I don't typically curse, but as I drove across town yesterday, I let it all loose. It didn't make anything better, really, but it was sort of freeing to acknowledge that words are just words and sometimes strong ones are the only ones left. I cursed my life and the corners into which I have backed myself. I cursed the Lack of Belonging, I cursed All of the Church People with All of the Answers. I cursed the fact that there is one person currently in this town who somewhat gets it and we orbit in separate circles. Well, we orbited.
I'm about to stop orbiting entirely.
I came to a breaking point yesterday, or rather a series of breaking points in the last week, and I can't do this anymore. I do not belong here, and it's time to stop trying.
There is no back up plan except my cozy apartment, a phone, and a reading list. There is no one coming alongside, no hand to hold in this journey. My husband is deployed and so I'm left with earbuds and a good playlist, with a barking, whining, bone-chewing puppy, and with the desperate hope that maybe God is here.
No, I'm not leaving my church, and, no I'm not quitting any of the ministries in which I'm involved. God has me here, and curse the consequences, I will persevere.
But I'm done with crowds for the sake of crowds, I'm done with hanging out with people to assuage the loneliness. I'm done with all of the ganging up, all of the "us-against-everyone-else"mentality. I'm done with needing to be understood by anyone. I'm done.
Curse it all, I'm done.
I won't be pulled along because I'm weak-willed. I will come alongside because God is my strength. I will not believe things because "that's what we're supposed to believe or maybe we're not really believers." I will believe things because I am compelled to believe them.
Lord, have mercy.
Monday, October 27, 2014
Wednesday, October 22, 2014
for the melancholy days
Today was saturated with melancholy. It drenched me as I dreamed dreams of not belonging, it greeted me in the tossing and turning in the minutes before my alarm sounded, it followed me like a ghost through my work day of falsely cheery greetings and lack-luster customer service, and when I arrived at the assisted living center to play music for my elderly friends, it gave me a far-away look and a penchant for haunting hymns.
Abide with me
Fast falls the evening tide
The darkness deepens
Lord, with me abide.
And so it went.
Today I feel the desert wandering more acutely than most days. Today I feel the need to quit everything "productive" I'm doing in my life and go off into an obscurity that maybe, just maybe, will yield the presence of God.
~~~
The hymn book from which I play at the assisted living is the hymn book of my youth. This has always been a nostalgic thing for me, something that conjures up happy memories of choir like voices uniting in praise to God in four-part harmony. But tonight it was a double-edged sword. Tonight the hymns of my youth were a constant reminder of the fragility of that institution which I thought was so sure.
I think up until recently I didn't let my home church's current troubles affect me on a personal level. I think I thought they'd figure it out, that they'd come to the light, that they'd just magically get over it. After all, that church was my rock growing up. It was the source of my spiritual education, my discipleship, my social life, my...well, it was pretty much everything. If they can't get it together, no one can.
Of course, confidence in human institutions is always a bad plan.
~~~
I don't always deal with change well. If I'm not at the helm of the change, I feel the lack of control very acutely. My small group has changed dramatically in the last few weeks. From a small group of people I trusted discussing the Bible together to a large combined group of opinionated people, things have changed, even if only temporarily.
The center of gravity has shifted, and we're now talking in certainties. I can speak that language well, and last night I gave it my everything. The topic was safe, so we spoke in faith and certainty. Next week isn't so safe, and I likely won't be talking. As that last vestige of "maybe I can be real with someone here" falls away, I'm reminded yet again that God must be my everything.
Even in the questioning, He has proven himself faithful. Even as all else fails, He is good.
~~~
I wandered through the open field in the park across from my apartment complex tonight. The stars were brilliant, and I aimlessly wandered, soaking in the splendid isolation. I am alone, and it's disconcerting at times, but it is also beautiful in its way. As I drift outside of the camp of belief in which I have spent my whole life to this point, as I explore the furthest reaches of my faith, I am increasingly confident that God is with me. I don't know where it is all leading, and I know I'm so far off on so many things. But God is here. He's distant and unreachable, and yet He's all around me. He's just beyond the fabric of this reality,
Tonight I stared up at the stars in frustration with a God who I cannot see or touch. I asked him where He was. And this song began playing in my earbuds (Jenn Johnson):
I am the Lord your God
I go before you now
I stand beside you
And I'm all around you
Though you feel I'm far away
I am closer than your breath
And I am with you
More than you know
Even if it wasn't God talking to me, it was certainly a good reminder of the faith that I hold in an invisible God.
To that I'll cling, no matter what.
~~~
Tuesday, October 21, 2014
in this season
I sat among those I love most here in this town tonight and felt the distance grow, the unrelenting and growing knowledge that I have never fit here, that I will never fit - that one day I must depart. I even added my voice to the certainties, to the answers. When I should have remained silent, I spoke, when I should have spoken I remained silent. But mostly I talked needlessly. The room was full of people with the answers, and as I added my voice to that number, I was struck by how little I really wanted to be talking. How little I want the answers.
Sometimes I am struck with the intense need to walk away from it all for a season, to abandon others' expectations and the constant reminders that I'm the skeptic, the doubter. There are increasingly common moments when the conversation slides so entirely out of the realm of my control, and increasingly common moments when the desire to wrest it back fades almost entirely. This season of my life, this lonely time, this solitary time - this is a time for introspection, a time for single-minded pursuit of God, and a time for the abandonment of all the things that would slow me down from that.
I have little left these days. With my husband's departure came the removal of the last bit of security I had. I was thrown out into the wilderness, and -oddly enough- I find myself thriving there. I find myself wanting less and less to waste the time in this wilderness. I want to enjoy every moment of the questions, of the searching. I want to throw myself wholeheartedly into this pursuit of God.
He will be found.
I wonder, though, where I'll find Him.
Curse the answers. Curse the textbooks and the systematic theologies. Curse the Sunday School questions and their corresponding answers. Curse our cornering of God and our small-minded conceptions of who He is. Curse it all.
I'm reading. I'm asking all of the wrong questions and finding all of the wrong answers.
And God is working.
Of that I am sure.
For the first time ever, I'm no longer confident that my presence here is fruitful in the least.
I might disappear into the wilderness.
Sometimes I am struck with the intense need to walk away from it all for a season, to abandon others' expectations and the constant reminders that I'm the skeptic, the doubter. There are increasingly common moments when the conversation slides so entirely out of the realm of my control, and increasingly common moments when the desire to wrest it back fades almost entirely. This season of my life, this lonely time, this solitary time - this is a time for introspection, a time for single-minded pursuit of God, and a time for the abandonment of all the things that would slow me down from that.
I have little left these days. With my husband's departure came the removal of the last bit of security I had. I was thrown out into the wilderness, and -oddly enough- I find myself thriving there. I find myself wanting less and less to waste the time in this wilderness. I want to enjoy every moment of the questions, of the searching. I want to throw myself wholeheartedly into this pursuit of God.
He will be found.
I wonder, though, where I'll find Him.
Curse the answers. Curse the textbooks and the systematic theologies. Curse the Sunday School questions and their corresponding answers. Curse our cornering of God and our small-minded conceptions of who He is. Curse it all.
I'm reading. I'm asking all of the wrong questions and finding all of the wrong answers.
And God is working.
Of that I am sure.
For the first time ever, I'm no longer confident that my presence here is fruitful in the least.
I might disappear into the wilderness.
Monday, October 20, 2014
a desperate whisper into a raging storm
~For my church family in South Dakota~
Everything has fallen apart, at least for those dearest to me. I watch from afar as that which is most dear to my memories of my childhood crumbles into so many pieces. I haven't lived it, and so I find myself stricken with a painful neutrality, a neutrality that demands my sorrow at the decisions made by each of those living the reality. I will be going home in December to a world I won't recognize.
We were so strong, why would we let it fall apart? Why would our issues with one man tear an entire assembly in two? Why would he allow it? Why would we allow it? What does all of it mean, anyway? Does one mistake, one sin, disqualify my entire youth? Is an entire lifetime of biblical and spiritual training now meaningless? Were our shortcomings truly enough to result in this chaos? Were we following God at all?
As all falls away, I am left with an unshakable confidence. Although there are no answers about the frailty of my childhood church family, although the institution is rent asunder, although it seems hopeless, still there is God.
Follow Him, my sisters and brothers. Remember that your identity is found, not in an institution that seemed unshakable, but in an unshakable God. Your church is not your foundation, and to the degree to which it was mine, God forgive me. God forgive our pride and our superiority complex. God forgive our hoard mentality, our "with us or against us" mindset.
We weren't Right. We weren't the only Good ones, the only True ones. We weren't good or true at all. We didn't have it all figured out, our piety was so meaningless. All of our service, all of our beautiful singing, all of our dependable membership, all of our tradition in an age of dying traditions, all of it was meaningless. It has fallen into chaos in an instant. With a terrifying power, one domino fells them all.
And now, for so many Dear Ones, it is gone. In the void of institution, there is only wilderness wanderings, only painful exiles, only wondering where God has gone.
He's among you. Don't forget it, please don't forget it. Pursue Him and He will be found. Draw near to Him and He will draw near to you. Don't ever forget those things you learned in the sunny days of unshakable faith in God and one another; never forget that God is merciful, that God has not abandoned you.
And don't forget each other. Don't forget that this is so complex, and that everyone experiences life from a different perspective. Don't forget that sanctification is always a process, that just as you have not arrived, neither have those whom you always thought infallible. Please don't allow hate and bitterness in. Please don't divide into factions. You can choose your own path, and have great reasons for it, but please don't hate those who cannot travel your path, please don't hate each other. As much as my voice is a whisper into a raging storm, I beg you to sacrifice everything for unity, beloved. Not necessarily unity in the choices you make, but unity in spirit. Never forsake meeting together, never forsake praying for one another. Love one another. In the painful messiness of choosing to pursue relationships at all costs with those who have chosen another way, you will find restoration.
And when all falls apart, when there is nothing left, remember this: In death, we find resurrection. Above all, don't forget this.
He's making all things new, brothers and sisters. Don't despair.
Everything has fallen apart, at least for those dearest to me. I watch from afar as that which is most dear to my memories of my childhood crumbles into so many pieces. I haven't lived it, and so I find myself stricken with a painful neutrality, a neutrality that demands my sorrow at the decisions made by each of those living the reality. I will be going home in December to a world I won't recognize.
We were so strong, why would we let it fall apart? Why would our issues with one man tear an entire assembly in two? Why would he allow it? Why would we allow it? What does all of it mean, anyway? Does one mistake, one sin, disqualify my entire youth? Is an entire lifetime of biblical and spiritual training now meaningless? Were our shortcomings truly enough to result in this chaos? Were we following God at all?
As all falls away, I am left with an unshakable confidence. Although there are no answers about the frailty of my childhood church family, although the institution is rent asunder, although it seems hopeless, still there is God.
Follow Him, my sisters and brothers. Remember that your identity is found, not in an institution that seemed unshakable, but in an unshakable God. Your church is not your foundation, and to the degree to which it was mine, God forgive me. God forgive our pride and our superiority complex. God forgive our hoard mentality, our "with us or against us" mindset.
We weren't Right. We weren't the only Good ones, the only True ones. We weren't good or true at all. We didn't have it all figured out, our piety was so meaningless. All of our service, all of our beautiful singing, all of our dependable membership, all of our tradition in an age of dying traditions, all of it was meaningless. It has fallen into chaos in an instant. With a terrifying power, one domino fells them all.
And now, for so many Dear Ones, it is gone. In the void of institution, there is only wilderness wanderings, only painful exiles, only wondering where God has gone.
He's among you. Don't forget it, please don't forget it. Pursue Him and He will be found. Draw near to Him and He will draw near to you. Don't ever forget those things you learned in the sunny days of unshakable faith in God and one another; never forget that God is merciful, that God has not abandoned you.
And don't forget each other. Don't forget that this is so complex, and that everyone experiences life from a different perspective. Don't forget that sanctification is always a process, that just as you have not arrived, neither have those whom you always thought infallible. Please don't allow hate and bitterness in. Please don't divide into factions. You can choose your own path, and have great reasons for it, but please don't hate those who cannot travel your path, please don't hate each other. As much as my voice is a whisper into a raging storm, I beg you to sacrifice everything for unity, beloved. Not necessarily unity in the choices you make, but unity in spirit. Never forsake meeting together, never forsake praying for one another. Love one another. In the painful messiness of choosing to pursue relationships at all costs with those who have chosen another way, you will find restoration.
And when all falls apart, when there is nothing left, remember this: In death, we find resurrection. Above all, don't forget this.
He's making all things new, brothers and sisters. Don't despair.
Friday, October 3, 2014
i am a stumbling Jesus-follower
My Twitter profile gives me 150 characters to describe myself - a nearly impossible task. I sat down tonight to revise my self-description (it doesn't get much more naval-gaze-y than that), and I knew with everything in me that although there is no one with whom I would rather identify than Jesus Christ, I also would be dishonest to claim his Name in any confident way.
I described myself as "a stumbling Jesus-follower."
That's what I am - kicking and screaming, yes.
~~~
I drove to meet an acquaintance for dinner tonight. I have hung out with her and her husband all of one time. I barely know her. As I drove, I contemplated how I would go about describing myself to her. I was overcome by emotion, because I can never be what these people need me to be. Certainty, confidence, boldness, these are things not mine in all fullness.
I want those things so desperately, and they're no where to be found.
Kicking and screaming, I'm learning to embrace the ambiguity that has come to characterize my life.
~~~
I married an evangelical in the full sense of the word. A verse-memorizing, Bible-donating, small-group leading man who is pretty much a word-for-word description of who high school me wanted to marry. (Except that he can't sing.) Through my relationship with him, I have learned that my doubts do not automatically exclude me from the community of believers. If he can accept my questions, if he can marry my questions, maybe, just maybe, there's hope for me. Maybe I'm not as alone as the voices whisper to me on the darker nights. Maybe I'm not crazy.
~~~
I'll never belong in the South. The heat and humidity, the trees, the lack of topographical variance: all of this means that adjusting is extremely difficult. I fell in love with a place, and this place will never be that place.
In the same way, I'll never belong in evangelical Christianity, at least not the strain in which I currently find myself.
And no, I have no intentions of leaving my church. I wouldn't change where I am for all of the world. In this situation, I have found love - a love individuals show toward other individuals, and a love for God that is admirable and speaks of God's presence among us.
After all, God refuses to be labeled, He refuses to be boxed in. He just Is.
~~~
I don't know anymore. I don't know what on earth kind of church with what on earth kind of members and what on earth kind of leadership I was raised in. I cannot comprehend the situation in which my home church finds itself, ripped apart at the very seams, with seemingly nothing left. I have no blame for any of them, I have no opinion in the matter. But I cannot help but wonder.
Who were we following? What were we following? Or rather, who and what was I following? Taking apart the pieces of my childhood and upbringing, I find myself more confused than clear. I was taught that we believed All of the Correct Things.
Clearly we didn't.
No one does.
And if we didn't believe All of the Correct Things, was any of it correct?
What, anyway, is this obsession with belief?
These days, I'm equally pulled by theology and practice. Inertia keeps me from following both poles whole-heartedly, but I am equally disturbed by the amount of things that I have no earthly idea about and convinced that all of the correct opinions about all of the theology still means nothing without action.
And yet, I'd be foolish and naive to assume that belief does not inform action (and action likewise informs belief). If I believe, for example, I'm going to another place called Heaven when I die and that one day this earth will be destroyed, that will make a difference as to my approach to life. Sometimes my actions are informed by beliefs I don't even realize I have.
...and so it goes...
~~~
I'm following Jesus with everything I have, but I'm stumbling down this winding road. There's no intellectual or even emotional certainty for me, only a relationship with a God who has turned my world upside down. I love Him, but I know so little about Him. I love Him, but my service for Him is so weak and betrays the weakness of my love more often than it does its strength.
I'm a mess.
Gracious Lord, have mercy.
~~~
I have decided to follow Jesus,
I have decided to follow Jesus,
I have decided to follow Jesus,
No turning back,
No turning back.
I described myself as "a stumbling Jesus-follower."
That's what I am - kicking and screaming, yes.
~~~
I drove to meet an acquaintance for dinner tonight. I have hung out with her and her husband all of one time. I barely know her. As I drove, I contemplated how I would go about describing myself to her. I was overcome by emotion, because I can never be what these people need me to be. Certainty, confidence, boldness, these are things not mine in all fullness.
I want those things so desperately, and they're no where to be found.
Kicking and screaming, I'm learning to embrace the ambiguity that has come to characterize my life.
~~~
I married an evangelical in the full sense of the word. A verse-memorizing, Bible-donating, small-group leading man who is pretty much a word-for-word description of who high school me wanted to marry. (Except that he can't sing.) Through my relationship with him, I have learned that my doubts do not automatically exclude me from the community of believers. If he can accept my questions, if he can marry my questions, maybe, just maybe, there's hope for me. Maybe I'm not as alone as the voices whisper to me on the darker nights. Maybe I'm not crazy.
~~~
I'll never belong in the South. The heat and humidity, the trees, the lack of topographical variance: all of this means that adjusting is extremely difficult. I fell in love with a place, and this place will never be that place.
In the same way, I'll never belong in evangelical Christianity, at least not the strain in which I currently find myself.
And no, I have no intentions of leaving my church. I wouldn't change where I am for all of the world. In this situation, I have found love - a love individuals show toward other individuals, and a love for God that is admirable and speaks of God's presence among us.
After all, God refuses to be labeled, He refuses to be boxed in. He just Is.
~~~
I don't know anymore. I don't know what on earth kind of church with what on earth kind of members and what on earth kind of leadership I was raised in. I cannot comprehend the situation in which my home church finds itself, ripped apart at the very seams, with seemingly nothing left. I have no blame for any of them, I have no opinion in the matter. But I cannot help but wonder.
Who were we following? What were we following? Or rather, who and what was I following? Taking apart the pieces of my childhood and upbringing, I find myself more confused than clear. I was taught that we believed All of the Correct Things.
Clearly we didn't.
No one does.
And if we didn't believe All of the Correct Things, was any of it correct?
What, anyway, is this obsession with belief?
These days, I'm equally pulled by theology and practice. Inertia keeps me from following both poles whole-heartedly, but I am equally disturbed by the amount of things that I have no earthly idea about and convinced that all of the correct opinions about all of the theology still means nothing without action.
And yet, I'd be foolish and naive to assume that belief does not inform action (and action likewise informs belief). If I believe, for example, I'm going to another place called Heaven when I die and that one day this earth will be destroyed, that will make a difference as to my approach to life. Sometimes my actions are informed by beliefs I don't even realize I have.
...and so it goes...
~~~
I'm following Jesus with everything I have, but I'm stumbling down this winding road. There's no intellectual or even emotional certainty for me, only a relationship with a God who has turned my world upside down. I love Him, but I know so little about Him. I love Him, but my service for Him is so weak and betrays the weakness of my love more often than it does its strength.
I'm a mess.
Gracious Lord, have mercy.
~~~
I have decided to follow Jesus,
I have decided to follow Jesus,
I have decided to follow Jesus,
No turning back,
No turning back.
Tuesday, September 23, 2014
even my life
The pain is taking me under again. I'm finding myself wondering how I'll make it through this week and do anything productive. I'm feeling tempted to just quit my jobs and hunker down and somehow survive. I need time to cry & breathe, to gather the shattered pieces of my heart together and somehow be strong for him.
***
I'm not strong. My bravado was the bravado of someone who'd never really suffered. All those hard things I thought I'd gone through? Not really hard. And now I find myself faced with a reality that thousands of other spouses face all the time and I don't have any idea how to make it through.
He's everything to me, and yet he's ultimately not mine. In not very long I have to somehow let him go and still manage to survive. Tonight I don't know how to do that. I don't know how to paste on the smile, say "see you later," and carry on with my life. I don't know how I will get up, go to work, or even how I'll go grocery shopping. I just know that everything hurts right now. Right now my heart is broken in a way it's never been broken before. I know this makes me the weakest, the lamest. He's not dying. He'll be back. He loves me desperately.
***
This is the trial that will prove what I'm made of. If I allow it to do its work, if I face the pain, if I face it head on, I believe that God will make me new. Up to this point in my life, I've always had my own strength to rely on. I've always been able to cope, always been able to survive. I've had "tough" things happen, but they were never like this. Now the reality is exposed. I don't have it in me to face this. I just don't. People tell me I'm strong, and they're so wrong. I'm not strong at all.
I'm completely and utterly broken. At this point, I don't have any idea how I'll survive. Lord, have mercy, I don't have it in me.
Lord, have mercy.
***
When I pray, I'm no longer praying for the pain to go away. It may be sick, but I need this pain like I've maybe never needed anything before. As hard as it is, as much as I can't bear it, I have for maybe the first time in my life truly lost myself. I want to follow Christ wholly, and up til now I've not ever been able to jump fully into his arms & let him carry me. I've always walked alongside him as a stubborn child refusing to admit that I can't do it.
And now I can't do it. There's no part of me that's able to say goodbye to the man who completes me. There's no part of me that's able to face that pain without breaking down entirely. God, have mercy, I need You. Break me down further if that's what is necessary for Your will to prevail. Even now I feel my rugged persistence coming back, as the tears dry up, I am tempted to think I can maybe do this on my own.
Remind me to come to You for everything.
Don't let me fall, Father. Take these things I have always believed about You and make them real in my life. I know it won't be easy, but I want to follow You more than anything else in this world.
Ultimately, more than my relationship with Justin, more than my mental sanity, more than anything in this world, I want You. Teach me to despise even my own life.
Even my life.
***
I'm not strong. My bravado was the bravado of someone who'd never really suffered. All those hard things I thought I'd gone through? Not really hard. And now I find myself faced with a reality that thousands of other spouses face all the time and I don't have any idea how to make it through.
He's everything to me, and yet he's ultimately not mine. In not very long I have to somehow let him go and still manage to survive. Tonight I don't know how to do that. I don't know how to paste on the smile, say "see you later," and carry on with my life. I don't know how I will get up, go to work, or even how I'll go grocery shopping. I just know that everything hurts right now. Right now my heart is broken in a way it's never been broken before. I know this makes me the weakest, the lamest. He's not dying. He'll be back. He loves me desperately.
***
This is the trial that will prove what I'm made of. If I allow it to do its work, if I face the pain, if I face it head on, I believe that God will make me new. Up to this point in my life, I've always had my own strength to rely on. I've always been able to cope, always been able to survive. I've had "tough" things happen, but they were never like this. Now the reality is exposed. I don't have it in me to face this. I just don't. People tell me I'm strong, and they're so wrong. I'm not strong at all.
I'm completely and utterly broken. At this point, I don't have any idea how I'll survive. Lord, have mercy, I don't have it in me.
Lord, have mercy.
***
When I pray, I'm no longer praying for the pain to go away. It may be sick, but I need this pain like I've maybe never needed anything before. As hard as it is, as much as I can't bear it, I have for maybe the first time in my life truly lost myself. I want to follow Christ wholly, and up til now I've not ever been able to jump fully into his arms & let him carry me. I've always walked alongside him as a stubborn child refusing to admit that I can't do it.
And now I can't do it. There's no part of me that's able to say goodbye to the man who completes me. There's no part of me that's able to face that pain without breaking down entirely. God, have mercy, I need You. Break me down further if that's what is necessary for Your will to prevail. Even now I feel my rugged persistence coming back, as the tears dry up, I am tempted to think I can maybe do this on my own.
Remind me to come to You for everything.
Don't let me fall, Father. Take these things I have always believed about You and make them real in my life. I know it won't be easy, but I want to follow You more than anything else in this world.
Ultimately, more than my relationship with Justin, more than my mental sanity, more than anything in this world, I want You. Teach me to despise even my own life.
Even my life.
Monday, September 22, 2014
shattered poetry
Just when I had thought my last tear was finally spent
Just when I thought maybe I was strong
Reality shatters all my defenses
Love & loss
Sorrowful joy
Reunions and goodbyes
The not knowing how I can survive
Not knowing how to be strong
The knowing that I need to be.
God, be my strength, my portion, my endurance.
Father, be my Rock, my shelter.
I can't carry on
So carry me.
Carry me.
Please carry me.
The tears fall unstopped,
I long since became powerless against gravity.
Pooling and spilling down.
I'm weak more often than strong,
Shattered more often than complete.
Nothing left.
So find me here.
Find me here.
Please find me.
I'm broken at your feet, Daddy,
in a way I've never been broken before.
Gone are my defenses,
gone is my strength.
Gone is my emotional health,
my coping mechanisms.
I'm shattered,
I'm broken,
I'm unable to carry on,
unable to see the light.
I need you.
Give me purpose in this season.
Give me joy in the sorrow.
Please don't take the sorrow because the sorrow is a reminder of love.
Each of these tears are precious,
They pull my heart out with each drop,
but they remind me that the love I have has meaning.
I would change these circumstances,
but if I did, I wouldn't know the strength of this love,
and so
I wouldn't change a thing.
Even in the darkness,
I wouldn't change a thing.
Just when I thought maybe I was strong
Reality shatters all my defenses
Love & loss
Sorrowful joy
Reunions and goodbyes
The not knowing how I can survive
Not knowing how to be strong
The knowing that I need to be.
God, be my strength, my portion, my endurance.
Father, be my Rock, my shelter.
I can't carry on
So carry me.
Carry me.
Please carry me.
The tears fall unstopped,
I long since became powerless against gravity.
Pooling and spilling down.
I'm weak more often than strong,
Shattered more often than complete.
Nothing left.
So find me here.
Find me here.
Please find me.
I'm broken at your feet, Daddy,
in a way I've never been broken before.
Gone are my defenses,
gone is my strength.
Gone is my emotional health,
my coping mechanisms.
I'm shattered,
I'm broken,
I'm unable to carry on,
unable to see the light.
I need you.
Give me purpose in this season.
Give me joy in the sorrow.
Please don't take the sorrow because the sorrow is a reminder of love.
Each of these tears are precious,
They pull my heart out with each drop,
but they remind me that the love I have has meaning.
I would change these circumstances,
but if I did, I wouldn't know the strength of this love,
and so
I wouldn't change a thing.
Even in the darkness,
I wouldn't change a thing.
Wednesday, September 17, 2014
when it all falls away
I don't know how to write this with grace or with tact; I don't know how to put into words the hard truth. These people are beautiful, this community we have is beautiful, the souls that are connected to me are beautiful. Each of them in their own ways, each of them with their own stories. Wrong has been done here, but so much right just is.
And yet, I don't belong here. I never have, really. There have been brief moments when what existed was beautiful and I had a place in it all, but generally this has not been the case. Each to its season, I've been the new girl, the feminist, the old one, the leader, the newlywed. And now it has all fallen away. Everyone surrounding me is beautiful, and yet, the people who made my life beautiful here are gone. Some have moved, some are gone for a season, others have fallen away of their own choosing.
Tonight I felt the wreckage of what once was, what never really was anyway. I felt the weight of the not-belonging, the heaviness of knowing that I don't fit, that however much I may be wanted, however much I may be loved, however much I may want to fit, I just don't. I'm older than them, I'm different, I'm hopelessly academic and out of place in this world of submarines and not-very-tasteful jokes and banding together against the world as if to prove that in so doing we're right.
I'm alone here. My husband is gone on deployment and that leaves me with the stark reality of my situation. There is nothing. There is no one. Some care, some reach out, some love me, and I'm still alone.
She left me behind, she knows, and yet the tide has shifted and it's pulling us irrevocably apart. Fateful or fatalistic, I'm not sure which. He's deeply racist and doesn't know it and it tears at the fabric of everything without anyone even sensing it. She's hopelessly young, just beginning and full of promise, yet for me impossible to relate to on a deep level. Each of these people are my friends, my brothers, my sisters. And yet, I'm alone.
There has to be more to life than this.
Has to be.
And yet, I don't belong here. I never have, really. There have been brief moments when what existed was beautiful and I had a place in it all, but generally this has not been the case. Each to its season, I've been the new girl, the feminist, the old one, the leader, the newlywed. And now it has all fallen away. Everyone surrounding me is beautiful, and yet, the people who made my life beautiful here are gone. Some have moved, some are gone for a season, others have fallen away of their own choosing.
Tonight I felt the wreckage of what once was, what never really was anyway. I felt the weight of the not-belonging, the heaviness of knowing that I don't fit, that however much I may be wanted, however much I may be loved, however much I may want to fit, I just don't. I'm older than them, I'm different, I'm hopelessly academic and out of place in this world of submarines and not-very-tasteful jokes and banding together against the world as if to prove that in so doing we're right.
I'm alone here. My husband is gone on deployment and that leaves me with the stark reality of my situation. There is nothing. There is no one. Some care, some reach out, some love me, and I'm still alone.
She left me behind, she knows, and yet the tide has shifted and it's pulling us irrevocably apart. Fateful or fatalistic, I'm not sure which. He's deeply racist and doesn't know it and it tears at the fabric of everything without anyone even sensing it. She's hopelessly young, just beginning and full of promise, yet for me impossible to relate to on a deep level. Each of these people are my friends, my brothers, my sisters. And yet, I'm alone.
There has to be more to life than this.
Has to be.
Thursday, September 11, 2014
You Are Not Alone
My Daughter,
I know that life has never felt worse.
You are not alone.
I know you feel completely abandoned.
You are not alone.
I know about all the tears that fall.
You are not alone.
Like Hagar in the wilderness,
You are not alone.
Like Joseph in the den of lions,
You are not alone.
Like the thief on the cross,
You are not alone.
Like the woman who touched my garments in desperate search of healing,
You are not alone.
I am the God who sees.
I am the God who heals.
I am the God who reconciles.
I am the God who blesses.
My daughter, you are not alone.
Even when all the lights go out, when no one sees your pain,
I see you.
You are not alone.
When you cried yourself to sleep,
I was there.
You are not alone.
When you for the first time in years just wanted to go home,
I was there.
You are not alone.
When life was too much,
I was there.
You are not alone.
Take heart,
I see you.
I love you.
You are not alone.
When all else fades,
I AM.
I know that life has never felt worse.
You are not alone.
I know you feel completely abandoned.
You are not alone.
I know about all the tears that fall.
You are not alone.
Like Hagar in the wilderness,
You are not alone.
Like Joseph in the den of lions,
You are not alone.
Like the thief on the cross,
You are not alone.
Like the woman who touched my garments in desperate search of healing,
You are not alone.
I am the God who sees.
I am the God who heals.
I am the God who reconciles.
I am the God who blesses.
My daughter, you are not alone.
Even when all the lights go out, when no one sees your pain,
I see you.
You are not alone.
When you cried yourself to sleep,
I was there.
You are not alone.
When you for the first time in years just wanted to go home,
I was there.
You are not alone.
When life was too much,
I was there.
You are not alone.
Take heart,
I see you.
I love you.
You are not alone.
When all else fades,
I AM.
Thursday, September 4, 2014
on the hope beyond institutions
Growing up, I knew, as surely as the sun rises, that my church was the best church in town. Just like my high school football team was the only team worth rooting for, my church was the only one with good doctrine and sound teaching. We believed the right things. We taught the right things. We were right. Even today if I went home to visit, I'd have a hard time overcoming my prejudices and stepping foot in another church in town. After all, they're all dead churches in my mind. Or at least inferior.
And now, from the sound of it, my church is dying.
I'm not there, so I watch helplessly from the sidelines as it all crumbles around them. I watch as person after person makes the tough decision to leave, to maybe never return. My heart is broken. If I ever go home to visit, I might not be going back to the same church. Those people who were my world growing up have disintegrated. It seems that they're fractured from within, even if they still are cordial on the surface.
I'm not sure what to make of it all. I am not there, and I don't know who's right and who's wrong. And it really doesn't matter to me. None of it matters.
I want them to love each other. I want them to not forget the years, the decades, the lifetimes of investment in each other's lives. I want them to stick together, even if it's messy, even if it breaks hearts. I want them to look to Jesus.
But mostly, I want them to remember that when the dust settles, when the flames burn down, when everything is lost or everything is found, that then, God will still be found. God is above and beyond institutions. God doesn't need Brooklyn to reach that community. God doesn't need that building or its rich heritage of faith. God doesn't need its carefully written by-laws or its place within the denomination as a whole. God doesn't need its tradition of weekly Sunday School, even in an age where most churches have abandoned such an antiquated practice. God doesn't need a Bible-believing-and-preaching pastor, he doesn't need a faithful elder and deacon board. He doesn't need the children's ministry or the missions fund. And he certainly doesn't need vacation bible school.
God will be faithful regardless of the outcome for this particular institution.
I am praying, though, for reconciliation, for unity of the true body of Christ. The body of Christ goes so far beyond the church walls, and so I pray for my church family to pray together, to eat together, to do life together. I pray for an awakening of community, of love. I pray for hearts that draw near to the Father for every breath. I pray for hearts that stop striving after earthly justice and that strive after Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ will judge; His purposes will prevail. I pray that leaders will step out and up. I pray for women and for men to prophetically speak into this situation, not about institutions or policies, but about Jesus and His mission. I pray for a re-awakening, for a transformation. I pray for a sifting, for a harvest. I pray for revival in the hearts of the people I love. I pray for peace for them, for hope. I pray for soft hearts and quick feet. I pray for hands that reach out to unite.
I am thankful for the way that God used that church, in all of its imperfection, to mold me into the person I am today. I am thankful for its time-honored traditions, for its faithfulness to teach from the Word. I am thankful for the people whose parents, grandparents, even great-grandparents were all raised in that church. I am thankful for the faithfulness and consistency of the people I grew up with. I am so thankful for it all. My church wasn't perfect, that is becoming more clear to me with every year I spend separated from it all. No church is.
I pray that this trial will refine the people I love most. I pray that God's purposes will prevail. I pray for the Gospel to extend far beyond that church building's four walls.
Look to Him, my brothers and sisters. He is near.
And now, from the sound of it, my church is dying.
I'm not there, so I watch helplessly from the sidelines as it all crumbles around them. I watch as person after person makes the tough decision to leave, to maybe never return. My heart is broken. If I ever go home to visit, I might not be going back to the same church. Those people who were my world growing up have disintegrated. It seems that they're fractured from within, even if they still are cordial on the surface.
I'm not sure what to make of it all. I am not there, and I don't know who's right and who's wrong. And it really doesn't matter to me. None of it matters.
I want them to love each other. I want them to not forget the years, the decades, the lifetimes of investment in each other's lives. I want them to stick together, even if it's messy, even if it breaks hearts. I want them to look to Jesus.
But mostly, I want them to remember that when the dust settles, when the flames burn down, when everything is lost or everything is found, that then, God will still be found. God is above and beyond institutions. God doesn't need Brooklyn to reach that community. God doesn't need that building or its rich heritage of faith. God doesn't need its carefully written by-laws or its place within the denomination as a whole. God doesn't need its tradition of weekly Sunday School, even in an age where most churches have abandoned such an antiquated practice. God doesn't need a Bible-believing-and-preaching pastor, he doesn't need a faithful elder and deacon board. He doesn't need the children's ministry or the missions fund. And he certainly doesn't need vacation bible school.
God will be faithful regardless of the outcome for this particular institution.
I am praying, though, for reconciliation, for unity of the true body of Christ. The body of Christ goes so far beyond the church walls, and so I pray for my church family to pray together, to eat together, to do life together. I pray for an awakening of community, of love. I pray for hearts that draw near to the Father for every breath. I pray for hearts that stop striving after earthly justice and that strive after Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ will judge; His purposes will prevail. I pray that leaders will step out and up. I pray for women and for men to prophetically speak into this situation, not about institutions or policies, but about Jesus and His mission. I pray for a re-awakening, for a transformation. I pray for a sifting, for a harvest. I pray for revival in the hearts of the people I love. I pray for peace for them, for hope. I pray for soft hearts and quick feet. I pray for hands that reach out to unite.
I am thankful for the way that God used that church, in all of its imperfection, to mold me into the person I am today. I am thankful for its time-honored traditions, for its faithfulness to teach from the Word. I am thankful for the people whose parents, grandparents, even great-grandparents were all raised in that church. I am thankful for the faithfulness and consistency of the people I grew up with. I am so thankful for it all. My church wasn't perfect, that is becoming more clear to me with every year I spend separated from it all. No church is.
I pray that this trial will refine the people I love most. I pray that God's purposes will prevail. I pray for the Gospel to extend far beyond that church building's four walls.
Look to Him, my brothers and sisters. He is near.
Thursday, August 7, 2014
for the absence of writing
My blog is named "The Mundane Made Beautiful," and I've been writing here for years. This blog has served several purposes, but for the most part it was either me figuring out life, me making the mundane things in life beautiful.
In the wake of my recent nuptials, I find myself with little to say to the world. It's as if my need to process my world through writing is gone. My life is mundane, and it is beautiful, and all of that is simultaneously not worth sharing and worthy of not sharing.
I think it's why my Facebook presence has subtly shifted, as well. I post pictures of my new life every once in a while, I share things once in a while, I try to give things away, I talk about my dog. But all of it is less than it once was. It's less often, and it's less of who I actually am.
I just don't need the Internet in the ways I once did.
My life isn't perfect. Parts of it really suck. I'm processing so much, dealing with so much.
But I'm no longer alone, and that partnership saves me of the need of proving myself to the world, of baring my soul to the world. I'm free to just be me now.
Maybe some day I'll come back to writing. Maybe some day I'll share stories about the married life, maybe (heaven forbid) I'll become a mommy blogger.
But, in any case,
Goodbye for now.
In the wake of my recent nuptials, I find myself with little to say to the world. It's as if my need to process my world through writing is gone. My life is mundane, and it is beautiful, and all of that is simultaneously not worth sharing and worthy of not sharing.
I think it's why my Facebook presence has subtly shifted, as well. I post pictures of my new life every once in a while, I share things once in a while, I try to give things away, I talk about my dog. But all of it is less than it once was. It's less often, and it's less of who I actually am.
I just don't need the Internet in the ways I once did.
My life isn't perfect. Parts of it really suck. I'm processing so much, dealing with so much.
But I'm no longer alone, and that partnership saves me of the need of proving myself to the world, of baring my soul to the world. I'm free to just be me now.
Maybe some day I'll come back to writing. Maybe some day I'll share stories about the married life, maybe (heaven forbid) I'll become a mommy blogger.
But, in any case,
Goodbye for now.
Sunday, June 29, 2014
for God's absence
I'm drowning in a sea of confusion, and God is so very silent. I'm lost in a maze of perspectives, and God is in every path and in not a one all at the same time. I'm disoriented and increasingly frantic and there's no one coming to my rescue. I'm stuck in the slow sadness, the shattering silence, the sneaking suspicion that not all is as it appears.
I long for those idyllic days of Bible verses and Bible answers. I long for simplicity and camaraderie. I long for passionate outspokenness and for the euphoria of corporate worship. Those days are gone, replaced by doubt, uncertainty, even cynicism and distrust. I am not the person I once was. She disappeared in the wide sea of liberal arts education and real life and was replaced by this monster, this girl who cannot accept a single thing you say without scrutiny, by this girl who will always choose questions over answers, by this girl consumed by the "what ifs?"
I've isolated myself in this new life of mine. I've told myself I'm not worthy of leading Bible studies, not fit to mentor others. I've remained silent when I should have spoken, I've edited myself to the point of feeling somehow swindled into a new opinion I never held, I've cried.
I cried this morning in church. It wasn't a euphoric crying. It was a cry of despair.
God, you're so absent. I need you to figure this mess out for me. How do you work in the world? Where are you? What would you have from me? How should I follow You?
The people who attend my church view the world so differently than me. It's so nice in some ways, iron sharpening iron or whatever. In other ways, it threatens to drive me over the brink of insanity. In a world where Scripture answers every question we could have about the world, there is no room for doubt. There is no room for questioning the entire framework.
There is no room for me.
I'm struggling to breathe, struggling to find space to occupy in this reality of mine, this reality where life is full of questions, where the Bible tells us about God and how He works in this world. I am struggling to hang onto my faith in an environment which constantly shouts at me that there is only one way. I'm struggling to have faith in a seemingly absent God among a people for whom God is consistently and tangibly present.
I remember those days. I remember a time when faith was simple, when I had a Bible verse for everything, a rebuttal for every objection. I remember the childlike joy I found in being in His presence. Those days were good.
I long for those days, even as I know those days are over for me.
I'm stumbling along, trying to find my way. I won't be finding it, at least not more than the next pace or two. But I know the One who leads me, and at the end of each long day, that will be the hope to which I cling.
I believe in God, the Father almighty, Creator of heaven and earth, and in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord, who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died and was buried; he descended into hell; on the third day he rose again from the dead; he ascended into heaven, and is seated at the right hand of God the Father almighty; from there he will come to judge the living and the dead. I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy catholic Church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting. Amen.
I long for those idyllic days of Bible verses and Bible answers. I long for simplicity and camaraderie. I long for passionate outspokenness and for the euphoria of corporate worship. Those days are gone, replaced by doubt, uncertainty, even cynicism and distrust. I am not the person I once was. She disappeared in the wide sea of liberal arts education and real life and was replaced by this monster, this girl who cannot accept a single thing you say without scrutiny, by this girl who will always choose questions over answers, by this girl consumed by the "what ifs?"
I've isolated myself in this new life of mine. I've told myself I'm not worthy of leading Bible studies, not fit to mentor others. I've remained silent when I should have spoken, I've edited myself to the point of feeling somehow swindled into a new opinion I never held, I've cried.
I cried this morning in church. It wasn't a euphoric crying. It was a cry of despair.
God, you're so absent. I need you to figure this mess out for me. How do you work in the world? Where are you? What would you have from me? How should I follow You?
The people who attend my church view the world so differently than me. It's so nice in some ways, iron sharpening iron or whatever. In other ways, it threatens to drive me over the brink of insanity. In a world where Scripture answers every question we could have about the world, there is no room for doubt. There is no room for questioning the entire framework.
There is no room for me.
I'm struggling to breathe, struggling to find space to occupy in this reality of mine, this reality where life is full of questions, where the Bible tells us about God and how He works in this world. I am struggling to hang onto my faith in an environment which constantly shouts at me that there is only one way. I'm struggling to have faith in a seemingly absent God among a people for whom God is consistently and tangibly present.
I remember those days. I remember a time when faith was simple, when I had a Bible verse for everything, a rebuttal for every objection. I remember the childlike joy I found in being in His presence. Those days were good.
I long for those days, even as I know those days are over for me.
I'm stumbling along, trying to find my way. I won't be finding it, at least not more than the next pace or two. But I know the One who leads me, and at the end of each long day, that will be the hope to which I cling.
Saturday, June 7, 2014
for the desperate hope that there might be a light in the darkness
I've descended into a dark pit and there is no escaping. I've tried to save the world, I've tried to be strong and brave, I've thrown up a fearless front. And now, all the walls are down. I'm exposed and bleeding, I have nothing left. The depression is starting to set in, and I'm wondering how on earth I'm supposed to have one of the happiest days of my life in just twenty-seven days. How can such joy mingle with such sorrow?
I've failed. I've failed people around me left and right and I've failed God. I have nothing to offer him, no bravery, no righteousness, only my skewed pursuit of "justice." In this world where I was always right and everyone else was always wrong, I left no room for God's way. I have pushed Him aside, invoking his name out of a need for self-justification and neglecting entirely any real pursuit of Him.
My walls were sky high; no one was getting in. They were all the enemy, none could be trusted. I was alone in my fortress as the walls crumbled from the inside out, fell away, and revealed me curled up in the fetal position. ...To think I pretended to be strong.
I'm alone now. Some of it is the result of the huge differences between me and the people in this town. Some of it is the result of poor friend selection. I find myself now with no one here on whom I can rely besides my fiance.
I'm alone now. And God reaches down and reminds me that in my brokenness He can most easily work. My walls have fallen, and God forgive me, I need Him to teach me how to live unafraid. I need Him to teach me how to follow Him. I need Him to teach me how to exist in a world without walls, a world where not everyone is the enemy.
That's in my brave moments. In my not-so-brave moments I struggle to hold onto the hope that God can redeem my mistakes for His Kingdom. I struggle to comprehend how there can be a light at the end of this seemingly endless tunnel. I grope along the walls, hoping against hope that the sunlight will break through, and yet knowing that it will not.
Consequences are painful.
And yet I have a desperate optimism that this can't be all there is, that there has to be joy and peace ahead, maybe even a friend. There are certainly opportunities for me to reach out for others who feel alone, and God forgive me for becoming so insular that I missed those opportunities. God forgive me for it all. And God help me. God show me the way. God be my rescue.
I've failed. I've failed people around me left and right and I've failed God. I have nothing to offer him, no bravery, no righteousness, only my skewed pursuit of "justice." In this world where I was always right and everyone else was always wrong, I left no room for God's way. I have pushed Him aside, invoking his name out of a need for self-justification and neglecting entirely any real pursuit of Him.
My walls were sky high; no one was getting in. They were all the enemy, none could be trusted. I was alone in my fortress as the walls crumbled from the inside out, fell away, and revealed me curled up in the fetal position. ...To think I pretended to be strong.
I'm alone now. Some of it is the result of the huge differences between me and the people in this town. Some of it is the result of poor friend selection. I find myself now with no one here on whom I can rely besides my fiance.
I'm alone now. And God reaches down and reminds me that in my brokenness He can most easily work. My walls have fallen, and God forgive me, I need Him to teach me how to live unafraid. I need Him to teach me how to follow Him. I need Him to teach me how to exist in a world without walls, a world where not everyone is the enemy.
That's in my brave moments. In my not-so-brave moments I struggle to hold onto the hope that God can redeem my mistakes for His Kingdom. I struggle to comprehend how there can be a light at the end of this seemingly endless tunnel. I grope along the walls, hoping against hope that the sunlight will break through, and yet knowing that it will not.
Consequences are painful.
And yet I have a desperate optimism that this can't be all there is, that there has to be joy and peace ahead, maybe even a friend. There are certainly opportunities for me to reach out for others who feel alone, and God forgive me for becoming so insular that I missed those opportunities. God forgive me for it all. And God help me. God show me the way. God be my rescue.
Tuesday, May 13, 2014
for frailty, burden, and death: reflections on falling in love
With every day that passes, I am increasingly convinced that I didn't truly love Justin until today. I loved Justin before we were even dating, but I loved him in a way that I love most of my friends - a love with strings. A love with borders. A love that waits for the end.
And then I realized I wanted forever with him, and I thought that meant I loved him. In many ways, I did. Then we were inseparable, and certainly that meant love. I suppose it did. Partially. Then we were engaged, and the doubting made me wonder what on earth I was doing engaged to this guy so far removed from my world, this college dropout Navy guy with not a lick of musical talent.
Today I reflect on the painful reality of love. I never understood until Justin that love is not happy. Love is not bliss, and love has nothing to do with what Justin offers me as a life partner. Love is torturous joy, emphasis on the torturous. Love is death to myself, love is sacrifice, love is taking on his burdens as if they were my own. Love is watching people hurt the man I love with their callous disregard for all that is good and holy and learning to forgive them with the same grace he does. Love is putting him before me every single time (which I almost never successfully pull off). Love is being willing to do anything to help him. Love is courageous honesty, love is vulnerability and complete openness. Love doesn't have borders, doesn't have "but..", doesn't ask what will be given in return. Love just gives. Love refuses to put up walls of protection, love forgives every single time.
Because I love Justin, I'm beginning to understand on an experiential level what it means for God to love me. What it means to sacrifice himself, what it means to love people who won't ever be able to repay him.
And this is just the beginning...we're not even married yet.
Love is crazy.
And then I realized I wanted forever with him, and I thought that meant I loved him. In many ways, I did. Then we were inseparable, and certainly that meant love. I suppose it did. Partially. Then we were engaged, and the doubting made me wonder what on earth I was doing engaged to this guy so far removed from my world, this college dropout Navy guy with not a lick of musical talent.
Today I reflect on the painful reality of love. I never understood until Justin that love is not happy. Love is not bliss, and love has nothing to do with what Justin offers me as a life partner. Love is torturous joy, emphasis on the torturous. Love is death to myself, love is sacrifice, love is taking on his burdens as if they were my own. Love is watching people hurt the man I love with their callous disregard for all that is good and holy and learning to forgive them with the same grace he does. Love is putting him before me every single time (which I almost never successfully pull off). Love is being willing to do anything to help him. Love is courageous honesty, love is vulnerability and complete openness. Love doesn't have borders, doesn't have "but..", doesn't ask what will be given in return. Love just gives. Love refuses to put up walls of protection, love forgives every single time.
Because I love Justin, I'm beginning to understand on an experiential level what it means for God to love me. What it means to sacrifice himself, what it means to love people who won't ever be able to repay him.
And this is just the beginning...we're not even married yet.
Love is crazy.
Friday, May 9, 2014
for the words that built castles
I'm a word person. From a toddler into adolescence and beyond, I was trained in words - trained to talk and sing, to read and then to write. My Sunday School training turned that training in words into a spiritual vocabulary of sorts. This vocabulary earned me favor. I could find the verses faster and answer the questions more accurately, and later I could do the Bible Instruction Class homework more faithfully. I was a pro with words.
My words built castles. Evidence of salvation is found in one's fruit, and my fruits were my words. I constructed elaborate palaces and fortresses of sung and spoken and written words. I was a Christian, and my language proved it.
And then I was a small fish in a big pond of words with which I was not familiar. The words latched onto my soul and drug it to the bottom of the pond. I struggled against the words, casting them off just in time to fight my way to the surface.
And then I learned that writing was the best kind of therapy. This place is a whole kingdom of words. Words that have propped up my dying soul, words that have temporarily revived me and that have disguised the truth of the matter.
The truth is, words are often all I have.
~~~
Jonathan Martin writes of his vocation as a pastor, saying "all my favorite words are dying." As soon as they are out of his mouth, they die. Evidence of his kingdom crumbles with the evaporation of the sound into the atmosphere. For him this is difficult because he can't see evidence of the power of his words.
My words die too, and it's probably for the best.
My dead words remind me that my salvation does not hinge on my words. I could never sing, speak, or write a word and if I would only love, it would be enough. If I would only serve, it'd be enough.
Only when my words serve my neighbor, only when my words love are they enough. My tongue is powerful, the pen is too, but not because the words will be remembered. These implements of language are powerful because they either build or destroy something much more tangible: the kingdom of God.
My words built castles. Evidence of salvation is found in one's fruit, and my fruits were my words. I constructed elaborate palaces and fortresses of sung and spoken and written words. I was a Christian, and my language proved it.
And then I was a small fish in a big pond of words with which I was not familiar. The words latched onto my soul and drug it to the bottom of the pond. I struggled against the words, casting them off just in time to fight my way to the surface.
And then I learned that writing was the best kind of therapy. This place is a whole kingdom of words. Words that have propped up my dying soul, words that have temporarily revived me and that have disguised the truth of the matter.
The truth is, words are often all I have.
~~~
Jonathan Martin writes of his vocation as a pastor, saying "all my favorite words are dying." As soon as they are out of his mouth, they die. Evidence of his kingdom crumbles with the evaporation of the sound into the atmosphere. For him this is difficult because he can't see evidence of the power of his words.
My words die too, and it's probably for the best.
My dead words remind me that my salvation does not hinge on my words. I could never sing, speak, or write a word and if I would only love, it would be enough. If I would only serve, it'd be enough.
Only when my words serve my neighbor, only when my words love are they enough. My tongue is powerful, the pen is too, but not because the words will be remembered. These implements of language are powerful because they either build or destroy something much more tangible: the kingdom of God.
Thursday, May 1, 2014
for the crazy days of engagement: 65 days left edition - or, "what no one told you about being engaged"
Ah, engagement. Fun times, and, uh, stuff.
There are things I heard whispers of prior to being engaged. I heard about "bridezillas" and that wedding planning could be stressful. I heard about intrusive family members. I heard about these things, filed them away somewhere in my subconscious and figured it'd never happen to me. I never put too much emotional stock in my future wedding day - I didn't know if I'd ever get married and even if I ended up lucky enough to find someone, I wasn't particularly excited about the event itself.
And then, he was down on one knee, that moment for which I had been not-so-patiently waiting for months. I said "yes."
Craziness ensued.
We had to figure out a date and a location and a photographer and a caterer and things were so crazily stressful. I was looking forward to our wedding and dreading it all at the same time, knowing that in many ways our wedding day was only the beginning of the countdown to deployment. I mourned his loss six months in advance. Then, one day, our world came crashing in - he might be deployed in as little as a few days, who knew if he'd be back in time for the wedding. That scare was over as quickly as it arrived, but the uncertainty of when exactly he'd be in port and if we could send out invitations with confidence continued well into April.
We nailed down all the big things, he got into off-crew, got leave for the wedding and honeymoon: things have fallen into place. God is good.
But there's another side of engagement that no one warned me about. I'd heard the echoes of it and seen its effects, and I guess I never put two and two together. You see, I said "yes, I'll marry you," and in that moment, my world changed. In that moment I committed to a huge life change. I said, "yes, I'll follow you around the world." "Yes, I'll give up some of my dreams and desires so that we can be one." "Yes, I will love you and only you for the rest of our lives." Even so, it is a commitment not fully cemented yet. I can still theoretically back out (as can he). I haven't pledged my life to Justin in front of God and these witnesses.
Once a friend was engaged, and she asked me to pray for her, that her transition into married life would go smoothly. She talked about the changes that were coming, like moving into a new house and sharing a life with someone. I didn't fully get it. "You love him," I thought, "so what's the big deal?"
I've heard of weddings being called off, but I never imagined I'd consider such a thing.
And yet, I have. Several times. Not a week into our engagement, I sat at Starbucks with one of my closest friends and we talked of my doubt. "Am I crazy?" I asked, "I just don't know if our love will last, if I'll love him forever." She said, "Nope, you're not crazy, but you'd be crazy if you didn't doubt at least a little bit."
A month or so later, I sat in another coffee shop with the same friend and admitted that I was seriously considering calling the whole thing off. We are just so different: I am a thinker, he a doer; I am a little liberal, he's a little conservative. Maybe I had made a huge mistake, sometimes the distance from my heart to his seemed so impossibly wide to bridge. It felt as if he didn't really understand me. Plus, he is in the military, and I'm not such a fan of this life. It's so impossibly hard for me to imagine him leaving me for months at a time, so impossibly hard for me to imagine carrying on without him while remaining emotionally one with him. What does it mean, anyway, to carry someone in my heart? I'm not strong. Not nearly strong enough for this life of separation and uncertainty and no control. I'm not nearly enough for him, for us, for our future family. I do so much better on my own with a shield around my heart, moving on to new horizons when things get difficult or stagnant or boring. I do so much better living only for myself.
A few minutes later, I sat at the piano at the assisted living center that some friends and I visit every Wednesday, and I tried to hold it together. For that hour, I pretended to be fine. Inside my world was falling apart. I imagined my life as it'd be if I called it all off that night. I felt so impossibly empty inside. I cried out to God: "what do you want of me?" "Where is Your heart in all of this?" "What am I supposed to be doing?"
If I'm to be completely honest, I never heard a voice from the clouds saying I should marry Justin, and I never heard a voice from the clouds saying I should call it all off. That's what makes it so hard for me: I want to be in the center of God's will, but 100% of the time I am only about 51.3% certain that I have any sense of what God's "will" is. My faith is fragile and weak. God's so silent so much of the time. I entered this relationship with Justin not knowing where it was headed, and at some point I became convinced that we serve God better together than apart. He felt the same way. We got engaged.
As I sat at the piano that night at the assisted living, singing and playing random hymns and pretending everything was fine when it most certainly was not (story of my life), God's presence washed over me. There was no "yes, go marry Justin." There was no "no, don't marry Justin." There was just the knowledge that God was with me, and that I would be just fine.
Whenever God has shown up in my life, that's how it has always been. "Daughter, I love you, and I will walk with you through this storm. Move forward boldly, knowing I am with you." He gives me the choice to walk either way, and the confidence that He'll walk with me either way. Sometimes, life is that way. There are choices to be made, and there's no black and white, no right and wrong.
But I chose Justin. I choose Justin. I will always choose him. In a couple months, I have the insanely high privilege of giving my life and my love to him before God and my family and friends.
This is what no one ever told me about, the doubts that assailed me, the terrifying uncertainty and the pressure of moving from "single and free" to "married and tied down" in five short months, the process of realigning my thought processes and my dreams and my ways of doing life, and doing that all while trying to plan a huge social event at the same time.
I've heard people say that falling in love never happens all at once, that they love their spouse more with every passing year. I think I understand a bit of that. With every day I spend with my love, I love him more. There was a time when I loved him, but could imagine my life without him. That time has passed, thank God. The season of wondering if I've made some colossal mistake is past, I think. Things won't always be easy, our love won't always be perfect, and I'm sure I'll doubt things again, in other forms. Marriage isn't going to be perfect and easy. But I have such confidence in our relationship, in the hand of God in our relationship, in His blessing on our future union.
God is so good to bless us like this. He's such a good God to not demand of me that I marry Justin, but to allow me to come to that place on my own, where I have the opportunity to try and test it on my own time, and to find it good. He is so good to promise that no matter what I choose, He'll walk with me. He's so good.
God's name be praised.
Thursday, April 24, 2014
for the building of a Kingdom
One time in college a friend and I drove out into the middle of the corn fields that surrounded our small college town to star gaze. It was dark and cold and we sat on the hood of her car, looking out at the beautiful expanse. (Then it got cold and we sat in her car.)
Her and I couldn't be more different in gifting. She's social and proactive and outspoken, while I'm quiet and introspective and introverted. I don't remember too much about our conversation, but I remember expressing my fear that I was doing a terrible job of following Jesus, and I remember her telling me that different people have different roles to play in the kingdom of God. There are those who do and there are those who think, and we need both.
I spend a lot of time in passivity. I like things to happen to me rather than to cause things to happen. I want to be a mover and shaker but I spend so much time afraid, so much time convinced I couldn't do it even if I tried. Part of it is laziness. Part of it is a lack of self-confidence. Part of it is temperament.
All of it needs to change.
God has given me gifts in academics and writing and music. It's time to use these gifts to reach out.
Her and I couldn't be more different in gifting. She's social and proactive and outspoken, while I'm quiet and introspective and introverted. I don't remember too much about our conversation, but I remember expressing my fear that I was doing a terrible job of following Jesus, and I remember her telling me that different people have different roles to play in the kingdom of God. There are those who do and there are those who think, and we need both.
I spend a lot of time in passivity. I like things to happen to me rather than to cause things to happen. I want to be a mover and shaker but I spend so much time afraid, so much time convinced I couldn't do it even if I tried. Part of it is laziness. Part of it is a lack of self-confidence. Part of it is temperament.
All of it needs to change.
God has given me gifts in academics and writing and music. It's time to use these gifts to reach out.
Friday, April 18, 2014
for my entirely inflated sense of self-importance
Hindsight. It's 20/20, they say.
They're right.
You don't really see the damage until it's too late, until you're living thousands of miles away and walking wounded. You don't see it until several years later when the ramifications of your lack of courage make themselves abundantly clear in your emotional baggage.
You don't even wish you'd done things differently. It happened, you let it happen, it has made you who you are. Wounded or not, you know things now that you could not have known had you done things perfectly. You do wish, though, that it didn't hurt so much. You wish you didn't walk with your guard up, you wish you could let it down and just be. And some day you hope you'll heal and that you will be whole again.
~~~
I walked into my Bellingham apartment late one night, just off work from an evening shift at Walmart. I was living alone that summer, and I had no close friends in the city.
I wondered that night if I was losing my mind. Like really losing my mind. I felt on the verge of snapping, for no real reason but for the loud conversation in my head. I felt the tension of struggling to hold onto a healthy perspective of the world. I felt myself losing that battle, even if only for brief moments
I talked to myself out loud a lot that summer.
I stayed "sane."
Barely.
~~~
My first year in St Marys was emotional hell. I won't kid myself and say things are any better this year. My challenges are different this year than they were last year, but they're still here. They'll always be here. I'll always be here, teetering between sanity and insanity, walking the fine line of thinking a lot but not too much. I can't get out of my head; I have always lived there and it only gets more intense with each passing year. God have mercy, I'm a crazy liberal conservative post-modern academic-drop-out soon-to-be-navy-wife can't-get-out-of-my-head girl with an entirely inflated sense of self-importance.
That last part hits the nail on the head. Inflated sense of self-importance, indeed.
Does anyone really care, and should they care about what I think about church or God or any of it? These things I rail against? They reflect more on my emotional baggage and my scars than they do on reality.
~~~
There's this blog I follow off and on. The woman is a talented writer and her ideas fascinated me for a time. She had a terrible experience in fundamental Christianity growing up, and her blog is devoted to fighting off the demons of her past. Everything she says makes logical sense, but it is also entirely tainted by her terrible experiences. She is unable to see good in most everything, because she walks wounded. It bleeds through everything.
And so I had to stop giving her voice any real authority, not because her story isn't incredibly important, but because it's just that: one story.
My story is just one story. My experience of God is only one experience of God. He's a big God. I need to let Him be big.
~~~
I want to write a book. I want to write a "spiritual memoir," as if it gets any more naval-gazing-y than that.
I don't, however, want to write a book as one wounded, as one lashing out at a world that doesn't understand her.
I want to write in a way that creates a space for the walking-wounded in our midst. I want to write in a way that paves a way forward, in a way that brings the Kingdom of God to earth just a little bit more.
I want to breathe life, not throw punches.
I have always wanted to write, maybe now is the time, maybe it will prove not to be. I feel so under-equipped in the "life experience" category to do this. But I think it's time to try. My job situation will likely be changing here in a couple months, and my love will be deployed this fall. It's time to do something with my life.
I've been sitting here in rural Georgia spinning my wheels in self-pity for far too long.
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
when I go to church
When I go to church, I feel lonely. It's not the people. I have friends there, and even the people who aren't friends are nice enough. When people go to church, though, they morph into something I'm familiar with but no longer can emulate very well. They become Religious.
When I go to church, opinion becomes absolute truth. My friends often say things that I disagree with, but in most situations their opinions are harmless, just one opinion in a kaleidoscope of opinions. In most situations I can light-heartedly disagree. At church, their opinions come stamped with the Approval of God. We pray for our pastors to speak Only God's Words and expect that God will hear our prayers.
When I go to church, I go with a wounded heart. I've had too many moments in life where pastors said untrue, sometimes even horrific things under this Stamp of Divine Approval. Most of the time the falsehood is pretty benign, until it's not. Until it destroys.
When I go to church, I am reminded of my difference. I have come to embrace ambiguity and questions, post-modern thought and uncertainty. I find God in the what-ifs. It is an unbridgeable gap. We don't talk about God in the same language. The people I love the most understand God in doctrines and equations and diagrams. I understand him in the questions. I read the Gospels and wonder "what if?" They see proofs and evidence, heaven and hell and salvation.
When I go to church, I remind myself that I wouldn't have it any other way. The people I love the most in this world are evangelicals. I was raised evangelical; the heart of an evangelical still beats strongly inside me. I wouldn't trade this away for a "liberal" church, there the tension would only be reversed.
When I go to church, I find God. I find a strange comfort in the familiarity of easy answers, in the neat diagrams and in all of the cliches and asking-Jesus-into-your-hearts. It is in the tension between "them" and "me" that I find the context for my questions; my questions come out of a lifetime of living and breathing the brand of Absolute Truth that insists that American Christianity's conception of God is the Way, the Truth, and the Life.
When I go to church, God speaks through the pastor. God's words aren't usually the pastor's words; but God cannot be stopped. Praise God.
When I go to church, God heals my wounded heart. I find myself drawing near to God to find my identity and my strength. It is in community that I am reminded that God is the only One I follow, but that I can't follow Him alone.
Thursday, March 20, 2014
for the wildflowers blooming in abundance, hope, and freedom
I am not sure when I began to struggle with my place as a woman in the church. I think it was in Bellingham, probably, when I first came awake to the disparity between my church-at-the-time's stated position on women and the practical reality. I remember being taken aside when I agreed to serve as a worship leader and it being explained to me that I could lead the congregation in song, but I couldn't preach.
Oh. Cool.
At the time, I wasn't too concerned, I don't think. I was more amused that they felt the need to clarify. It was a bit unsettling (in the best of ways) that it wasn't just, I dunno, taken for granted. I had (and have) no plans to enter the pastoral ministry, and so there was no barrier put up for me personally. But I'd found the glass ceiling. I told most of my close friends about that experience. I won't ever forget it. One little statement that opened my eyes and, long term at least, played a small but significant part in changing my life.
I don't want a fight. I really feel little desire to discuss this or argue about this with the people I know will disagree with me or be angry with me. I want them to see things the way I do, because I'm finding such crazy freedom and joy on the other side of fear. But I know how long it took me to walk this road. I know the roadblocks on the way to freedom. Allow me to elaborate for a moment:
1) But the Bible says...
2) But all these really smart and important people say...
3) It's weird to hear women preaching, so it must be because it's not natural.
4) What if I choose to embrace women in leadership and it's wrong? What does this mean for my salvation? Is this a "slippery slope" type thing?
I know about each of these. I've worked through these questions (and let's be real, I'm still working through them) for years. I've found that it's a losing battle to argue with someone who already knows what they believe. They have their reasons, just as I had mine. I was not converted in a day, and it wasn't one person's clever argument. It was a process of discovering a deep emotion inside me that embraced my identity as a beloved daughter of God. I began feeling elation and hope any time I read blog articles about equality in marriage or in the church. I began cheering for the "other" team. I began to deeply believe that God desires to bring redemption from the Fall - not to perpetuate its effects - and that this redemption is, although not yet fully realized, something we, as Christ's body, should work to bring to earth. Your kingdom come, Lord Jesus, Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven.
With the fall came weeds and pain in childbirth. We work every day to lessen those burdens. What are we doing to restore the equality of Adam and Eve before God? I firmly believe hierarchy is descriptive, not prescriptive.
I believe in submission. I believe in silence. I believe in servant-hood. I believe in these things because Jesus modeled them. Have there been times and places where Paul's instructions to women made sense? Why yes, in that culture. Do the principles behind his instructions still make sense? Yes, in so far as we understand them in their proper historical and literary context. Do I believe that Paul meant for us to copy his instructions to first century Jewish/Roman culture in the present day to the letter? Nope. In fact, we don't.* So let's not even begin to pretend that we do or that we should.
And where does this all leave me practically speaking?
I find myself standing in a wide open grassy place with wild flowers blooming like crazy all around me. I raise my hands toward the sky and spin in joyous abandon.
I'm free. I will do my best to follow God where He leads me. I don't know where that'll be or what it'll involve. That's the crazy thing about following that same crazy call that uprooted Abram from all he'd known and transplanted him squarely in the unknown. Maybe I'll have kids and stay at home with them. That sounds nice. Maybe I'll go to seminary and write books and teach college kids. That sounds nice. Maybe I'll do nothing "important" with my life. That sounds nice, God doesn't really need me anyway. His promises will prevail in spite of my best attempts to stand in the way. But I want to be faithful to Him in each small choice I make, and I want to have the boldness to speak up when He calls me, in whatever forms that takes.
Here I go.
~~~~
*head coverings, women speaking in church and leading ministries, to name a few things that come to mind.
Oh. Cool.
At the time, I wasn't too concerned, I don't think. I was more amused that they felt the need to clarify. It was a bit unsettling (in the best of ways) that it wasn't just, I dunno, taken for granted. I had (and have) no plans to enter the pastoral ministry, and so there was no barrier put up for me personally. But I'd found the glass ceiling. I told most of my close friends about that experience. I won't ever forget it. One little statement that opened my eyes and, long term at least, played a small but significant part in changing my life.
I don't want a fight. I really feel little desire to discuss this or argue about this with the people I know will disagree with me or be angry with me. I want them to see things the way I do, because I'm finding such crazy freedom and joy on the other side of fear. But I know how long it took me to walk this road. I know the roadblocks on the way to freedom. Allow me to elaborate for a moment:
1) But the Bible says...
2) But all these really smart and important people say...
3) It's weird to hear women preaching, so it must be because it's not natural.
4) What if I choose to embrace women in leadership and it's wrong? What does this mean for my salvation? Is this a "slippery slope" type thing?
I know about each of these. I've worked through these questions (and let's be real, I'm still working through them) for years. I've found that it's a losing battle to argue with someone who already knows what they believe. They have their reasons, just as I had mine. I was not converted in a day, and it wasn't one person's clever argument. It was a process of discovering a deep emotion inside me that embraced my identity as a beloved daughter of God. I began feeling elation and hope any time I read blog articles about equality in marriage or in the church. I began cheering for the "other" team. I began to deeply believe that God desires to bring redemption from the Fall - not to perpetuate its effects - and that this redemption is, although not yet fully realized, something we, as Christ's body, should work to bring to earth. Your kingdom come, Lord Jesus, Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven.
With the fall came weeds and pain in childbirth. We work every day to lessen those burdens. What are we doing to restore the equality of Adam and Eve before God? I firmly believe hierarchy is descriptive, not prescriptive.
I believe in submission. I believe in silence. I believe in servant-hood. I believe in these things because Jesus modeled them. Have there been times and places where Paul's instructions to women made sense? Why yes, in that culture. Do the principles behind his instructions still make sense? Yes, in so far as we understand them in their proper historical and literary context. Do I believe that Paul meant for us to copy his instructions to first century Jewish/Roman culture in the present day to the letter? Nope. In fact, we don't.* So let's not even begin to pretend that we do or that we should.
And where does this all leave me practically speaking?
I find myself standing in a wide open grassy place with wild flowers blooming like crazy all around me. I raise my hands toward the sky and spin in joyous abandon.
I'm free. I will do my best to follow God where He leads me. I don't know where that'll be or what it'll involve. That's the crazy thing about following that same crazy call that uprooted Abram from all he'd known and transplanted him squarely in the unknown. Maybe I'll have kids and stay at home with them. That sounds nice. Maybe I'll go to seminary and write books and teach college kids. That sounds nice. Maybe I'll do nothing "important" with my life. That sounds nice, God doesn't really need me anyway. His promises will prevail in spite of my best attempts to stand in the way. But I want to be faithful to Him in each small choice I make, and I want to have the boldness to speak up when He calls me, in whatever forms that takes.
Here I go.
~~~~
*head coverings, women speaking in church and leading ministries, to name a few things that come to mind.
Thursday, March 13, 2014
for hope
Militant opinion often betrays more about the doubts of the militant than the illegitimacy of the target. We rail against things about which we ourselves face crippling doubt and uncertainty. We shout about the things that scare us.
I'm walking into a wide place of hope, and as I walk into the brilliant sun, I lay down my arms. I don't want to fight anymore. I just want to live in this place of hope.
You can't kill my hope. You can say what you will, believe what you will, do what you will. And I may disagree entirely, but my hope cannot be killed.
This world goes to hell in a hand basket. Mistake not my hope for optimism. In this moment, I am not optimistic.
But my Jesus' kingdom is coming here. It's coming soon. Redemption is on the way. I possess a hope with radical promise.
I look toward the day when the wrongs will be made right. I will live today for the right, because I believe that His kingdom is on the way. It's just around the corner. It's just behind the clouds, peaking through even now as we speak.
I see the rainbows every day.
Friday, March 7, 2014
for the wildness
There's a wildness to my God. This wildness defies characterizations or organization or categorization. This wildness blindsides me again and again the moment I think I have finally managed to tame my God.
I walked out into the inky blackness, desperate for answers. I begged God for the key to unlocking the big questions I had. Hell, salvation, women in the Church, the nature of grace... I wanted to know on which side of the line to land. The inky blackness enveloped me. I studied and prayed and discussed and emerged with no more peace than when I first embarked on this quest.
There's a wildness to my God. He doesn't fit in my boxes, he breaks through all the fences - he's way too big for them in the first place. He shatters my preconceptions, His Word constantly realigns my thoughts, gives me new questions.
There was a time when the Bible held all of the answers for me, when it brought peace and clarity. I've changed; now the Bible jars me with its begged questions, with its insistence on shattering my equilibrium. Who is God, anyway?
There is a wildness to my God. I believe in His consistency as I do nothing but change. It is his consistency that makes him wild. Wholly other. Essentially and entirely and utterly wild.
There was a time when I knew God. I don't anymore. Not really. There are things I believe about God, yes. Truths to which I cling. I don't claim any special corner on knowledge of God, though. He's too wild. In spite of this, I love Him. This Being, wholly Other, holds me. That is wild, ridiculously wild.
I walked out into the inky blackness, desperate for answers. I begged God for the key to unlocking the big questions I had. Hell, salvation, women in the Church, the nature of grace... I wanted to know on which side of the line to land. The inky blackness enveloped me. I studied and prayed and discussed and emerged with no more peace than when I first embarked on this quest.
There's a wildness to my God. He doesn't fit in my boxes, he breaks through all the fences - he's way too big for them in the first place. He shatters my preconceptions, His Word constantly realigns my thoughts, gives me new questions.
There was a time when the Bible held all of the answers for me, when it brought peace and clarity. I've changed; now the Bible jars me with its begged questions, with its insistence on shattering my equilibrium. Who is God, anyway?
There is a wildness to my God. I believe in His consistency as I do nothing but change. It is his consistency that makes him wild. Wholly other. Essentially and entirely and utterly wild.
There was a time when I knew God. I don't anymore. Not really. There are things I believe about God, yes. Truths to which I cling. I don't claim any special corner on knowledge of God, though. He's too wild. In spite of this, I love Him. This Being, wholly Other, holds me. That is wild, ridiculously wild.
Thursday, March 6, 2014
for the rain that brings me home
The sky is obscured by a thick layer of clouds leaking moisture in varying doses, unrelenting in its delightful gloom. I love the rain. It brings me home.
I sit by the window of the coffee shop, sipping an americano and reading, listening to pandora and thanking God for this needed escape. In this coffee shop, swallowed in the comfort of muted conversations buzzing around me and an over-stuffed armchair, I can forget that I live in rural Georgia surrounded by people with whom I sometimes feel I could not have less in common. I love this coffee shop. It brings me home.
~~~
Life is characteristically lonely. I remember coming to this realization in my dorm room freshman year of college. Things haven't changed. I have acquired amazingly close friends with whom I would share anything, I have found a man who has my heart forever. And in the midst of these people who have supported me through thick and thin, I am alone.
If I am thankful for anything today beyond the love and friendship of the God of the universe, I am thankful for the internet. The internet connects me to a wide world where I am not alone. In the world wide web, there are doubters and cynics, there are poets and intellectuals, there are wandering artists and lonely souls.
What is wrong with the "real community" in which I am immersed in my "real life" that I would stand in a circle around a bonfire with people I love so desperately and yet feel so desperately alone? More accurately, what's wrong with me? How many of us are there, living here on the fringes or in the heart of this community, not willing to admit that none of this is as certain as we pretend it is? Why must fear characterize our questions? Why must we despise the very community we so desperately require?
Today I despise my mind, my emotions, my liberal arts education (both undergraduate and graduate), and my inability to turn it all off. Today I despise the questions, the necessity (in my mind, at least) for historical context. I despise my cynicism and inability to trust any one philosophical framework. I despise where reading blogs and NT Wright and Dietrich Bonhoeffer has brought me. I despise the friends who have encouraged me to use my mind.
Where has it all brought me? Here, where my questions are met with cloaked hostility. Here, where I have two people in my physical location who know what is *really* going on in my brain. Here, where I edit myself and compromise, where I mourn and fear what I am becoming, where I hide.
~~~
At the end of the day, though, it is only here, in this very place, where I would be. Here, where any opinion I form is hard-won, where my perspective stands in sharp relief with those around me. It's lonely, but I remain fearlessly optimistic that it is here that God is sanctifying me. Here, I am not a lemming. Here, my perspective forms under the least amount of coercion possible.
Here, in the conservative capital of 'Murica, I have carved out a hard-won freedom to follow Jesus as he calls me. As nice as it would be to live in community with Christian hipsters and cynics and intellectuals, I would be a lemming. A chameleon. My opinions would require a refining possible only in a community like the one in which I find myself.
~~~
And so I will embrace this place. I'll sit in this coffee shop another rainy day and let the rain transport me home. And for just a few more days it'll be okay that I live in this far away land.
And then I'll need the rain to come back.
I sit by the window of the coffee shop, sipping an americano and reading, listening to pandora and thanking God for this needed escape. In this coffee shop, swallowed in the comfort of muted conversations buzzing around me and an over-stuffed armchair, I can forget that I live in rural Georgia surrounded by people with whom I sometimes feel I could not have less in common. I love this coffee shop. It brings me home.
~~~
Life is characteristically lonely. I remember coming to this realization in my dorm room freshman year of college. Things haven't changed. I have acquired amazingly close friends with whom I would share anything, I have found a man who has my heart forever. And in the midst of these people who have supported me through thick and thin, I am alone.
If I am thankful for anything today beyond the love and friendship of the God of the universe, I am thankful for the internet. The internet connects me to a wide world where I am not alone. In the world wide web, there are doubters and cynics, there are poets and intellectuals, there are wandering artists and lonely souls.
What is wrong with the "real community" in which I am immersed in my "real life" that I would stand in a circle around a bonfire with people I love so desperately and yet feel so desperately alone? More accurately, what's wrong with me? How many of us are there, living here on the fringes or in the heart of this community, not willing to admit that none of this is as certain as we pretend it is? Why must fear characterize our questions? Why must we despise the very community we so desperately require?
Today I despise my mind, my emotions, my liberal arts education (both undergraduate and graduate), and my inability to turn it all off. Today I despise the questions, the necessity (in my mind, at least) for historical context. I despise my cynicism and inability to trust any one philosophical framework. I despise where reading blogs and NT Wright and Dietrich Bonhoeffer has brought me. I despise the friends who have encouraged me to use my mind.
Where has it all brought me? Here, where my questions are met with cloaked hostility. Here, where I have two people in my physical location who know what is *really* going on in my brain. Here, where I edit myself and compromise, where I mourn and fear what I am becoming, where I hide.
~~~
At the end of the day, though, it is only here, in this very place, where I would be. Here, where any opinion I form is hard-won, where my perspective stands in sharp relief with those around me. It's lonely, but I remain fearlessly optimistic that it is here that God is sanctifying me. Here, I am not a lemming. Here, my perspective forms under the least amount of coercion possible.
Here, in the conservative capital of 'Murica, I have carved out a hard-won freedom to follow Jesus as he calls me. As nice as it would be to live in community with Christian hipsters and cynics and intellectuals, I would be a lemming. A chameleon. My opinions would require a refining possible only in a community like the one in which I find myself.
~~~
And so I will embrace this place. I'll sit in this coffee shop another rainy day and let the rain transport me home. And for just a few more days it'll be okay that I live in this far away land.
And then I'll need the rain to come back.
Sunday, March 2, 2014
for the crazy days of engagement, 125 days left edition
A few short days ago, I sat down to write the following:
for the crazy days of engagement, ??? days left edition
"God's timing is always perfect," it is said.
I stand here today not having a clue when I'll be getting married. Thank the Navy - it appears there's a distinct possibility Justin will be deployed soon, and, with no specifics as to duration, the Navy just blew our wedding date out of the water (pun intended).
There aren't really words for the range of emotions I have experienced over the past 48 hours: shock, anger, sorrow, fear, hope, hopelessness, each in their turn. In recent years and months, I have struggled much with God's will. Does God control life's events? I was landing frequently on "no." God walks with us, I thought, but certainly isn't ordaining or orchestrating pain.
The funny thing is, though; when this crisis hit, I realized how deeply I believe at my core that God not only holds and walks with Justin and me through this time, He is also in control.
"Thy will be done," is my prayer.
~~~
Justin just called from the boat. I missed the call. There was no voice mail. In that moment of crazy fear, coming just as I was sitting down to write this blog post on the peace that passes all understanding, I was reminded how much my flesh and spirit fail, how dependent I am on God every moment of every day. My peace, hope, and joy find their source in Him, not in my "good temperament," coping skills, or spirituality.
My stomach is tied in knots, my sleep is restless, and my heart hurts. But God is my portion and my strength. There is a peace that passes all understanding, and it is mine in Christ Jesus.Right after I wrote the above, Justin got off work and let me know that the deployment is probably not going to happen. For now, at least, we continue to plan and hope for a July 5 wedding. But I hold it all with an open hand now. God holds Justin and me and our future marriage in His hand. There's no need for me to hold my future with a clenched fist, for God is above me, above the Navy. He ordains each of our days and directs our footsteps. He will not let us fall.
I'd like to think I'm getting married in 125 days. But at the end of the day, I will leave it in God's hands. He knows best.
Thursday, February 20, 2014
for the crazy days of engagement, 135 days left edition
time moves on & pressure builds & decisions have to be made & i'm just not cut out for this planning thing & will it come together & this is not our day after all & all of the stress
My brain's a muddled mess. I have always known I'm not really a wedding girl. The wedding is often thought of as the bride's responsibility (which is ridiculous and in my case does not reflect reality) and I really only want one thing, no, two things out of the wedding:
1) I want to marry my love.
2) I want all of the people we love to gather in one place to celebrate family and new beginnings and love.
That's really it. I don't have a clue how to decorate or how to do invitations or how to register or what we should really be spending money on and what it's okay to scrap. I'm afraid of disappointing people, afraid that I'm not enough, afraid that if I don't throw a cool enough party that I'll be cast out.
I've had so many people offering me advice, some wanted, some not-so-much. It's not that I have it all together or that I don't need help, it's that when people barrage me with lists of things that they did for their weddings or that I shouldn't do or that I need to make sure to do or everyone will be pissed, I am reminded of how much I don't fit in this world. I am a simple girl, with simple ideas about what makes life tick. I'm the girl without a whole lot of furniture (I do own some and would probably have collected more if not for the fact that I won't need it 4.5 months time). I'm the girl who lived off of $900 a month with $700 of that going to rent/utilities during my first year in Bellingham. I'm the girl who'd rather just spend time with people than watch a movie or go somewhere.
I refuse to apologize for those things.
However, I feel like I need to anyway, because suddenly my personality conflicts entirely with what is expected of me.
Do I want my wedding to be amazing?
Yes.
Will it be?
Probably not.
I'm a people pleaser, so that last bit is a hard pill to swallow. I'm just not cut out for this.
I'm gonna pull out all the stops, even the ones I don't possess, because really and truly, I want to do a good job at this wedding thing. I want this to be a happy day for my love and I and for the dearly loved people who will travel from near and far to attend our wedding.
I am so very sorry if I fail.
P.S. My love is the one who's really pulling most of the weight in this wedding planning thing. I'm so thankful for him.
My brain's a muddled mess. I have always known I'm not really a wedding girl. The wedding is often thought of as the bride's responsibility (which is ridiculous and in my case does not reflect reality) and I really only want one thing, no, two things out of the wedding:
1) I want to marry my love.
2) I want all of the people we love to gather in one place to celebrate family and new beginnings and love.
That's really it. I don't have a clue how to decorate or how to do invitations or how to register or what we should really be spending money on and what it's okay to scrap. I'm afraid of disappointing people, afraid that I'm not enough, afraid that if I don't throw a cool enough party that I'll be cast out.
I've had so many people offering me advice, some wanted, some not-so-much. It's not that I have it all together or that I don't need help, it's that when people barrage me with lists of things that they did for their weddings or that I shouldn't do or that I need to make sure to do or everyone will be pissed, I am reminded of how much I don't fit in this world. I am a simple girl, with simple ideas about what makes life tick. I'm the girl without a whole lot of furniture (I do own some and would probably have collected more if not for the fact that I won't need it 4.5 months time). I'm the girl who lived off of $900 a month with $700 of that going to rent/utilities during my first year in Bellingham. I'm the girl who'd rather just spend time with people than watch a movie or go somewhere.
I refuse to apologize for those things.
However, I feel like I need to anyway, because suddenly my personality conflicts entirely with what is expected of me.
Do I want my wedding to be amazing?
Yes.
Will it be?
Probably not.
I'm a people pleaser, so that last bit is a hard pill to swallow. I'm just not cut out for this.
I'm gonna pull out all the stops, even the ones I don't possess, because really and truly, I want to do a good job at this wedding thing. I want this to be a happy day for my love and I and for the dearly loved people who will travel from near and far to attend our wedding.
I am so very sorry if I fail.
P.S. My love is the one who's really pulling most of the weight in this wedding planning thing. I'm so thankful for him.
Saturday, February 15, 2014
for the crazy days of engagement, 140 days left edition
I'm engaged. Such a wild array of emotions accompanies that two-word statement: bewilderment, fear, surprise, joy, hope, sorrow, impatience, giddiness, uncertainty.
Several people have told me that I seem surprisingly sane for a soon-to-be bride. I think it's because I'm not afraid to be brutally honest about my feelings, about the hard realities of the adventure on which I'm embarking, about the fear I feel, and about the uncertainty that I'm equipped to love this man the way he should be loved.
As a teenager, I dreamed of getting married to my "built-in-best-friend." My husband would be someone who'd never leave my side. We'd make our way through life hand in hand, parting for only hours at a time. Certainly we'd never live apart. These weren't things I thought through, necessarily, just assumptions I made. Married people do life together. They depend on one another. If they're Christians, they serve God together. They're a team.
I came to the point a few years ago where I was relatively content with my single-hood. Sure, I had crushes on guys that made me want to throw my single-hood to the wind, but for the most part I enjoyed my life as a single person. I had absolute freedom over my life and my choices. My life was mine and mine alone to mess up. I moved around the country. I learned about myself, I asked the hard questions, I wrestled with God and with myself and with those around me.
And then, Justin.
With Justin came a massively unavoidable stop sign. I was suddenly stuck here in Podunk, Georgia, waiting to see what would happen. My priorities shifted slowly but irrevocably as I came to love him and want forever with him, and then the moment of truth.
Will you marry me?
Yes, yes, yes, a thousand times yes.
But you see, in many ways that yes was only the beginning of the yeses, of the choice that I have made every day since and will continue to make each day for the rest of my life.
You see, my love is a sailor in the Navy. My love won't always be there for me. That childhood dream of a man who would be my rock, my support, my built-in best friend? Well, there's some truth to that, but there's also a lot of not-so-true.
I've done so much processing over the last two weeks of my life. I've felt so much, traveled such long emotional distances. Grown so much, mourned so much, changed so much.
I've felt bewilderment and surprise. There's a ring on my finger. My finger. I'm engaged to be married. When did that happen? In so many ways, I still identify with single people more than I do un-single people. This change of the attitude of my heart and priorities has happened so quickly. I often feel detached from myself, as if I'm watching a stranger make this commitment to forever, as if there's no way that could be me.
And I've felt fear. Will I be able to handle it? What if it hurts too much to lose him? What will I do? Will my life just suck while he's gone? If so, will I also hurt him? I don't ever want to hurt him.
I've felt joy. I love this man. In under five months we'll be one. This is the one of whom I've dreamed, for whom I've waited, to whom I wrote those cheesy letters in high school. I didn't know someone so good could be mine. We make such a good team; I am blessed beyond words that God would see fit to place this man in my life.
I've felt hope. Maybe I can pull this deployment thing off. Maybe my twenty-five years of single-hood were good beyond just being stinking awesome (and let me tell you: no regrets - the things I got to do and the people I got to meet and the places I got to go because I wasn't tied down to a person were amazing). Maybe they taught me to be independent, a skill I'll certainly need in this new life of mine, this life where the person I depend on the most will not always be there for me. Maybe I'll learn a new level of independence and dependence on God. Maybe God will refine us through this (and I know He will, He has already refined me so much).
I've felt my share of sorrow. I've mourned dreams deferred, I've mourned Justin's departure months and months in advance. I've cried, I've been angry, I've panicked from the stress of just thinking about losing my love, even if only temporarily. Why, God? Why me, why us, why him? Why would you ever allow this to be my life? However it is that your will works, God, please be with me through this. I can't do this. I need You.
I've felt impatient. I wanna just be married NOW! I hate weddings and dresses and planning and making phone calls and dealing with all this stupid crap. Can't we just get married now, love? Must this be such an event? It's all such a waste of time and resources. And, yet again, I'm so excited for everyone to arrive, for the party that will ensue. It'll be a big party with all the most important people in my life present. Doesn't get much better than that. But why is it still so long from now? Why aren't we getting married in June or something, at least?
I've felt giddiness. I love this man, I get to marry him. Yay! Woot! *jumps and twirls and squeals in joyous abandon*
I've felt uncertainty. Why so many conflicting emotions? Shouldn't my engagement be solely joy-filled? Why this doubt? Does that mean it's all a bad plan and I should jump now?
Through it all, I've been forced to yet again closely examine my heart and our relationship. Why are we together? Why should we stay together? Why should we commit our lives to one another? What does it mean to work as a team for the rest of our lives? What does it mean to stand before God and these witnesses and pledge ourselves to the other for a lifetime?
Are we cut out for it?
Of course not. But God's with us. And that's enough for always.
140 days left.
Several people have told me that I seem surprisingly sane for a soon-to-be bride. I think it's because I'm not afraid to be brutally honest about my feelings, about the hard realities of the adventure on which I'm embarking, about the fear I feel, and about the uncertainty that I'm equipped to love this man the way he should be loved.
As a teenager, I dreamed of getting married to my "built-in-best-friend." My husband would be someone who'd never leave my side. We'd make our way through life hand in hand, parting for only hours at a time. Certainly we'd never live apart. These weren't things I thought through, necessarily, just assumptions I made. Married people do life together. They depend on one another. If they're Christians, they serve God together. They're a team.
I came to the point a few years ago where I was relatively content with my single-hood. Sure, I had crushes on guys that made me want to throw my single-hood to the wind, but for the most part I enjoyed my life as a single person. I had absolute freedom over my life and my choices. My life was mine and mine alone to mess up. I moved around the country. I learned about myself, I asked the hard questions, I wrestled with God and with myself and with those around me.
And then, Justin.
With Justin came a massively unavoidable stop sign. I was suddenly stuck here in Podunk, Georgia, waiting to see what would happen. My priorities shifted slowly but irrevocably as I came to love him and want forever with him, and then the moment of truth.
Will you marry me?
Yes, yes, yes, a thousand times yes.
But you see, in many ways that yes was only the beginning of the yeses, of the choice that I have made every day since and will continue to make each day for the rest of my life.
You see, my love is a sailor in the Navy. My love won't always be there for me. That childhood dream of a man who would be my rock, my support, my built-in best friend? Well, there's some truth to that, but there's also a lot of not-so-true.
I've done so much processing over the last two weeks of my life. I've felt so much, traveled such long emotional distances. Grown so much, mourned so much, changed so much.
I've felt bewilderment and surprise. There's a ring on my finger. My finger. I'm engaged to be married. When did that happen? In so many ways, I still identify with single people more than I do un-single people. This change of the attitude of my heart and priorities has happened so quickly. I often feel detached from myself, as if I'm watching a stranger make this commitment to forever, as if there's no way that could be me.
And I've felt fear. Will I be able to handle it? What if it hurts too much to lose him? What will I do? Will my life just suck while he's gone? If so, will I also hurt him? I don't ever want to hurt him.
I've felt joy. I love this man. In under five months we'll be one. This is the one of whom I've dreamed, for whom I've waited, to whom I wrote those cheesy letters in high school. I didn't know someone so good could be mine. We make such a good team; I am blessed beyond words that God would see fit to place this man in my life.
I've felt hope. Maybe I can pull this deployment thing off. Maybe my twenty-five years of single-hood were good beyond just being stinking awesome (and let me tell you: no regrets - the things I got to do and the people I got to meet and the places I got to go because I wasn't tied down to a person were amazing). Maybe they taught me to be independent, a skill I'll certainly need in this new life of mine, this life where the person I depend on the most will not always be there for me. Maybe I'll learn a new level of independence and dependence on God. Maybe God will refine us through this (and I know He will, He has already refined me so much).
I've felt my share of sorrow. I've mourned dreams deferred, I've mourned Justin's departure months and months in advance. I've cried, I've been angry, I've panicked from the stress of just thinking about losing my love, even if only temporarily. Why, God? Why me, why us, why him? Why would you ever allow this to be my life? However it is that your will works, God, please be with me through this. I can't do this. I need You.
I've felt impatient. I wanna just be married NOW! I hate weddings and dresses and planning and making phone calls and dealing with all this stupid crap. Can't we just get married now, love? Must this be such an event? It's all such a waste of time and resources. And, yet again, I'm so excited for everyone to arrive, for the party that will ensue. It'll be a big party with all the most important people in my life present. Doesn't get much better than that. But why is it still so long from now? Why aren't we getting married in June or something, at least?
I've felt giddiness. I love this man, I get to marry him. Yay! Woot! *jumps and twirls and squeals in joyous abandon*
I've felt uncertainty. Why so many conflicting emotions? Shouldn't my engagement be solely joy-filled? Why this doubt? Does that mean it's all a bad plan and I should jump now?
Through it all, I've been forced to yet again closely examine my heart and our relationship. Why are we together? Why should we stay together? Why should we commit our lives to one another? What does it mean to work as a team for the rest of our lives? What does it mean to stand before God and these witnesses and pledge ourselves to the other for a lifetime?
Are we cut out for it?
Of course not. But God's with us. And that's enough for always.
140 days left.
Sunday, February 9, 2014
for all the single ladies
But for a total of two and a half weeks split between two relationships, I spent my first twenty-five-and-a-half years single. For the first eighteen years, I was contentedly single. Then I hit college, and the rush to find a husband hit. I failed at that endeavor, and was crushed. And then I went to graduate school and discovered my independence and the joy that came from adventure and travel and truly living life to its fullest. I never completely stopped hoping that some day "Mr. Perfect" would come along, but I reached a place where I truly wondered if the single life wasn't for me. I liked the ability to uproot myself, to replant myself, to have my own opinions that didn't have to affect anyone; I liked the chance to live boldly and without concern for another.
And then things changed, so unexpectedly that I've got a bit of emotional whiplash (in the best of ways, though). I've met a man with whom I hope to live out the rest of my years. He is my love, my "better half" in the least cliche way possible, my best friend. I am my happiest when I'm with him, and he makes me stronger and more humble, better reasoned, and all of those other good things. He both leads me and lets me lead; we balance one another so well. When I'm with him, my world is right.
I want you to know, though, that my life isn't better than it was when I was single. It's different, yes. Am I happy with him? Yes, in ways I almost didn't dare to hope I could be. But my life was happy before my love came along, just in different ways. My struggles are different now, the things that make me sad different, the ways in which I often find myself lonely different, the things that I fear different. I don't want to lose him, not now, not ever. I'm marrying a man who I don't want to live without.
But I don't ever want to forget those years I was single. I don't ever want to forget how formative they were, how I learned to be strong. I don't want to write them off as somehow inferior to my life with my love. Those years made me who I was. Those years were valuable beyond preparation for marriage. They were valuable in making me me.
To engage in "what-ifs" is so useless. I am engaged to the man of my dreams; I'm getting married soon. I'd like to think, though, that had I never met Justin, my life would still be happy and fulfilled. I'd still be serving God, still be loving life, just in a different way.
And that, my dear single friends, is what I want you to know. Single-hood is not a curse. It may be what defines you, but it defines you, not as husband-less, but as a person with limitless possibilities. Possibilities for mobility and freedom and travel that are not possible when you're connected to another. Possibilities for service and relationships not possible once you're married. I don't have to tell you that, though. You know that.
As humans, we're never satisfied. You might always long for a mate and never find that longing satisfied. My heart breaks for your pain. But know that although my longing for a mate has been satisfied, longings have not ceased. They've just shifted.
In July I'll be marrying my love, and I'm marrying him as a strong woman, a woman who learned to love life without him and before him, a woman who will be able to carry on with the business of life during his deployments [but I'm still terrified for him to leave because I can no longer imagine my life moving forward without him in it], a woman who can be strong at least as much as I am weak. I'm marrying him as an equal, not as someone who needs a man to be strong. That's what makes us strong; we pull together, equally yoked. [we should get jerseys, 'cause we make a great team...]
I'm thankful for my single years. I don't miss them, but they were good in and of themselves. They made me who I am. Some of us marry young, some old, some never. May we all live our lives to our best ability. May we all serve God in the situations in which he places us. May we love another.
And may that be enough.
And then things changed, so unexpectedly that I've got a bit of emotional whiplash (in the best of ways, though). I've met a man with whom I hope to live out the rest of my years. He is my love, my "better half" in the least cliche way possible, my best friend. I am my happiest when I'm with him, and he makes me stronger and more humble, better reasoned, and all of those other good things. He both leads me and lets me lead; we balance one another so well. When I'm with him, my world is right.
I want you to know, though, that my life isn't better than it was when I was single. It's different, yes. Am I happy with him? Yes, in ways I almost didn't dare to hope I could be. But my life was happy before my love came along, just in different ways. My struggles are different now, the things that make me sad different, the ways in which I often find myself lonely different, the things that I fear different. I don't want to lose him, not now, not ever. I'm marrying a man who I don't want to live without.
But I don't ever want to forget those years I was single. I don't ever want to forget how formative they were, how I learned to be strong. I don't want to write them off as somehow inferior to my life with my love. Those years made me who I was. Those years were valuable beyond preparation for marriage. They were valuable in making me me.
To engage in "what-ifs" is so useless. I am engaged to the man of my dreams; I'm getting married soon. I'd like to think, though, that had I never met Justin, my life would still be happy and fulfilled. I'd still be serving God, still be loving life, just in a different way.
And that, my dear single friends, is what I want you to know. Single-hood is not a curse. It may be what defines you, but it defines you, not as husband-less, but as a person with limitless possibilities. Possibilities for mobility and freedom and travel that are not possible when you're connected to another. Possibilities for service and relationships not possible once you're married. I don't have to tell you that, though. You know that.
As humans, we're never satisfied. You might always long for a mate and never find that longing satisfied. My heart breaks for your pain. But know that although my longing for a mate has been satisfied, longings have not ceased. They've just shifted.
In July I'll be marrying my love, and I'm marrying him as a strong woman, a woman who learned to love life without him and before him, a woman who will be able to carry on with the business of life during his deployments [but I'm still terrified for him to leave because I can no longer imagine my life moving forward without him in it], a woman who can be strong at least as much as I am weak. I'm marrying him as an equal, not as someone who needs a man to be strong. That's what makes us strong; we pull together, equally yoked. [we should get jerseys, 'cause we make a great team...]
I'm thankful for my single years. I don't miss them, but they were good in and of themselves. They made me who I am. Some of us marry young, some old, some never. May we all live our lives to our best ability. May we all serve God in the situations in which he places us. May we love another.
And may that be enough.
Saturday, February 1, 2014
for the manipulator in me
The tendency toward control is always wrong. I have always feared and avoided manipulative people, but in the end, I am the most manipulative of them all.
When I am tempted to exert my feeble control over situations in my life, may I always trust Jesus enough to give Him control - to trust that no matter how the people in my life may fail me, He never will. In the moments when I most want to hold my life circumstances with a clenched fist - these are the moments I need most to open my hand and die to my desires in order that God may be glorified.
When people run away from me, I tend to fight to bring them back to me. May I learn to love them always, and that sometimes loving them means letting them run to the arms of Jesus.
When people betray me, may I turn the other cheek. May I allow myself to be humiliated and not lash out. May I learn submission and meekness. May I look always to Jesus for my sense of self worth.
Everything in me fights against this principle. The human in me wants people to do things that make me happy. The human in me wants always to be wanted, always to be valued. The human in me insists that life revolves around me.
And God insists quite the opposite. Life revolves constantly around my neighbor.
God forgive me.
When I am tempted to exert my feeble control over situations in my life, may I always trust Jesus enough to give Him control - to trust that no matter how the people in my life may fail me, He never will. In the moments when I most want to hold my life circumstances with a clenched fist - these are the moments I need most to open my hand and die to my desires in order that God may be glorified.
When people run away from me, I tend to fight to bring them back to me. May I learn to love them always, and that sometimes loving them means letting them run to the arms of Jesus.
When people betray me, may I turn the other cheek. May I allow myself to be humiliated and not lash out. May I learn submission and meekness. May I look always to Jesus for my sense of self worth.
Everything in me fights against this principle. The human in me wants people to do things that make me happy. The human in me wants always to be wanted, always to be valued. The human in me insists that life revolves around me.
And God insists quite the opposite. Life revolves constantly around my neighbor.
God forgive me.
Friday, January 31, 2014
for those of you who wonder what is my opinion on alochol anyway
Growing up, I didn't have a lot of rules. I was a self-regulating kid, as I like to describe my high school self, and I had no interest in alcohol or parties, in smoking or in boys. I committed to not dating in high school and never wavered. I never had a curfew, was never grounded. Quite honestly, I spent my high school years either at a church activity or holed up in my room reading Christian historical fiction.
I went to college and continued self-regulating according to the model of piety with which I was raised. I turned 21 with little fanfare - I continued abstaining from alcohol. I don't recall ever intentionally breaking the fairly strict rules my Christian college set up for communal living. The most rebellious thing I did was sleep in instead of going to church half of the time. I didn't really ever connect with a church family in college.
I do remember, though, going back for my third and final summer of camp counselling after my freshman year of college. I was nineteen years old, had lived a year on my own, and didn't really enjoy my last summer at camp. I chafed at "lights out" on the weekends, I disliked being treated like a high schooler. It was hard to live under someone's authority. I was a responsible adult and wanted to be allowed to make my own decisions about things like when I went to bed.
I preferred living at home during the summers. My parents trusted me and didn't really have rules for me. It was great. (Except that I didn't have a bedroom anymore and lived out of a dresser in the hallway, but that's neither here nor there).
I moved to Washington and there I grew up. The questioning I did in college and had thought I'd mostly resolved caught up with me and I began looking at my faith through different eyes. My faith was both stronger and less pious. About a year in to my graduate program, I decided to try drinking. So I began to drink socially. Well, actually, I first drank hiding in my room by myself (more on that later).
I can't even begin to tell you how that experience changed me. I became so much less judgmental, if only in that area, and so much more laid back. I learned that one drink does not impair my judgment, does not make me unfit for society, and sometimes alcohol just tastes good.
I just want to say something. I have never been drunk in my life. There have been moments where I approached the limit, but I always stopped shy of drunkenness. If I hadn't, though, the world would still be revolving around its axis.
I wish someone had told me these things when I was growing up. I wish I had had role models in my life who loved Jesus and who sometimes had a glass of wine with dinner. Not because I ever turned into a crazy party-er or because I was ever overly rebellious, but because if I had known from the start that used appropriately, alcohol can be a morally neutral activity, I would have done so much less judging, so much less assuming. I was afraid of alcohol. And, in the end, alcohol has no power over me that I don't let it have.
The Bible says don't get drunk with wine. I believe this is very wise counsel. There are good reasons to avoid drunkenness. We should always exercise self control in order to give Jesus every part of us. If at any point alcohol becomes an addiction or a source of dependency on something other than God, it is a problem.
Last summer, I stopped drinking. Since then I have had two drinks, both in social contexts where I felt it was the polite thing to do. I stopped drinking because I was trying to save money, exercise self control (prove to the skeptics - and if I'm honest, I was my biggest skeptic - I could not drink and be fine) and I don't really appreciate the taste of wine or beer all that much anyway. Do I plan to never drink again? Absolutely not. I have no idea what I'll do in the future. I'm not afraid of alcohol, though.
I have something I'd like to say. I know I'll likely be dismissed by many as misguided. I know that this opinion of mine puts me at odds with many in my church family (and biological family). But it's really important to me, so I'm gonna say it.
I am coming to firmly believe that when we say we "don't want to cause other believers to stumble by responsibly enjoying a glass of wine with dinner or out with friends," that this is ridiculous logic. In my teetotaler days, my faith was not impacted by my Christian friends who drank responsibly. I didn't not believe in Jesus anymore, I didn't even waiver in my beliefs in regard to alcohol. You know what I did do, though? I judged them.
They weren't as good of Christians as me, obviously. They weren't as strong, obviously. They were drunks (I had no concept that one drink does very little in the way of intoxication), obviously. They had compromised their beliefs, they were not a good witness, etc., etc., etc.
Then I attended a small group in Bellingham where they'd have beer AT SMALL GROUP. That was shocking. No drunkeness. Only lots of good discussion about God, deep study of the Word, and memorization of Scripture. Those people loved Jesus passionately, and it showed in the results of their ministry.
Then two of my closest friends drank. They both love Jesus, arguably more faithfully than do I.
Then I had a glass of wine in my room in my house at Bellingham, by myself, terrified I'd end up drunk and do something stupid. I didn't become drunk. I didn't do anything stupid.
And my world was forever changed.
So when I hear rumors of church legislation of drinking alcohol, it just makes me really sad. Sad because in my opinion these rules are based primarily in fear and in judgment and in a dependency on piety as the way "they'll know we are Christians." Sad because silly rules like this are driving many away from the Church and away from church ministries and in my opinion this shouldn't be a thing. The "thing" should be whether we love, whether we act on behalf of our neighbor.
You know what makes me the saddest?
My opinion on the consumption of alcohol could very well divide me from my brothers and sisters.
Maybe I shouldn't even post this if it will very possibly act as a divide. But I do believe that the end justifies the means. This is important to me.
Let's teach our kids to love Jesus, and to love Him through responsible choices. Let's teach kids not to judge the merit of someone's faith on their acts of piety, but rather on how well they love. Better yet, let's stop judging the merit of others' faith at all.
It's like a friend said today: Christians teach abstinence before marriage. When I heard about married people having sex as a kid, that didn't make me think that I was supposed to have sex. I understood that sex had an appropriate expression, and that was within the context of marriage. Did some kids have sex in high school or before marriage? Sure. Does that mean all married adults should never have sex? Of course not.
I think kids are smart.
They'll make their own choices. Let's model healthy ones. Whether that means drinking a glass of wine with dinner every once in a while, or whether that means never drinking at all, it doesn't really matter. But let's teach them principles that will enable them to make wise, healthy decisions.
Note: I of course recognize that drinking even one glass of wine in front of an alcoholic is a bad plan. Again, I stress the importance of making wise decisions based on whether or not the context is appropriate.
I went to college and continued self-regulating according to the model of piety with which I was raised. I turned 21 with little fanfare - I continued abstaining from alcohol. I don't recall ever intentionally breaking the fairly strict rules my Christian college set up for communal living. The most rebellious thing I did was sleep in instead of going to church half of the time. I didn't really ever connect with a church family in college.
I do remember, though, going back for my third and final summer of camp counselling after my freshman year of college. I was nineteen years old, had lived a year on my own, and didn't really enjoy my last summer at camp. I chafed at "lights out" on the weekends, I disliked being treated like a high schooler. It was hard to live under someone's authority. I was a responsible adult and wanted to be allowed to make my own decisions about things like when I went to bed.
I preferred living at home during the summers. My parents trusted me and didn't really have rules for me. It was great. (Except that I didn't have a bedroom anymore and lived out of a dresser in the hallway, but that's neither here nor there).
I moved to Washington and there I grew up. The questioning I did in college and had thought I'd mostly resolved caught up with me and I began looking at my faith through different eyes. My faith was both stronger and less pious. About a year in to my graduate program, I decided to try drinking. So I began to drink socially. Well, actually, I first drank hiding in my room by myself (more on that later).
I can't even begin to tell you how that experience changed me. I became so much less judgmental, if only in that area, and so much more laid back. I learned that one drink does not impair my judgment, does not make me unfit for society, and sometimes alcohol just tastes good.
I just want to say something. I have never been drunk in my life. There have been moments where I approached the limit, but I always stopped shy of drunkenness. If I hadn't, though, the world would still be revolving around its axis.
I wish someone had told me these things when I was growing up. I wish I had had role models in my life who loved Jesus and who sometimes had a glass of wine with dinner. Not because I ever turned into a crazy party-er or because I was ever overly rebellious, but because if I had known from the start that used appropriately, alcohol can be a morally neutral activity, I would have done so much less judging, so much less assuming. I was afraid of alcohol. And, in the end, alcohol has no power over me that I don't let it have.
The Bible says don't get drunk with wine. I believe this is very wise counsel. There are good reasons to avoid drunkenness. We should always exercise self control in order to give Jesus every part of us. If at any point alcohol becomes an addiction or a source of dependency on something other than God, it is a problem.
Last summer, I stopped drinking. Since then I have had two drinks, both in social contexts where I felt it was the polite thing to do. I stopped drinking because I was trying to save money, exercise self control (prove to the skeptics - and if I'm honest, I was my biggest skeptic - I could not drink and be fine) and I don't really appreciate the taste of wine or beer all that much anyway. Do I plan to never drink again? Absolutely not. I have no idea what I'll do in the future. I'm not afraid of alcohol, though.
I have something I'd like to say. I know I'll likely be dismissed by many as misguided. I know that this opinion of mine puts me at odds with many in my church family (and biological family). But it's really important to me, so I'm gonna say it.
I am coming to firmly believe that when we say we "don't want to cause other believers to stumble by responsibly enjoying a glass of wine with dinner or out with friends," that this is ridiculous logic. In my teetotaler days, my faith was not impacted by my Christian friends who drank responsibly. I didn't not believe in Jesus anymore, I didn't even waiver in my beliefs in regard to alcohol. You know what I did do, though? I judged them.
They weren't as good of Christians as me, obviously. They weren't as strong, obviously. They were drunks (I had no concept that one drink does very little in the way of intoxication), obviously. They had compromised their beliefs, they were not a good witness, etc., etc., etc.
Then I attended a small group in Bellingham where they'd have beer AT SMALL GROUP. That was shocking. No drunkeness. Only lots of good discussion about God, deep study of the Word, and memorization of Scripture. Those people loved Jesus passionately, and it showed in the results of their ministry.
Then two of my closest friends drank. They both love Jesus, arguably more faithfully than do I.
Then I had a glass of wine in my room in my house at Bellingham, by myself, terrified I'd end up drunk and do something stupid. I didn't become drunk. I didn't do anything stupid.
And my world was forever changed.
So when I hear rumors of church legislation of drinking alcohol, it just makes me really sad. Sad because in my opinion these rules are based primarily in fear and in judgment and in a dependency on piety as the way "they'll know we are Christians." Sad because silly rules like this are driving many away from the Church and away from church ministries and in my opinion this shouldn't be a thing. The "thing" should be whether we love, whether we act on behalf of our neighbor.
You know what makes me the saddest?
My opinion on the consumption of alcohol could very well divide me from my brothers and sisters.
Maybe I shouldn't even post this if it will very possibly act as a divide. But I do believe that the end justifies the means. This is important to me.
Let's teach our kids to love Jesus, and to love Him through responsible choices. Let's teach kids not to judge the merit of someone's faith on their acts of piety, but rather on how well they love. Better yet, let's stop judging the merit of others' faith at all.
It's like a friend said today: Christians teach abstinence before marriage. When I heard about married people having sex as a kid, that didn't make me think that I was supposed to have sex. I understood that sex had an appropriate expression, and that was within the context of marriage. Did some kids have sex in high school or before marriage? Sure. Does that mean all married adults should never have sex? Of course not.
I think kids are smart.
They'll make their own choices. Let's model healthy ones. Whether that means drinking a glass of wine with dinner every once in a while, or whether that means never drinking at all, it doesn't really matter. But let's teach them principles that will enable them to make wise, healthy decisions.
Note: I of course recognize that drinking even one glass of wine in front of an alcoholic is a bad plan. Again, I stress the importance of making wise decisions based on whether or not the context is appropriate.
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