in a day or two. They were completely right. The next day, all I wanted to do was be outside, wallowing in the soft, frozen water and blow time making spheres of it. The whole school seemed to have this same attitude, only with a little more gusto. By midday, World War Three had erupted! At first every-man-for-himself, the game soon changed to pit dorm against dorm. It was all-out war in the courtyards and walkways. For hours we threw, ducked, teamed and schemed until our energy came to an end.

The day was a success. I had experienced real snow for the first time. It may not have been to the same degree as people closer to the poles trudge through, but it was enough for me. I was beyond satisfied. At the same time, it has also awakened in me an eagerness for the future winters. Now that I know what to expect, I can’t wait for the next time we get a real snow.