I've been thinking a lot about love lately; ever since my pastor talked about love at Heartland a few Sundays ago and we've been unpacking this a little bit at work too in our weekly "Babel Study."
The Bible says we are to love God with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength and to love others as we love ourselves. After reading that verse hundreds or thousands of times, the last time I read it it meant something different to me. We are to love God differently than we love others. We cannot love God the same way that we love each other. We are to love God all the time, doing everything for his glory, meditating on him day and night. We cannot and SHOULD NOT love others in this same way. Doing so would make them a god and god-ship is, obviously, reserved for only one and He is a very jealous God. We don't love people ALL the time; we aren't actively loving others every single second of the day, meditating on them, thinking about them, doing everything for them. We ARE called to actively love God all the time though. Furthermore, when I don't love God all the time (i.e.: when I sin), it means there's a place (or most likely more than one place) in my heart that I've reserved for myself, or self-love. To love him with all our soul means giving up our rights to be right, letting God defend us and if he doesn't, we're defenseless. In diving, where your head goes, your body follows and it's the same with spirituality and matters of the heart. The head directs the body and heart. So loving God with all our mind means meditating on him and things that come from him (Philippians 4:8-9). If we do that, our bodies and our hearts WILL follow. It's been proven that emotion follows thought. The more we think about God, the more we love him with our hearts, and the more we exhibit that love with our bodies (through acts of service, saving ourselves for marriage, how we treat others, etc … ). It's like the more I think about someone romantically, the more my heart responds and the more my body follows suit (i.e.: going out of my way to do nice things for him, wanting to be in close proximity to him, finding ways to touch him, etc … ).
When we love others with the same intensity and propensity that should be reserved for God, that's when we begin to try and extract more from them than they were originally designed by God to give. And that's when they become false gods to us. The same holds true for ourselves: we often times try to extract more from ourselves than what we were originally designed to give to someone (having high expectations for ourselves or being disappointed in ourselves when we fail to meet the unreasonably high expectations set by us or others around us) and in turn we make false gods of ourselves. If we were putting God on the throne at all times, we would not have the need to give more than what we were designed to give because all our needs would be met and satisfied by God, in ways far deeper, far outside the boundaries than other humans can satisfy them. That intensity and propensity of love was designed by God for us; he loved and loves us with that intensity so that we would turn it back to him. Our error is in turning that love inward to ourselves or outward to others, instead of upward. Loving God requires a love that is separate and altogether different than loving others.
We spend so much time asking ourselves, whether consciously or not, How can I be loved more? And how we answer ourselves plays itself out from that point on in how we interact with others and most importantly how we interact with ourselves and how our spirits interact with the Holy Spirit. We manipulate. We push. We pull. We beg. We avoid. We put on our masks to cover up the real us-es, the parts of us that we have previously exposed only to have those parts pointed at cruelly and then discarded and rejected. Our point of reference is so self-centered that all our lives it's been our mission in life to get people to love us, after all why wouldn't they? We think to ourselves, If only I could make them see me, the real me, then I know they would love me. If they could just get beyond my slightly overweight appearance, my big nose, mousy hair, problem skin, and get down to who I am underneath they'd see how beautiful I am. And we set out to do just that, to make ourselves known, forcing others to take a closer look at who we are. Which more often than not sends them running in the opposite direction because we haven't looked at who they really are so they seek it out from someone else. And the cycle perpetuates. All of this complexity is easily solvable. It can be reduced down to changing our question from How can I be loved more? to How do I love others more? If we would choose to take the focus of our own need for a minute and direct it instead to loving others and meeting their needs, they'd be more likely to see what we so desperately want them to see: that we are beautiful and lovable, even in the midst of all our brokeness.
On another note, Marilynne Robinson, the author of Gilead and others said, "Love is holy because it is like grace - the worthiness of its object is never really what matters." It doesn't matter how worthy we are of that love that God has for us. It just doesn't matter. He loves us and there's nothing we can do about it. We can't talk him out of it. There's nothing we can do or not do to make him love us any more or any less than he does right now in this very instant. God's love simply is and we'd be so much better off to just accept it, rather than fight it like we do. I long for a day when I finally learn to treat God's love as the salve that it is, letting it heal and restore even the most painful and ugliest of wounds. And the same can be said for human love. It doesn't matter how worthy someone is of our love, or how worthy we are of someone else's love. What matters is simply the love itself, that it exists, that we love and are loved. Instead we fight it, railing against it as though it were a weapon and not an offer of well-being, peace, and intimacy because we certainly don't deserve those things. We turn into something far more complex than God intended for it to be. It's simple: it's not, "Work for God's love, and force others to love you;" it's "Love God and love others."
Showing posts with label christianity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label christianity. Show all posts
14 August 2008
31 December 2007
new year's eve ...
find me here
in the twilight of this last year
looking inward, all i see is pain
where peace used to remain
furtive introspection
hiding in my own reflection
can't seem to break free of this self-deprecation
and loose the chains of my self-evaluation
softly, sweetly i feel you answer
telling me in your candor
i am not the things that i describe
there's so much more to me inside
caught in the shadow of my insecurities
drowning in the deep end of my own self-doubt
you reach down and pull me out
telling me that in spite of all my infidelities
you are still there reminding me
i am exactly who you want me to be
candid introspection
shedding light on my reflection
finally peace remains
where all there used to be was pain
help me this new year
to shed all my fears
help me draw new lines where they need to be
and erase old ones that hide too much of me
help me to be weak
so that you in me are strong
and if you would have me speak
give me the words
so i don't say the ones that are wrong
trading in the shadows for sunlight
the deep end for the shore
i feel you here with me tonight
i am not drowning anymore
you're still there telling me
i am exactly who you want me to be
in the twilight of this last year
looking inward, all i see is pain
where peace used to remain
furtive introspection
hiding in my own reflection
can't seem to break free of this self-deprecation
and loose the chains of my self-evaluation
softly, sweetly i feel you answer
telling me in your candor
i am not the things that i describe
there's so much more to me inside
caught in the shadow of my insecurities
drowning in the deep end of my own self-doubt
you reach down and pull me out
telling me that in spite of all my infidelities
you are still there reminding me
i am exactly who you want me to be
candid introspection
shedding light on my reflection
finally peace remains
where all there used to be was pain
help me this new year
to shed all my fears
help me draw new lines where they need to be
and erase old ones that hide too much of me
help me to be weak
so that you in me are strong
and if you would have me speak
give me the words
so i don't say the ones that are wrong
trading in the shadows for sunlight
the deep end for the shore
i feel you here with me tonight
i am not drowning anymore
you're still there telling me
i am exactly who you want me to be
05 November 2007
an attentive lover's gaze...
Aaahhh... autumn! It's like the world expands once a year, giving everyone a little more room to stretch out and become more themselves. I wear autumn like a favorite oversized sweatshirt; it wraps around me and it's comfortable and familiar, like coming home. I stretch out in it, lounge in it, grow into it. Or I wear it like the glow caused by an attentive lover's gaze, basking in it. It's like a lover's embrace; I abandon myself to it but yet find more of myself in it.
I read once that in autumn the trees blush in reaction to their Creator's adoration. And I would say I know how they feel. It's during this time of year when I feel most beautiful and most alive. When I'm out on a crisp sunny fall day and the sunlight hits me it's as if God himself, or the light of his love and pursuit of me, is shining down on me, illuminating only my very best and most beautiful parts - all my colored leaves. And then in a gesture of gratitude I offer all those parts back to him so he can make something even more extravagant out of them. I see myself the way God sees me and I know I am absolutely radiant.
I feel seen, truly noticed, in these months right before the coldest part of the year. I was out hiking a couple days ago and was wearing the glow on my cheeks when a handsome man passed me. He didn't just look at me; he saw me. And yes, there's a difference. He noticed my beauty. I could tell by the way he looked at me (and no, it wasn't a creepy guy leering at me either). It was affirmation. It was revealing something to me that I had been pondering on every autumn for years: What is it about this time of year that makes me feel so different? God spoke to me in that one look. I wasn't imagining it; even his daughter asked, "What was that look about?" I didn't hear his response partly because I didn't need to, partly because he passed me going the other direction, and partly because I was in conversation with God, thanking him for shedding light on me and teaching me something about myself that had long been a mystery. I notice you and, from where I sit and in this light, I cannot take my eyes away from you. The trees in their full autumn splendor do not compare to your glory.
I felt like Moses, I wanted to take off my shoes. But instead I took off my sweatshirt to let a little more of that light and truth get in.
I read once that in autumn the trees blush in reaction to their Creator's adoration. And I would say I know how they feel. It's during this time of year when I feel most beautiful and most alive. When I'm out on a crisp sunny fall day and the sunlight hits me it's as if God himself, or the light of his love and pursuit of me, is shining down on me, illuminating only my very best and most beautiful parts - all my colored leaves. And then in a gesture of gratitude I offer all those parts back to him so he can make something even more extravagant out of them. I see myself the way God sees me and I know I am absolutely radiant.
I feel seen, truly noticed, in these months right before the coldest part of the year. I was out hiking a couple days ago and was wearing the glow on my cheeks when a handsome man passed me. He didn't just look at me; he saw me. And yes, there's a difference. He noticed my beauty. I could tell by the way he looked at me (and no, it wasn't a creepy guy leering at me either). It was affirmation. It was revealing something to me that I had been pondering on every autumn for years: What is it about this time of year that makes me feel so different? God spoke to me in that one look. I wasn't imagining it; even his daughter asked, "What was that look about?" I didn't hear his response partly because I didn't need to, partly because he passed me going the other direction, and partly because I was in conversation with God, thanking him for shedding light on me and teaching me something about myself that had long been a mystery. I notice you and, from where I sit and in this light, I cannot take my eyes away from you. The trees in their full autumn splendor do not compare to your glory.
I felt like Moses, I wanted to take off my shoes. But instead I took off my sweatshirt to let a little more of that light and truth get in.
11 September 2007
released...
His voice comes out from the cd, over the threshold of my ears, and settles into my heart breaking into the loud silence there and interrupting my self-deprecation:
Clouds rumble, earth will shift
Walls tumble, hearts will skip
Things changing
Everywhere but here
His words pour out with such a sweet, melancholy sincerity it almost aches. I am jarred, pulled by his song from a moment steeped in self-pity. I am reminded of a promise I once read:
“‘Though the mountains be shaken and the hills be removed, yet my unfailing love for you will not be shaken nor my covenant of peace be removed,’ says the Lord, who has compassion on you.” (Isaiah 54:10, NIV)
My question changes, turning from “My world is falling out from under me. What have I to cling to?” into something more reflective of this promise and the one who spoke it, “God, grant me the blessing of your peace that I might cling to this steadfast unfailing love. Even as the earth crumbles underneath my feet, I will hold to it like I lifeline.”
Small window, tiny room
Sun hits in the afternoon
For one minute fills this space
Beautiful, illuminated
My heart expands in its tiny space as the Son hits it. It bends toward the light and the light makes it beautiful. The dank dark corners full of the cob webs, devils and dust left over from last season are swept clean and replaced with new life, green and fresh.
When I am released
And the gates fly open before me
When I am released
Will you still be waiting for me?
When I am finally rid of everything that hinders me and have shaken loose the dirt and muck that always seem to find its way back in again, will you still want me then, because it might take a while? I always seem to want to take back from you my abandonment and to give you back your grace, feigning sinfulness too unworthy for such sweet redemption. I just want to be free from yesterday’s chains, bound only to blue sky and yellow sun, universal symbols of a new day; leaving the past where it lies and looking to graze in pastures of tomorrow’s truth.
Some look and all they find
Are problems and alibis
But my cup is one-sixteenth full
I am getting there but the getting’s slow.
This broken world is blind to what’s being offered, to what you’ve given and are giving. All they see is the brokenness and fail to see the opportunity to be opened up to you, the opportunity to live differently and to make not necessarily the good and safe choice but only the best choice. I am broken too but I’m aware that it’s only the broken pieces that get put back together again. Were it not for my brokenness I would not be thankful for the wholeness. Valleys fill first and though the depth of you in me so far is shallow, I trust that you are constantly pouring yourself into me. Yes, I am getting there but the getting’s slow.
When I walk outside I will see the sky
I will leave all this behind
When I walk outside
Sun to warm my skin, friends to take me in
When I walk outside
When I am released
And the gates fly open before me
When I am released
Will you still be waiting for me?
I can hear the flood of people singing on that day, calling out an anthem of praise and issuing an invitation to come out of hiding, to join the celebration, and to leave the dark corners of solitary prisons behind and stand in the sunlight. My heart hears this invitation and sends out its RSVP for 1: I will be there on that day of celebration.
I can see that God you’re moving,
a time of jubilee is coming.
When young and old return to Jesus
Fling wide, you heavenly gates
Prepare the way of the risen Lord
Open up the doors and let the music play
Let the streets resound with singing
Songs that bring your hope
Songs that bring your joy
Dancers who dance upon injustice.
(Released lyrics by Glen Phillips; Did you Feel the Mountains Tremble? lyrics by Matt Redman)
Clouds rumble, earth will shift
Walls tumble, hearts will skip
Things changing
Everywhere but here
His words pour out with such a sweet, melancholy sincerity it almost aches. I am jarred, pulled by his song from a moment steeped in self-pity. I am reminded of a promise I once read:
“‘Though the mountains be shaken and the hills be removed, yet my unfailing love for you will not be shaken nor my covenant of peace be removed,’ says the Lord, who has compassion on you.” (Isaiah 54:10, NIV)
My question changes, turning from “My world is falling out from under me. What have I to cling to?” into something more reflective of this promise and the one who spoke it, “God, grant me the blessing of your peace that I might cling to this steadfast unfailing love. Even as the earth crumbles underneath my feet, I will hold to it like I lifeline.”
Small window, tiny room
Sun hits in the afternoon
For one minute fills this space
Beautiful, illuminated
My heart expands in its tiny space as the Son hits it. It bends toward the light and the light makes it beautiful. The dank dark corners full of the cob webs, devils and dust left over from last season are swept clean and replaced with new life, green and fresh.
When I am released
And the gates fly open before me
When I am released
Will you still be waiting for me?
When I am finally rid of everything that hinders me and have shaken loose the dirt and muck that always seem to find its way back in again, will you still want me then, because it might take a while? I always seem to want to take back from you my abandonment and to give you back your grace, feigning sinfulness too unworthy for such sweet redemption. I just want to be free from yesterday’s chains, bound only to blue sky and yellow sun, universal symbols of a new day; leaving the past where it lies and looking to graze in pastures of tomorrow’s truth.
Some look and all they find
Are problems and alibis
But my cup is one-sixteenth full
I am getting there but the getting’s slow.
This broken world is blind to what’s being offered, to what you’ve given and are giving. All they see is the brokenness and fail to see the opportunity to be opened up to you, the opportunity to live differently and to make not necessarily the good and safe choice but only the best choice. I am broken too but I’m aware that it’s only the broken pieces that get put back together again. Were it not for my brokenness I would not be thankful for the wholeness. Valleys fill first and though the depth of you in me so far is shallow, I trust that you are constantly pouring yourself into me. Yes, I am getting there but the getting’s slow.
When I walk outside I will see the sky
I will leave all this behind
When I walk outside
Sun to warm my skin, friends to take me in
When I walk outside
When I am released
And the gates fly open before me
When I am released
Will you still be waiting for me?
I can hear the flood of people singing on that day, calling out an anthem of praise and issuing an invitation to come out of hiding, to join the celebration, and to leave the dark corners of solitary prisons behind and stand in the sunlight. My heart hears this invitation and sends out its RSVP for 1: I will be there on that day of celebration.
I can see that God you’re moving,
a time of jubilee is coming.
When young and old return to Jesus
Fling wide, you heavenly gates
Prepare the way of the risen Lord
Open up the doors and let the music play
Let the streets resound with singing
Songs that bring your hope
Songs that bring your joy
Dancers who dance upon injustice.
(Released lyrics by Glen Phillips; Did you Feel the Mountains Tremble? lyrics by Matt Redman)
29 August 2007
and so i wait...
Hi. As you know it's been a while since I have posted anything. Quite possibly this may be the longest I have ever gone without posting, especially posting something of my own since my last post was hocked off of John Eldredge. My lack of posting is due to a number of things really, none of which I can fully explain in a way that will enable you to understand.
I sit silently straining deeply inside myself to try and cover something up that can't be covered. I bury it. But then some time later these little sprouts, evidence of weeds that haven't been pulled out by the roots, start shooting up all over the place and the garden of my heart is a disaster again. I do some weeding, trying to pull them out by their tips but the pruning and pulling is painful and so I give up before I get to the root leaving evidence just below the surface. And all I feel is bare and ugly for a time. I am left with nothing but time to wish I could just go back to the days of long ago when I was lush with flowers and blooms of every variety and I bent toward the sun, untouched and unscathed by humanity and its depravity. I was fed continuously by the Gardener and drank deep from the water he provided. My soil was richer then. Before the evidence of the weeds some asshole planted in the Garden some thousands of years ago, because he was arrogant and afraid, began to show, ruining its true beauty and marring its glory forever after.
Lately, I have just had this longing. I don't know how else to describe it. A longing for life lived with reckless abandon and to explore and ultimately know what that would even look like for me. A longing to hole up in a cabin by the lake in the mountains somewhere and just write like Thoreau did. A longing to open a small new/used bookstore/coffee shop/cozy-corner-in-a-harsh-world in a small mountain town. A longing for family, not family of my own exactly, but my family, my childhood family. A longing for my mom. A longing for Jesus and to just know him so intimately that I am filled with an aching, and, again, to know what that would even look like for me. A longing for connections, for community. (I actually have a good community of believers, and non believers, at work but I want something that carries over to outside.) I have friends, don't get me wrong; and I am not desperate. It's just different than it was before I finally listened to my heart and what was being whispered to me there and decided I needed to go live in Alaska for 2 years and just up and left. Friends I had before I left I haven't heard from since I have been home; and a few people I knew on the surface before leaving have become more precious to me.
While I was away changing and growing, everyone at home was changing and growing too. Why did I not expect that and look for it? Why did I think I could just come back and re-enter everyone's lives like I had never been gone? And why am I now surprised to find that people moved on, found others to confide in, spend time with, call to make last minute plans? I feel as though I have been replaced. But I find myself turning to other "friends": the characters in the books I have been voraciously reading lately. That's just not normal. In fact, I sometimes consider that I might become this person that they'll make a movie out of one day. It will be all about how I plummeted into some dark false reality of living in the landscapes of the books that I read and my relationships with the people there.
Again, don't get me wrong. I have friends. I interact with people on a regular daily basis, in person and on the phone. And I have not started talking to imaginary people about their journalistic adventures in Africa or their own murder that they describe and investigate from their own version of Heaven or their road trips across country or their life on Cape Cod or in Nantucket. There's no need to call a therapist or have me committed. I do feel that it's a good thing that I am aware that it's not normal. I fully acknowledge that while it is easier to hide behind books than it is to step out from behind them and enter into actual relationships, it's, by all means, not healthier.
But I still feel a little vacant. I know this vacancy cannot be filled by other humans. It must be filled by the Holy Spirit. Quite frankly the idea of that scares me a little. And the knowledge that that scares me, scares me. Why would I prefer to cling to the company of men (used in the general sense of the word) – broken, imperfect, fallen, bound-to-hurt-me men – than to cling to God and his holy, unconditional, whole, heals-my-wounds, perfect love? It makes no sense to me. Why am I so stubborn? Why can't I just accept what's best for and being offered to me instead of "knowing" that I am, and will always remain, the single exception to the promise that God's grace is offered freely to those who will receive it? It's true. I just know that it's true for everyone else but not me. It doesn't matter how many times I hear it or someone tries to drill it into me that Yes, indeed. It is true for even you, Christina. It just will not sink in to my thick skull. Or my thick heart. Whichever.
Part of me is constantly battling those feelings of entitlement. I want what others have and I feel I have a right to these things: relationships, possessions, feelings, deep spirituality, a seemingly easy life, to have it all together, etc… Through talks with my friend, and chaplain here at work because I am so blessed to have one, I am learning that if I want to give up my wrongs (attitudes, feelings, actions, etc…) then I have to surrender my rights. I have to live free of the idea that I am entitled to or deserve anything good that I have in this world. The truth is, I don't. And, like Bill reminded me, Christ didn't deserve the Cross. It wasn't fair. But he did it anyway. Bill explained it a lot better than I am doing here, in a way that led me to one of those moments where you sort of sit back, smile, and soak in the light and truth that has just been unveiled to you as though shrouded for years under some great, dark, dusty lies.
It's frustrating to struggle with the same thing over and over and over again. To know the truth and still live in and believe the lie. To see light but remain in the dark like there's a thick "pain" of glass preventing you from ever truly getting there. You begin to chip away at it and it seems like the more you do, the more the little shards stick in you, penetrating deeper, until you're bleeding out everywhere. And so you stop the chipping because your bleeding heart is driving people away. And you start to believe that you will never make it through that wall. If only Someone could come and just shatter that pain of glass all at once, then you would be okay. Only it doesn't really work like that. It has to be a process. Otherwise the shock and hurt of that sudden shattering would probably kill a person. More than shatter the pain, it would shatter the life right out of them too. And you thought just the sight of a little blood was messy.
Just a couple weeks ago I was in Dallas with about 15 of my coworkers and friends. We went down to our new facility to have a service in which we dedicated the company, its customers, employees, the building, everything to God and gave it over to him in prayer. We shared in worship and communion together, celebrating what God is doing. Bert, the owner, and Bill, the chaplain, shared a word with us. They were words that I had been hearing from nearly everyone since I have been home, if not longer. We are all characters playing a role in a larger story. We are all here for a purpose. We may not know what that is this side of life, but have no doubt. Your role in this is important. We could not do this without you. You are vital to this company, to this ministry, to this extraordinary church we operate without calling it a church. It is you. And the hairs on my arms raised and my heart skipped and the corners of my eyes got leaky. Oh how I wanted so desperately for that to be true of me. To be a part of something larger than me. Beyond anything that I could ever dream up or imagine. Is this what I have been preparing for these last 30 years? Has it all been leading up to this? Is it here that I will find my true calling and fulfill my life's purpose and imbibe immense satisfaction? And my questions have gone unanswered. Or maybe I am just not listening and hearing, not tuned to his voice. How I want to be tuned to my shepherd's voice so that when I no longer hear it, I know I have somehow strayed a little too far from the flock and know to stay and wait for him to come and bring me back. And so I wait.
Abba, I thank you for unknowns, for the times in my life when I cannot clearly see the path or where it is leading me. I know in the past those are the times that I have had to learn to lean into you, to trust you with everything in me, even though it was a little scary. It was in those times that you took my mustard seed faith and increased it and showed me things that are far beyond my wildest imagination, more than I could have ever fathomed would be possible. You have a proven history of blessing me so much more than I deserve in the times when I have fully trusted you with the unknowns of my life. May I continue to seek you with fervor and to entrust all my moments, known or unknown, into your big and more than capable hands. Lord, I believe. Only help me with my unbelief and forgive me for my doubt of you. Forever and ever Amen.
I sit silently straining deeply inside myself to try and cover something up that can't be covered. I bury it. But then some time later these little sprouts, evidence of weeds that haven't been pulled out by the roots, start shooting up all over the place and the garden of my heart is a disaster again. I do some weeding, trying to pull them out by their tips but the pruning and pulling is painful and so I give up before I get to the root leaving evidence just below the surface. And all I feel is bare and ugly for a time. I am left with nothing but time to wish I could just go back to the days of long ago when I was lush with flowers and blooms of every variety and I bent toward the sun, untouched and unscathed by humanity and its depravity. I was fed continuously by the Gardener and drank deep from the water he provided. My soil was richer then. Before the evidence of the weeds some asshole planted in the Garden some thousands of years ago, because he was arrogant and afraid, began to show, ruining its true beauty and marring its glory forever after.
Lately, I have just had this longing. I don't know how else to describe it. A longing for life lived with reckless abandon and to explore and ultimately know what that would even look like for me. A longing to hole up in a cabin by the lake in the mountains somewhere and just write like Thoreau did. A longing to open a small new/used bookstore/coffee shop/cozy-corner-in-a-harsh-world in a small mountain town. A longing for family, not family of my own exactly, but my family, my childhood family. A longing for my mom. A longing for Jesus and to just know him so intimately that I am filled with an aching, and, again, to know what that would even look like for me. A longing for connections, for community. (I actually have a good community of believers, and non believers, at work but I want something that carries over to outside.) I have friends, don't get me wrong; and I am not desperate. It's just different than it was before I finally listened to my heart and what was being whispered to me there and decided I needed to go live in Alaska for 2 years and just up and left. Friends I had before I left I haven't heard from since I have been home; and a few people I knew on the surface before leaving have become more precious to me.
While I was away changing and growing, everyone at home was changing and growing too. Why did I not expect that and look for it? Why did I think I could just come back and re-enter everyone's lives like I had never been gone? And why am I now surprised to find that people moved on, found others to confide in, spend time with, call to make last minute plans? I feel as though I have been replaced. But I find myself turning to other "friends": the characters in the books I have been voraciously reading lately. That's just not normal. In fact, I sometimes consider that I might become this person that they'll make a movie out of one day. It will be all about how I plummeted into some dark false reality of living in the landscapes of the books that I read and my relationships with the people there.
Again, don't get me wrong. I have friends. I interact with people on a regular daily basis, in person and on the phone. And I have not started talking to imaginary people about their journalistic adventures in Africa or their own murder that they describe and investigate from their own version of Heaven or their road trips across country or their life on Cape Cod or in Nantucket. There's no need to call a therapist or have me committed. I do feel that it's a good thing that I am aware that it's not normal. I fully acknowledge that while it is easier to hide behind books than it is to step out from behind them and enter into actual relationships, it's, by all means, not healthier.
But I still feel a little vacant. I know this vacancy cannot be filled by other humans. It must be filled by the Holy Spirit. Quite frankly the idea of that scares me a little. And the knowledge that that scares me, scares me. Why would I prefer to cling to the company of men (used in the general sense of the word) – broken, imperfect, fallen, bound-to-hurt-me men – than to cling to God and his holy, unconditional, whole, heals-my-wounds, perfect love? It makes no sense to me. Why am I so stubborn? Why can't I just accept what's best for and being offered to me instead of "knowing" that I am, and will always remain, the single exception to the promise that God's grace is offered freely to those who will receive it? It's true. I just know that it's true for everyone else but not me. It doesn't matter how many times I hear it or someone tries to drill it into me that Yes, indeed. It is true for even you, Christina. It just will not sink in to my thick skull. Or my thick heart. Whichever.
Part of me is constantly battling those feelings of entitlement. I want what others have and I feel I have a right to these things: relationships, possessions, feelings, deep spirituality, a seemingly easy life, to have it all together, etc… Through talks with my friend, and chaplain here at work because I am so blessed to have one, I am learning that if I want to give up my wrongs (attitudes, feelings, actions, etc…) then I have to surrender my rights. I have to live free of the idea that I am entitled to or deserve anything good that I have in this world. The truth is, I don't. And, like Bill reminded me, Christ didn't deserve the Cross. It wasn't fair. But he did it anyway. Bill explained it a lot better than I am doing here, in a way that led me to one of those moments where you sort of sit back, smile, and soak in the light and truth that has just been unveiled to you as though shrouded for years under some great, dark, dusty lies.
It's frustrating to struggle with the same thing over and over and over again. To know the truth and still live in and believe the lie. To see light but remain in the dark like there's a thick "pain" of glass preventing you from ever truly getting there. You begin to chip away at it and it seems like the more you do, the more the little shards stick in you, penetrating deeper, until you're bleeding out everywhere. And so you stop the chipping because your bleeding heart is driving people away. And you start to believe that you will never make it through that wall. If only Someone could come and just shatter that pain of glass all at once, then you would be okay. Only it doesn't really work like that. It has to be a process. Otherwise the shock and hurt of that sudden shattering would probably kill a person. More than shatter the pain, it would shatter the life right out of them too. And you thought just the sight of a little blood was messy.
Just a couple weeks ago I was in Dallas with about 15 of my coworkers and friends. We went down to our new facility to have a service in which we dedicated the company, its customers, employees, the building, everything to God and gave it over to him in prayer. We shared in worship and communion together, celebrating what God is doing. Bert, the owner, and Bill, the chaplain, shared a word with us. They were words that I had been hearing from nearly everyone since I have been home, if not longer. We are all characters playing a role in a larger story. We are all here for a purpose. We may not know what that is this side of life, but have no doubt. Your role in this is important. We could not do this without you. You are vital to this company, to this ministry, to this extraordinary church we operate without calling it a church. It is you. And the hairs on my arms raised and my heart skipped and the corners of my eyes got leaky. Oh how I wanted so desperately for that to be true of me. To be a part of something larger than me. Beyond anything that I could ever dream up or imagine. Is this what I have been preparing for these last 30 years? Has it all been leading up to this? Is it here that I will find my true calling and fulfill my life's purpose and imbibe immense satisfaction? And my questions have gone unanswered. Or maybe I am just not listening and hearing, not tuned to his voice. How I want to be tuned to my shepherd's voice so that when I no longer hear it, I know I have somehow strayed a little too far from the flock and know to stay and wait for him to come and bring me back. And so I wait.
Abba, I thank you for unknowns, for the times in my life when I cannot clearly see the path or where it is leading me. I know in the past those are the times that I have had to learn to lean into you, to trust you with everything in me, even though it was a little scary. It was in those times that you took my mustard seed faith and increased it and showed me things that are far beyond my wildest imagination, more than I could have ever fathomed would be possible. You have a proven history of blessing me so much more than I deserve in the times when I have fully trusted you with the unknowns of my life. May I continue to seek you with fervor and to entrust all my moments, known or unknown, into your big and more than capable hands. Lord, I believe. Only help me with my unbelief and forgive me for my doubt of you. Forever and ever Amen.
19 July 2007
identity is bestowed...
I subscribe to the daily readings from John Eldredge, author of Captivating and Wild at Heart, and his Ransomed Heart Ministries. This is today's reading and I thought it was too good not to share...
Deep within the Arrows stay, poisoning our self-perceptions, until someone comes along with the power to take them away, free us from all the false selves we use to weather the world’s weather, and restore to us our true identity. Identity is not something that falls on us out of the sky. For better or for worse, identity is bestowed. We are who we are in relation to others. But far more important, we draw our identity from our impact on those others—if and how we affect them. We long to know that we make a difference in the lives of others, to know that we matter, that our presence cannot be replaced by a pet, a possession, or even another person. The awful burden of the false self is that it must be constantly maintained.
We think we have to keep doing something in order to be desirable. Once we find something that will bring us some attention, we have to keep it going or risk the loss of the attention.
And so we live with the fear of not being chosen and the burden of maintaining whatever it is about us that might get us noticed and the commitment never to be seen for who we really are. We develop a functional self-image, even if it is a negative one. The little boy paints his red wagon a speckled gray with whatever Father left in the can after putting a new coat on the backyard fence. “Look what I did!” he says, hoping for affirmation of the wonderful impact his presence has on the world. The angry father shames him: “What do you think you’re doing? You’ve ruined it.” The boy forms an identity: My impact is awful; I foul good things up. I am a fouler. And he forms a commitment never to be in a place where he can foul things up again. Years later, his colleagues wonder why he turned down an attractive promotion. The answer lies in his identity, an identity he received from the impact he had on the most important person in his world and his fear of ever being in such a place again.
Deep within the Arrows stay, poisoning our self-perceptions, until someone comes along with the power to take them away, free us from all the false selves we use to weather the world’s weather, and restore to us our true identity. Identity is not something that falls on us out of the sky. For better or for worse, identity is bestowed. We are who we are in relation to others. But far more important, we draw our identity from our impact on those others—if and how we affect them. We long to know that we make a difference in the lives of others, to know that we matter, that our presence cannot be replaced by a pet, a possession, or even another person. The awful burden of the false self is that it must be constantly maintained.
We think we have to keep doing something in order to be desirable. Once we find something that will bring us some attention, we have to keep it going or risk the loss of the attention.
And so we live with the fear of not being chosen and the burden of maintaining whatever it is about us that might get us noticed and the commitment never to be seen for who we really are. We develop a functional self-image, even if it is a negative one. The little boy paints his red wagon a speckled gray with whatever Father left in the can after putting a new coat on the backyard fence. “Look what I did!” he says, hoping for affirmation of the wonderful impact his presence has on the world. The angry father shames him: “What do you think you’re doing? You’ve ruined it.” The boy forms an identity: My impact is awful; I foul good things up. I am a fouler. And he forms a commitment never to be in a place where he can foul things up again. Years later, his colleagues wonder why he turned down an attractive promotion. The answer lies in his identity, an identity he received from the impact he had on the most important person in his world and his fear of ever being in such a place again.
26 June 2007
the daily grind...
I have really missed blogging... seems like forever since I have even checked in with my friends' blogs.
So I have entered back into society and the daily grind again. While I have missed the paychecks, I have not missed the rush hour traffic that causes my blood pressure to elevate and my shoulders to tense almost immediately. I have been blessed with a wonderful job that God provided for me. I am starting out as the administrative assistant and event planner for a group of people at a Christian- owned and operated company that makes laminate parts like elevator panels, cabinet parts, etc... It's owned by a guy from my church here in Kansas and several of the employees also go to that church, including our full time chaplain. He prays for us and loves us and he does some counseling. On occasion the office staff gathers to share a meal together, to worship in song, pray, and do devotions. I have never worked at a place like this before. It pretty much rocks my socks off. I am currently kept busy with planning our annual company picnic and our monthly birthday bash. Quite fun actually. The company is also connected with a non-profit organization that trains, develops, and grows Christian entrepreneurs and their business ventures. I have a built-in opportunity to do ministry which is exactly what I wanted. It's such a blessing! I was very impressed when I interviewed there and after reading their vision and mission statements and guiding principles. Everything they do is above reproach and full of integrity, it's noticably different than our competitors.
I also interviewed at a nameless outpatient drug and alcohol rehabilitation center a few weeks back. During the interview I was told by the interviewer that I was one of the top candidates. A couple days later I was informed that someone else was chosen. I was heartbroken. I really wanted that job: to be able to invest in peoples' lives in a way and to witness an improvement in their quality of life and be part of that difference, and it was in the field that I want to go into (counseling) and it would have been great experience, plus they have a counselor apprenticeship program (translation: they train you and pay for your education all the way through certification). Well, yesterday I received a voicemail from the interviewer. Apparently, the original person they chose had some things come up and is unable to work. He said that he would try to work around my full-time schedule to try to get me in there part-time.
God continues to provide for me, even when I continue to think that he's forsaken me. He truly is faithful! More to come soon... I hope.
So I have entered back into society and the daily grind again. While I have missed the paychecks, I have not missed the rush hour traffic that causes my blood pressure to elevate and my shoulders to tense almost immediately. I have been blessed with a wonderful job that God provided for me. I am starting out as the administrative assistant and event planner for a group of people at a Christian- owned and operated company that makes laminate parts like elevator panels, cabinet parts, etc... It's owned by a guy from my church here in Kansas and several of the employees also go to that church, including our full time chaplain. He prays for us and loves us and he does some counseling. On occasion the office staff gathers to share a meal together, to worship in song, pray, and do devotions. I have never worked at a place like this before. It pretty much rocks my socks off. I am currently kept busy with planning our annual company picnic and our monthly birthday bash. Quite fun actually. The company is also connected with a non-profit organization that trains, develops, and grows Christian entrepreneurs and their business ventures. I have a built-in opportunity to do ministry which is exactly what I wanted. It's such a blessing! I was very impressed when I interviewed there and after reading their vision and mission statements and guiding principles. Everything they do is above reproach and full of integrity, it's noticably different than our competitors.
I also interviewed at a nameless outpatient drug and alcohol rehabilitation center a few weeks back. During the interview I was told by the interviewer that I was one of the top candidates. A couple days later I was informed that someone else was chosen. I was heartbroken. I really wanted that job: to be able to invest in peoples' lives in a way and to witness an improvement in their quality of life and be part of that difference, and it was in the field that I want to go into (counseling) and it would have been great experience, plus they have a counselor apprenticeship program (translation: they train you and pay for your education all the way through certification). Well, yesterday I received a voicemail from the interviewer. Apparently, the original person they chose had some things come up and is unable to work. He said that he would try to work around my full-time schedule to try to get me in there part-time.
God continues to provide for me, even when I continue to think that he's forsaken me. He truly is faithful! More to come soon... I hope.
07 June 2007
on clearing land...
Back to the subject of entitlement... This last Sunday I went to a new church, Risen Lamb International Church of the Nazarene. As I was walking in I was met at the door by a big bouncer/body-builder looking guy with tattoos all over the place; he was one of the greeters. Inside was a mixture of young, hip singles and elders, African-American and white. I was blown away by the music, mostly black gospel; the Holy Spirit was palpable and it left me in tears. I've never been to a church like it before.
But it was the message that caught, and holds, my attention even now, days later. In Joshua 17, Joshua had given the people of Joseph an allotment of land. Though they were large in number they occupied only a small portion of it at first. Then they went to Joshua and asked for more. Joshua told them that if they were so numerous and if the hill country was too small for them, then they could go up into the forest and clear land for themselves. They made excuses about why they could not and each time asked for more land. Joshua finally asked them, in chapter 18, "How long will you wait before you begin to take possession of the land that the Lord, the God of your fathers, has given you?"
Joseph's people felt entitled to more before they had fully taken possession of what they already had. They hadn't taken full advantage of what they had already been given and yet were asking for more. I am forced to look at what I have been given and ask of myself the same questions: How long will I wait before I begin to take possession of that which the Lord, the God of my fathers, has already offered me? Have I fully possessed everything I already have before asking for more? Or do I still have land to clear or something else that needs to be done?
The last few days, since hearing the message, I have been reminded of the Parable of the Talents:
"Again, it (entering the Kingdom of Heaven) will be like a man going on a journey, who called his servants and entrusted his property to them. To one he gave five talents of money, to another two talents, and to another one talent, each according to his ability. Then he went on his journey. The man who had received the five talents went at once and put his money to work and gained five more. So also, the one with the two talents gained two more. But the man who had received the one talent went off, dug a hole in the ground and hid his master's money.
"After a long time the master of those servants returned and settled accounts with them. The man who had received the five talents brought the other five. 'Master,' he said, 'you entrusted me with five talents. See, I have gained five more.'
"His master replied, 'Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master's happiness!'
"The man with the two talents also came. 'Master,' he said, 'you entrusted me with two talents; see, I have gained two more.'
"His master replied, 'Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master's happiness!'
"Then the man who had received the one talent came. 'Master,' he said, 'I knew that you are a hard man, harvesting where you have not sown and gathering where you have not scattered seed. So I was afraid and went out and hid your talent in the ground. See, here is what belongs to you.'
"His master replied, 'You wicked, lazy servant! So you knew that I harvest where I have not sown and gather where I have not scattered seed? Well then, you should have put my money on deposit with the bankers, so that when I returned I would have received it back with interest.
"'Take the talent from him and give it to the one who has the ten talents. For everyone who has will be given more, and he will have an abundance. Whoever does not have, even what he has will be taken from him. And throw that worthless servant outside, into the darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.'
Have I been a servant, good and faithful enough that I will double what I currently have? Or have I been the wicked, lazy servant, hiding my talents away, afraid that I might lose them, only to have them taken away from me in the end and given to one more faithful? Will I continue to be afraid of my master? Or will I trust him that he will provide and bless me with more when I have been faithful with little? He wants to bless me and I know that. So why am I so afraid?
Micah 7:7-8 says, "But as for me, I watch, in hope, for the Lord. I wait upon God, my Savior. My God will hear me. Do not gloat over me, my enemy. Though I have fallen, I will rise; and though I sit in darkness, the Lord will be my light" (NIV, emphasis added). I have been meditating on those verses the last several days and letting them sink in, along with the promises they bring to me. The Lord will show up. My God will hear me. The enemy has not won. I will rise and he will be my light.
But it was the message that caught, and holds, my attention even now, days later. In Joshua 17, Joshua had given the people of Joseph an allotment of land. Though they were large in number they occupied only a small portion of it at first. Then they went to Joshua and asked for more. Joshua told them that if they were so numerous and if the hill country was too small for them, then they could go up into the forest and clear land for themselves. They made excuses about why they could not and each time asked for more land. Joshua finally asked them, in chapter 18, "How long will you wait before you begin to take possession of the land that the Lord, the God of your fathers, has given you?"
Joseph's people felt entitled to more before they had fully taken possession of what they already had. They hadn't taken full advantage of what they had already been given and yet were asking for more. I am forced to look at what I have been given and ask of myself the same questions: How long will I wait before I begin to take possession of that which the Lord, the God of my fathers, has already offered me? Have I fully possessed everything I already have before asking for more? Or do I still have land to clear or something else that needs to be done?
The last few days, since hearing the message, I have been reminded of the Parable of the Talents:
"Again, it (entering the Kingdom of Heaven) will be like a man going on a journey, who called his servants and entrusted his property to them. To one he gave five talents of money, to another two talents, and to another one talent, each according to his ability. Then he went on his journey. The man who had received the five talents went at once and put his money to work and gained five more. So also, the one with the two talents gained two more. But the man who had received the one talent went off, dug a hole in the ground and hid his master's money.
"After a long time the master of those servants returned and settled accounts with them. The man who had received the five talents brought the other five. 'Master,' he said, 'you entrusted me with five talents. See, I have gained five more.'
"His master replied, 'Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master's happiness!'
"The man with the two talents also came. 'Master,' he said, 'you entrusted me with two talents; see, I have gained two more.'
"His master replied, 'Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master's happiness!'
"Then the man who had received the one talent came. 'Master,' he said, 'I knew that you are a hard man, harvesting where you have not sown and gathering where you have not scattered seed. So I was afraid and went out and hid your talent in the ground. See, here is what belongs to you.'
"His master replied, 'You wicked, lazy servant! So you knew that I harvest where I have not sown and gather where I have not scattered seed? Well then, you should have put my money on deposit with the bankers, so that when I returned I would have received it back with interest.
"'Take the talent from him and give it to the one who has the ten talents. For everyone who has will be given more, and he will have an abundance. Whoever does not have, even what he has will be taken from him. And throw that worthless servant outside, into the darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.'
Have I been a servant, good and faithful enough that I will double what I currently have? Or have I been the wicked, lazy servant, hiding my talents away, afraid that I might lose them, only to have them taken away from me in the end and given to one more faithful? Will I continue to be afraid of my master? Or will I trust him that he will provide and bless me with more when I have been faithful with little? He wants to bless me and I know that. So why am I so afraid?
Micah 7:7-8 says, "But as for me, I watch, in hope, for the Lord. I wait upon God, my Savior. My God will hear me. Do not gloat over me, my enemy. Though I have fallen, I will rise; and though I sit in darkness, the Lord will be my light" (NIV, emphasis added). I have been meditating on those verses the last several days and letting them sink in, along with the promises they bring to me. The Lord will show up. My God will hear me. The enemy has not won. I will rise and he will be my light.
04 May 2007
a little inspiration...
God's word is clear regarding several matters. Helping the oppressed is one of them. He spells out how richly we will be blessed if we work toward correcting injustices. A friend gave this passage to me over a month ago when I was in the middle of a campaign to raise money to emancipate modern-day slaves. All the money collected had been stolen over Spring Break, right before I was going to send it in. I was discouraged, hurt, and angry that someone would do that, steal money from the poor to keep it for themselves. Someone was praying with me and I shared that story with him and then he shared this passage (Isaiah 58:6-12, The Message) with me. I was able to forgive the thief and pray a prayer of blessing over them. I extended the deadline for the campaign and, in turn, God has probably more than tripled the money collected. I am sending it in on Monday. God is so good!
"This is the kind of fast day I'm after:
to break the chains of injustice,
get rid of exploitation in the workplace,
free the oppressed,
cancel debts.
What I'm interested in seeing you do is:
sharing your food with the hungry,
inviting the homeless poor into your homes,
putting clothes on the shivering ill-clad,
being available to your own families.
Do this and the lights will turn on,
and your lives will turn around at once.
Your righteousness will pave your way.
The God of glory will secure your passage.
Then when you pray, God will answer.
You'll call out for help and I'll say, 'Here I am.'
"If you get rid of unfair practices,
quit blaming victims,
quit gossiping about other people's sins,
If you are generous with the hungry
and start giving yourselves to the down-and-out,
Your lives will begin to glow in the darkness,
your shadowed lives will be bathed in sunlight.
I will always show you where to go.
I'll give you a full life in the emptiest of places—
firm muscles, strong bones.
You'll be like a well-watered garden,
a gurgling spring that never runs dry.
You'll use the old rubble of past lives to build anew,
rebuild the foundations from out of your past.
You'll be known as those who can fix anything,
restore old ruins, rebuild and renovate,
make the community livable again.
"This is the kind of fast day I'm after:
to break the chains of injustice,
get rid of exploitation in the workplace,
free the oppressed,
cancel debts.
What I'm interested in seeing you do is:
sharing your food with the hungry,
inviting the homeless poor into your homes,
putting clothes on the shivering ill-clad,
being available to your own families.
Do this and the lights will turn on,
and your lives will turn around at once.
Your righteousness will pave your way.
The God of glory will secure your passage.
Then when you pray, God will answer.
You'll call out for help and I'll say, 'Here I am.'
"If you get rid of unfair practices,
quit blaming victims,
quit gossiping about other people's sins,
If you are generous with the hungry
and start giving yourselves to the down-and-out,
Your lives will begin to glow in the darkness,
your shadowed lives will be bathed in sunlight.
I will always show you where to go.
I'll give you a full life in the emptiest of places—
firm muscles, strong bones.
You'll be like a well-watered garden,
a gurgling spring that never runs dry.
You'll use the old rubble of past lives to build anew,
rebuild the foundations from out of your past.
You'll be known as those who can fix anything,
restore old ruins, rebuild and renovate,
make the community livable again.
25 April 2007
stranger than fiction?
Recently I have set about writing my story with the help of Dan Allender, author, psychotherapist, and founder of Mars Hill Graduate School. He has written a book called To Be Told: Know Your Story, Shape Your Future that walks you through various exercises to help you remember the stories of your life and then write them down.
Anyway, as I was reading in the book that accompanies the workbook last night I was reminded of the movie Stranger Than Fiction. I saw it several weeks ago and it has quickly become one of my favorites. It stars Will Ferrell as Harold Crick. Harold is a boring, lonely, not-well-liked tax collector. Through the course of the story, he abandons the grinding drudgery of a life that he's been living, for one that is being written for him by an author that he cannot see but that he can hear. This new story that is being written for him is far more exciting than any he would have written for himself. He starts really living his life and not just existing anymore. At first he doesn't know how it will turn out, if he's in a comedy or a tragedy. But then he meets the author and reads the rest of his story. Even though he doesn't particularly like the ending, he trusts the author anyway and further gives up his life for the sake of the story.
It's such a good movie and I can relate to it on at least a couple levels. First, I used to live my life the same ol' boring way. And then I met this great Author, that I can't see but I can hear, and gave up my life to let him write a better story for me. Since I did that, life has just gotten so much richer. Life more abundant. Second, sometimes I feel I am in a comedy and other times I feel I must be in a tragedy. I don't know the ending but I know that for now my life is "stranger than fiction" because even on the days when I feel like a tragedy, the Author reminds me that he has a sense of humor and he always makes something beautiful out of pain, and then I feel like a comedy again. And I know that no matter what he writes, I trust him. I know he will write me into a story that is far beyond what I would ever have imagined for myself.
It's been really good getting into my life and digging around. Before I found the book I had told my dad that I wanted to remember more of my story and was thinking of writing it down. A couple days later I was at the Christian bookstore and the book seemed to lasso me and pull me right to it. It was perfect.
Anyway, as I was reading in the book that accompanies the workbook last night I was reminded of the movie Stranger Than Fiction. I saw it several weeks ago and it has quickly become one of my favorites. It stars Will Ferrell as Harold Crick. Harold is a boring, lonely, not-well-liked tax collector. Through the course of the story, he abandons the grinding drudgery of a life that he's been living, for one that is being written for him by an author that he cannot see but that he can hear. This new story that is being written for him is far more exciting than any he would have written for himself. He starts really living his life and not just existing anymore. At first he doesn't know how it will turn out, if he's in a comedy or a tragedy. But then he meets the author and reads the rest of his story. Even though he doesn't particularly like the ending, he trusts the author anyway and further gives up his life for the sake of the story.
It's such a good movie and I can relate to it on at least a couple levels. First, I used to live my life the same ol' boring way. And then I met this great Author, that I can't see but I can hear, and gave up my life to let him write a better story for me. Since I did that, life has just gotten so much richer. Life more abundant. Second, sometimes I feel I am in a comedy and other times I feel I must be in a tragedy. I don't know the ending but I know that for now my life is "stranger than fiction" because even on the days when I feel like a tragedy, the Author reminds me that he has a sense of humor and he always makes something beautiful out of pain, and then I feel like a comedy again. And I know that no matter what he writes, I trust him. I know he will write me into a story that is far beyond what I would ever have imagined for myself.
It's been really good getting into my life and digging around. Before I found the book I had told my dad that I wanted to remember more of my story and was thinking of writing it down. A couple days later I was at the Christian bookstore and the book seemed to lasso me and pull me right to it. It was perfect.
19 April 2007
becoming recklessly his...
I knew things would be vastly different from that point on. I didn’t know how much at the time but I felt a shift, even if it was only slight. My whole life had been building up to that moment and it was over and the decision was made just like that. I didn’t know why or how it would happen; I only knew that God wanted this for me and he had placed the desire in my heart for a reason. I was moving to Alaska to go to school.
Every summer growing up my family would head for the mountains of Colorado for a week or two of vacation. We never went to the ocean; I was 19 before I ever saw the ocean; but the trip to the mountains was always one last hoorah before my sisters and I would head back to school. I loved the mountains: those mighty, majestic peaks rising out of the ground in the way that I thought Neptune might rise out of the ocean, confident and bold holding his trident yet mysterious and magic at the same time; the pungent smell of pine, that I could almost taste, permeating the crisp, clean air. They always seemed to call to me, never audibly, of course, but spiritually and emotionally I was drawn to them. It didn’t matter how many times we went, every time we would go I would pass the time trying to be patient, trying not to ask, “Are we there yet?” too many times. And then about 9 hours after our departure I would be on the lookout for the peaks in the distance: purple, and sometimes white too, blips in the sky that might look like clouds if you didn’t know any better, but I always did.
We would hike and play, rest, feed the chipmunks, watch the eagles on the tops of mountains, watch the hummingbirds outside the A-frame cabin, pick wildflowers, have bonfires, shop, explore, go down the Alpine slide over and over again, eat lavish foods, talk, laugh, cry, and hug and love there. It was family in all the ways we weren’t when we were at home. Dad was never as angry and Mom was never as sick while we were there. Looking back, maybe that’s why I loved it so much, because it brought a little slice of heaven into our family even if it was just temporary. I always felt safe and peace; they provided a refuge for me.
School would be starting soon with its halls scented with scotch tape, old books, and lead pencils and subtle undertones of angst thrown in. If I thought knowledge could smell like something, it would be scotch tape and books and lead pencils: rich with possibilities and imagination. I loved school but never seemed to excel at it except in reading. By third grade I was reading at the 11th and 12th grade reading levels. I liked learning and took comfort in this idea that for those 8 hours a day I wasn’t getting beaten by a belt or whipped with words that ripped apart my very identity, like I did at home. When I was at school I could be anything I wanted to be and not be scared that I might get ridiculed for choosing wrong. And for a while, at least, it challenged my dad’s convictions that I was stupid and worthless and dumb. Before long though, I began to believe that what he said was true: I must be stupid and worthless and dumb since I am doing so poorly. It never occurred to me that I was doing poorly because of what he told me and he told me those things because I was doing poorly. It was a cycle, one I couldn’t seem to break.
Time went on and I graduated from high school finally making the honor roll the last semester of my senior year. I worked mostly and took classes here and there over the next few years accumulating 27 credit hours between community college and the University of Kansas. Then I quit school altogether and focused on work thinking I could save up money to eventually go back once I figured out what it was God wanted me to do. I would start a job and love it and then after a year or so, I would get bored and quit, start a new job and love it and then after a year or so, I would get bored and quit. I was becoming increasingly dissatisfied with where I was and who I was becoming, or not becoming rather, and the way my life had worked out up to that point. I couldn’t help this feeling that there was something more out there for me. I was unfulfilled and hungry with desire for adventure that I denied because of fear of failure, my father’s rejection or disapproval, and in some ways my own fear of succeeding. I told myself “Once I get married I will move away to Colorado” and then “Once I get financially secure I will move away.” The ideas progressed into all-out unhappiness. Depression. Countless sleepless nights. Sporadic forays into superficial happiness permeated throughout with unhealthy relationships. Last summer while reading Seizing Your Divine Moment and Captivating: Unveiling the Mystery of a Woman’s Heart, something within me was stirred. Adventure was calling me and I could hear it loud and clear. I was suddenly aware that my life had become a downward spiral into a search for meaning and value that I knew I could only get in one place: immersing myself in an authentic environment where I could dive into God and submerge myself in his love and grace for me. I needed to learn, to study, to exercise my spirit and indulge my mind. I wanted a clean slate, a new start, to be where nobody knew my name or the history that came with it.
At that time I had been meeting regularly with a small group of girls that provided me with some honest feedback, some of it friendly and some of it not so much, but all of it needed. One Sunday afternoon last August we were gathered together and one of them said, “You really need to be actively pursuing this dream of yours to live in Colorado. What’s keeping you here? Nothing! So why are you still here?” I knew she was right and that it was out of love but I was offended. I went home and thought about what she said. I went to bed that night and, yet again, laid there wide awake wrestling with God and myself. And then at 2:15am, out of nowhere, I remembered going to Alaska to visit my dad a few years ago on this little college campus that barely had 20 students and no money at the time. I remembered the scenery taking my breath away. Alaska Christian College. Alaska Christian College. The thought wouldn’t leave me so I rose from my bed and went to the computer and half-heartedly pulled up their website thinking it was just a silly pipedream.
I thought about the idea of making Alaska my home. I knew I had loved Alaska while I was there, it was so beautiful – more so than Colorado – but so far away. The more I thought about it and prayed about it, the more at peace I was with the idea. I went to bed and slept soundly through the night for the first time in a long time. I woke the next morning feeling hope and promise that something might be waiting for me. I went to work and logged into the website again and sent a quick “request for information” on the electronic form explaining that I was the daughter of one of their staff members from a few years back, that I was interested in information about the school, any scholarships I could receive, etc… I had little hope of anything happening since it was already mid-August and school would be starting soon. Maybe Spring semester but more than likely it would be next Fall. Leaving so soon would be irresponsible and reckless. I didn’t have money. I didn’t have a job. How would I pay for school? What would I do for transportation? But it became obvious that God had a very different plan for me. By the end of the day I had received an email back from the admissions director at the school saying that he remembered my dad and that there was still space available and if I applied right away I could have my room and board covered with scholarships. I started crying there at my desk on the 5th floor of the office building in the pretentious part of downtown where I should have been earning my $40k/year by updating the database and making travel arrangements. Instead I sat there with a box of Kleenex in my hands and prayers of thanksgiving in my heart. They were tears of joy.
I emailed my friends, including the girls in the small group, and called my family telling them what had transpired overnight and of the adventure that could be waiting for me. I filled out the paperwork and faxed it back first thing the next morning. By Tuesday night I had received a phone call welcoming me to Alaska Christian College and that I had to be there in a week and 2 days. I called my family and told them first and it meant so much that they were all very supportive of me. Then I headed out to celebrate with friends. Change was underway; I already felt transformed somehow. We all shed some tears but mostly we laughed and reminisced about the memories we had made together over the last 13 years. Arrangements were made for going-away parties that Saturday night with friends and Sunday afternoon with family. I am still surprised at how calm I was, how much I felt at peace with the whole thing. It was almost like I was performing in a play about someone else’s life but yet I was conscious that this was happening to me, that this was my life. It was strange.
The next morning I had to tell my boss. I was nervous about it at first, like you might be nervous if you were afraid of telling your parents that you suddenly met someone, were getting married and moving to Africa or something. But I prayed and asked God to direct me and to open my boss’s heart. I went in to his office and told him I needed to talk to him and shut the door. He looked at me worriedly and said, “Okay, have a seat.” I sat and told him all about what had happened over the few days immediately prior to that and that I was leaving in a little over a week for Alaska and that I needed to give him only 2 days notice as opposed to the corporately preferred 2 weeks. He smiled as he looked at me and said, “You know, this reminds me of the time that God told Abram to leave Ur in Genesis.” My jaw dropped to the floor in shock. We had never really discussed Christianity or our individual beliefs during my tenure there but in the back of my mind I had somewhat of an inkling that he might be Christian. Then he told me that it’s obviously God’s call on my life to go to Alaska and that I certainly can’t ignore that. He was genuinely excited for me. Then he floored me again by working it out so that I got my 10 days of vacation and that I could get my check early in order to make preparations for the move. His support and encouragement was just another affirmation that this was from God.
The next week was a fury of chaos and making arrangements and packing. I had to be sure to see all the friends I needed to see, the ones that couldn’t make it to any of the going-away parties and the ones that have meant the most to me. But I pulled it off only with God’s strength and determination and help.
Thursday, August 26th my best friend took me to the airport and sat with me the 2 hours while I waited to board the plane. She cried and I told her how I excited I was and how at peace I was with the whole thing. I assured her that I knew God was in this and that it was something I had needed for so long – an adventure involving the mind, body, and heart. The announcement was made that they would start boarding for my flight. We embraced and 14 years of memories and love came rushing over me. I broke down; not because I was scared of going to Alaska, but because I was scared of leaving her behind. She had been a constant in a world of change and pain, she had been a rock for me. I told her how much I loved her and valued her friendship and that nothing, not even 4000 miles of distance between us, could change that. And I boarded the plane.
That night or the next morning rather, at about 12:35am, we were making our final descent into Anchorage. My heart smiled and my face reflected that with upturned lips, pearly whites, and hope. I was starting the rest of my life and I knew that this beautiful state, that three years ago I had spent a week in, would soon feel like home for me. I could see the Cook Inlet off to the West and the midnight city lights to the East. Then I saw the soft silhouette of the mountains off in the distance. Yes, it already did feel like home.
Now, more than a year and a half later, as I sit staring out the window at the heavy blanket of snow, I think about each individual snowflake that it took to create such a beautiful scene. And I think about the God who, with a breath brought the seasons into existence and told the snowflakes to fall here one upon the other, each adding to the beauty of the last in retrospect. And now I am thinking Isn’t that a lot like life? All the moments of the past, each uniquely breathtaking in their individual ways, add up to one amazing, resplendent picture of God’s awesome design and his love for me and the many ways he has blessed me since I have been here. Every moment of my past has been preparing me, leading me, drawing me closer to this present. Hosea 2:6-7 says, “Therefore I will block her path with thorn bushes; I will wall her in so that she cannot find her way. She will chase after her lovers but not catch them; she will look for them but not find them. Then she will say, ‘I will go back to my husband as at first, for then I was better off than now.’”
My days of being walled in are over, as are the days of being blocked by thorn bushes of fear and self-doubt. I had tried to find love and value in all the wrong things and therefore, had not found it. Until now. I have returned to my husband as at first. And as in Hosea 2:14, he has allured to me and has led me into the desert where he speaks tenderly and softly to my heart. In a recent phone conversation with my dad, with whom I have experienced a great deal of healing, he said, “Since you’ve been in Alaska you have become more yourself than you have ever been in your life. Your heart is alive and you are radiant.” Yes, it was reckless but then isn’t there something dangerously attractive about being reckless for God? After all, isn’t he a little dangerous himself? I have learned to become recklessly His. Yes. Things are indeed different now and I would not have it any other way.
Every summer growing up my family would head for the mountains of Colorado for a week or two of vacation. We never went to the ocean; I was 19 before I ever saw the ocean; but the trip to the mountains was always one last hoorah before my sisters and I would head back to school. I loved the mountains: those mighty, majestic peaks rising out of the ground in the way that I thought Neptune might rise out of the ocean, confident and bold holding his trident yet mysterious and magic at the same time; the pungent smell of pine, that I could almost taste, permeating the crisp, clean air. They always seemed to call to me, never audibly, of course, but spiritually and emotionally I was drawn to them. It didn’t matter how many times we went, every time we would go I would pass the time trying to be patient, trying not to ask, “Are we there yet?” too many times. And then about 9 hours after our departure I would be on the lookout for the peaks in the distance: purple, and sometimes white too, blips in the sky that might look like clouds if you didn’t know any better, but I always did.
We would hike and play, rest, feed the chipmunks, watch the eagles on the tops of mountains, watch the hummingbirds outside the A-frame cabin, pick wildflowers, have bonfires, shop, explore, go down the Alpine slide over and over again, eat lavish foods, talk, laugh, cry, and hug and love there. It was family in all the ways we weren’t when we were at home. Dad was never as angry and Mom was never as sick while we were there. Looking back, maybe that’s why I loved it so much, because it brought a little slice of heaven into our family even if it was just temporary. I always felt safe and peace; they provided a refuge for me.
School would be starting soon with its halls scented with scotch tape, old books, and lead pencils and subtle undertones of angst thrown in. If I thought knowledge could smell like something, it would be scotch tape and books and lead pencils: rich with possibilities and imagination. I loved school but never seemed to excel at it except in reading. By third grade I was reading at the 11th and 12th grade reading levels. I liked learning and took comfort in this idea that for those 8 hours a day I wasn’t getting beaten by a belt or whipped with words that ripped apart my very identity, like I did at home. When I was at school I could be anything I wanted to be and not be scared that I might get ridiculed for choosing wrong. And for a while, at least, it challenged my dad’s convictions that I was stupid and worthless and dumb. Before long though, I began to believe that what he said was true: I must be stupid and worthless and dumb since I am doing so poorly. It never occurred to me that I was doing poorly because of what he told me and he told me those things because I was doing poorly. It was a cycle, one I couldn’t seem to break.
Time went on and I graduated from high school finally making the honor roll the last semester of my senior year. I worked mostly and took classes here and there over the next few years accumulating 27 credit hours between community college and the University of Kansas. Then I quit school altogether and focused on work thinking I could save up money to eventually go back once I figured out what it was God wanted me to do. I would start a job and love it and then after a year or so, I would get bored and quit, start a new job and love it and then after a year or so, I would get bored and quit. I was becoming increasingly dissatisfied with where I was and who I was becoming, or not becoming rather, and the way my life had worked out up to that point. I couldn’t help this feeling that there was something more out there for me. I was unfulfilled and hungry with desire for adventure that I denied because of fear of failure, my father’s rejection or disapproval, and in some ways my own fear of succeeding. I told myself “Once I get married I will move away to Colorado” and then “Once I get financially secure I will move away.” The ideas progressed into all-out unhappiness. Depression. Countless sleepless nights. Sporadic forays into superficial happiness permeated throughout with unhealthy relationships. Last summer while reading Seizing Your Divine Moment and Captivating: Unveiling the Mystery of a Woman’s Heart, something within me was stirred. Adventure was calling me and I could hear it loud and clear. I was suddenly aware that my life had become a downward spiral into a search for meaning and value that I knew I could only get in one place: immersing myself in an authentic environment where I could dive into God and submerge myself in his love and grace for me. I needed to learn, to study, to exercise my spirit and indulge my mind. I wanted a clean slate, a new start, to be where nobody knew my name or the history that came with it.
At that time I had been meeting regularly with a small group of girls that provided me with some honest feedback, some of it friendly and some of it not so much, but all of it needed. One Sunday afternoon last August we were gathered together and one of them said, “You really need to be actively pursuing this dream of yours to live in Colorado. What’s keeping you here? Nothing! So why are you still here?” I knew she was right and that it was out of love but I was offended. I went home and thought about what she said. I went to bed that night and, yet again, laid there wide awake wrestling with God and myself. And then at 2:15am, out of nowhere, I remembered going to Alaska to visit my dad a few years ago on this little college campus that barely had 20 students and no money at the time. I remembered the scenery taking my breath away. Alaska Christian College. Alaska Christian College. The thought wouldn’t leave me so I rose from my bed and went to the computer and half-heartedly pulled up their website thinking it was just a silly pipedream.
I thought about the idea of making Alaska my home. I knew I had loved Alaska while I was there, it was so beautiful – more so than Colorado – but so far away. The more I thought about it and prayed about it, the more at peace I was with the idea. I went to bed and slept soundly through the night for the first time in a long time. I woke the next morning feeling hope and promise that something might be waiting for me. I went to work and logged into the website again and sent a quick “request for information” on the electronic form explaining that I was the daughter of one of their staff members from a few years back, that I was interested in information about the school, any scholarships I could receive, etc… I had little hope of anything happening since it was already mid-August and school would be starting soon. Maybe Spring semester but more than likely it would be next Fall. Leaving so soon would be irresponsible and reckless. I didn’t have money. I didn’t have a job. How would I pay for school? What would I do for transportation? But it became obvious that God had a very different plan for me. By the end of the day I had received an email back from the admissions director at the school saying that he remembered my dad and that there was still space available and if I applied right away I could have my room and board covered with scholarships. I started crying there at my desk on the 5th floor of the office building in the pretentious part of downtown where I should have been earning my $40k/year by updating the database and making travel arrangements. Instead I sat there with a box of Kleenex in my hands and prayers of thanksgiving in my heart. They were tears of joy.
I emailed my friends, including the girls in the small group, and called my family telling them what had transpired overnight and of the adventure that could be waiting for me. I filled out the paperwork and faxed it back first thing the next morning. By Tuesday night I had received a phone call welcoming me to Alaska Christian College and that I had to be there in a week and 2 days. I called my family and told them first and it meant so much that they were all very supportive of me. Then I headed out to celebrate with friends. Change was underway; I already felt transformed somehow. We all shed some tears but mostly we laughed and reminisced about the memories we had made together over the last 13 years. Arrangements were made for going-away parties that Saturday night with friends and Sunday afternoon with family. I am still surprised at how calm I was, how much I felt at peace with the whole thing. It was almost like I was performing in a play about someone else’s life but yet I was conscious that this was happening to me, that this was my life. It was strange.
The next morning I had to tell my boss. I was nervous about it at first, like you might be nervous if you were afraid of telling your parents that you suddenly met someone, were getting married and moving to Africa or something. But I prayed and asked God to direct me and to open my boss’s heart. I went in to his office and told him I needed to talk to him and shut the door. He looked at me worriedly and said, “Okay, have a seat.” I sat and told him all about what had happened over the few days immediately prior to that and that I was leaving in a little over a week for Alaska and that I needed to give him only 2 days notice as opposed to the corporately preferred 2 weeks. He smiled as he looked at me and said, “You know, this reminds me of the time that God told Abram to leave Ur in Genesis.” My jaw dropped to the floor in shock. We had never really discussed Christianity or our individual beliefs during my tenure there but in the back of my mind I had somewhat of an inkling that he might be Christian. Then he told me that it’s obviously God’s call on my life to go to Alaska and that I certainly can’t ignore that. He was genuinely excited for me. Then he floored me again by working it out so that I got my 10 days of vacation and that I could get my check early in order to make preparations for the move. His support and encouragement was just another affirmation that this was from God.
The next week was a fury of chaos and making arrangements and packing. I had to be sure to see all the friends I needed to see, the ones that couldn’t make it to any of the going-away parties and the ones that have meant the most to me. But I pulled it off only with God’s strength and determination and help.
Thursday, August 26th my best friend took me to the airport and sat with me the 2 hours while I waited to board the plane. She cried and I told her how I excited I was and how at peace I was with the whole thing. I assured her that I knew God was in this and that it was something I had needed for so long – an adventure involving the mind, body, and heart. The announcement was made that they would start boarding for my flight. We embraced and 14 years of memories and love came rushing over me. I broke down; not because I was scared of going to Alaska, but because I was scared of leaving her behind. She had been a constant in a world of change and pain, she had been a rock for me. I told her how much I loved her and valued her friendship and that nothing, not even 4000 miles of distance between us, could change that. And I boarded the plane.
That night or the next morning rather, at about 12:35am, we were making our final descent into Anchorage. My heart smiled and my face reflected that with upturned lips, pearly whites, and hope. I was starting the rest of my life and I knew that this beautiful state, that three years ago I had spent a week in, would soon feel like home for me. I could see the Cook Inlet off to the West and the midnight city lights to the East. Then I saw the soft silhouette of the mountains off in the distance. Yes, it already did feel like home.
Now, more than a year and a half later, as I sit staring out the window at the heavy blanket of snow, I think about each individual snowflake that it took to create such a beautiful scene. And I think about the God who, with a breath brought the seasons into existence and told the snowflakes to fall here one upon the other, each adding to the beauty of the last in retrospect. And now I am thinking Isn’t that a lot like life? All the moments of the past, each uniquely breathtaking in their individual ways, add up to one amazing, resplendent picture of God’s awesome design and his love for me and the many ways he has blessed me since I have been here. Every moment of my past has been preparing me, leading me, drawing me closer to this present. Hosea 2:6-7 says, “Therefore I will block her path with thorn bushes; I will wall her in so that she cannot find her way. She will chase after her lovers but not catch them; she will look for them but not find them. Then she will say, ‘I will go back to my husband as at first, for then I was better off than now.’”
My days of being walled in are over, as are the days of being blocked by thorn bushes of fear and self-doubt. I had tried to find love and value in all the wrong things and therefore, had not found it. Until now. I have returned to my husband as at first. And as in Hosea 2:14, he has allured to me and has led me into the desert where he speaks tenderly and softly to my heart. In a recent phone conversation with my dad, with whom I have experienced a great deal of healing, he said, “Since you’ve been in Alaska you have become more yourself than you have ever been in your life. Your heart is alive and you are radiant.” Yes, it was reckless but then isn’t there something dangerously attractive about being reckless for God? After all, isn’t he a little dangerous himself? I have learned to become recklessly His. Yes. Things are indeed different now and I would not have it any other way.
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