"Cheveux" or "chevaux." One letter makes all the difference. The first means "hairs," and the second means "horses." It may have been fear of saying, "Je veux couper mes chevaux," (I want to cut my horses) that caused me to wait nine months between haircuts (yes, my last haircut was back in the States). 

Anyways, a haircut in France is quite the experience. First, my hairdresser and his last client tried to guess my nationality. They guessed pretty much every nationality in Western Europe and Scandinavia before giving up. 

After that game was done, we went down to business. He didn't want to give me just a haircut but a style. He showed me all kinds of photos of looks that he just "adored." Once we settled on a look, he went to work, shampooing my hair and then cutting it seemingly at random. He even showed me a Spanish haircutting technique, which he called "magic," where hair is twisted vertically to make a tower and then let go while cutting whatever hair the scissors meets in the whirlwind. Apparently this gets rid of dead ends. 

My hairdresser was infatuated with his work. He would consistently ooh and ahh at his creation (yes, the words, "oh la la" did come out of his mouth). He then proceeded to ask me about my love life and was entirely convinced that I was going to spend that night winning over men's hearts. He continued to tell me how beautiful I was (in a non-creepy way) and lectured me about how I shouldn't have insecurities. "Can't you see that you are beautiful?" he asked me. "You are beautiful." I guess a self-esteem boost comes with the package ;).  

To top everything off, he pretty much made me make claws and growl in the mirror (after all, the haircutting smock I was in was an animal print...it was only natural). Watch out world!

Powerless. This is what I felt like as a woman in Morocco. 

Don't get me wrong. Morocco is a beautiful, incredible country. I was blown away by breathtaking sights – the Atlas Mountains, ancient cities, endless rolling sand dunes. 

My trip with my friend Alyssa was my first taste of life in a non-Western, Muslim-dominant culture. Unintentionally, we also arrived near the end of Ramadan. 

Immediately I noticed 98 percent of workers were men, and 98 percent of women had covered heads (the best was the woman with a burqa riding a motorcycle...that's talent!). 

We immediately fell prey to one of the many "helpful" men, who called out to us and "made us" accept their help. When the young man asked us for money for his help (he led us around the labyrinth of the Marrakesh medina) to make sure we would be dependent on him, I told him we had nothing to offer him. But my word meant nothing. Even when I chewed him out in French (a first for me) and offered him a coin that Alyssa had, he continued to yell and bang on the door. Only  the guest house owner (a man) was able to make him leave. 

On the streets, we would get hassled and cat-called. That is, unless a man was with us. Silence. 

When we got bedbugs, I brought Exhibit A (the bedbug I captured in my sleep) and prepared a beautiful presentation with identical verified bedbug pictures that I found on the internet. It didn't matter. I was told that the bug was just a mosquito that flew in through the window. 

As a result of the bedbugs, we bought Moroccan clothing. The shop owner was happy to show us all his kaftans and offer us a great price. However, when I was ready to pay, the price rose by about 30 percent. I expressed my displeasure and stated the price he had quoted. 

Just then, our bus driver (a man) who was also in the shop, began yammering at the shop owner in Berber. I couldn't understand what they were saying, but after observing disgruntled and concessionary body language, it was clear that the shop owner had given in. The price was lowered back to the original, not just for me, but also for Alyssa. Justice.

My experiences in Morocco showed me just how much I am in need of an advocate; someone who can intercede and bring justice. In Western societies, there isn't much that I can't do as a woman. I am independent. But I realize that in other cultures and also biblically, I need help. 

In the Bible, there were high priests who interceded for the people, so that they would be able to approach God without fear of God's wrath for their sin. Now, there aren't need for for additional high priests, as Jesus serves as the ultimate high priest. 

What a comfort it is to know that I have Jesus who lives to intercede for me and all believers. That in spite of my weakness (in this case, sin), I am saved and thus stand justified before God because of the "once-for-all" work of Jesus on the cross.

Give God your best. This is perhaps one of the slogans of the church. But do you know that Jesus Christ also died for your worst? For your failures, for your unmet needs, for your pain, for the lies that you've believed so long that they have become your identity. 

"But he [Jesus Christ] was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed." – Isaiah 53:5

Jesus suffered so that we would have peace and healing. He served the sentence that our sin merits. 

Just imagine that you were a convicted, hardened criminal. You were sentenced to the death penalty. But instead of dying, an innocent citizen who had do no wrong offers to die in your place. You try to say "no," but he insists, saying that he loves you and wants to give you a second chance to live. You can't refuse. 

With the wonders of plastic surgery, you change places. He is made to look exactly like you, and everyone thinks he is the guilty one. That he has committed heinous crimes. His life is misery, and then he dies while you go free to live a new life. 

Everything goes alright for a little while. You can't quite believe that you have liberty, and you have a new zeal for life. Then you are overwhelmed by how bad you are, and you start destroying yourself. You mortify your body and even start contacting executioners. You wonder how hard it would be to build a guillotine in your backyard. Suffering is what you deserve, you tell yourself.

Can you imagine how the person who died in your place would feel, watching you suffer unnecessarily? It would be like a slap in the face for what he had done for you. He died so that you wouldn't have to. He suffered, so that you could start fresh. Justice had already been satisfied. You can't take back what he did for you.

I don't know about you, but I am really good at living in guilt, thinking I need to hold onto my worst. In fact, sometimes, I don't want to even acknowledge pain and suffering in my life. It is easier to minimize or ignore it. But in doing so, I am negating Jesus Christ's act of love on the cross. I am withholding the joy he deserves. The reward he earned by suffering in my place. And I am missing out on the peace and healing that he offers. 

Will you believe that God wants you to bring out your worst? To hand it over instead of being crushed under the weight. We'll never be able to give God our best if we won't first let him take our worst. 

Our theme of our RAPP retreat was, "Do you have the courage?" Generally, we think of soldiers, mountain climbers, firefighters and revolutionary leaders as courageous, but what about us?

Throughout the weekend, we considered courage from a worldly and faith-based standpoint. One of the videos we watched was about a 20-something who climbs mountains for a living. He scales steep sheets of ice and wonders constantly if his next move might be his last. He's shared a rope with many friends who have been at the wrong place at the wrong time and fallen. Now he climbs alone. He knows what he does is dangerous, but he can't stop. The summits have defined his identity, and he has given up everything to reach them. He wonders if anyone would love him if he left his solitary life and tried to find community. 

Fear can drive us to be courageous. Love can also drive out fear, making us courageous. This is the difference for me as a Christian. On my own, I am a fearful creature. It's in my nature to hide in shame or try to conceal my weaknesses by an air of strength based on my accomplishments. But I am capable of courage because of God's perfect love. 

"There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love." -- 1 John 4:18

In reading 1 John 4 in context, it is through the Holy Spirit, which abides in believers because of the atoning work of Jesus Christ, that we receive God's perfect love. I have no fear because He is with me. 
 
"Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the LORD your God is with you wherever you go.” -- Joshua 1:9

Yes, I do have courage, but this is not of my own, it is the result of the power of God's love at work inside of me. Do you have the courage?