It's funny how we, as Americans, have recognized our extensive labors, and have created a holiday to "reward" ourselves for how much of our lives we work; the spoils of our labors.
Even the name of the holiday reminds us of our work-driven lifestyle... "Labor Day".
It gives our normal, too-short weekend an extra day; ironically, it's when we have that third day that we finally rest. (Makes me wonder what we do the rest of the year, on the normal weekends...)
Now that I'm one of the working people in this country, I'm taking great pains to enjoy and maximize my time off work. After only two weeks of officially working, this three-day weekend was much anticipated, and much appreciated.
Being Labor Day weekend, summer's last hurrah, my hubby's parents came in for a visit. It's always too short of a visit, but my heart for them is always changed (for the better) whenever we spend time together.
This visit has been no different.
After their arrival Friday afternoon, getting home from work, settled in, dinner; then Saturday's relaxing morning, afternoon shopping, running errands, an evening around the fire pit at our neighbors; the excitement of Sunday morning, seeing my hubby preach his first sermons at a church other than our own, boy scout meetings, Ice Cream Truck!, and going out for dinner, Monday was ours.
**Monday was also opening day of dove season... believe me, I agonized over the decision to go or not. **
(turns out I'm very glad I didn't. The boys ended up standing in almost knee-deep water and mud from the previous evening's end-of-summer storm)
My in-laws and I decided we were going to the lake, instead.
I used to hate the beach; my insecurities prevented me from enjoying myself.
My lack of self-confidence kept me, ironically, focused on myself. I couldn't see the beauty in the other people, the landscape, the atmosphere.
I was so focused on my own imperfections, that's all I saw in anyone else.
After being at the beach for over an hour, I realized that I hadn't found a flaw in anything I saw.
(Which, I realized, was HUGE for me.)
All I saw, was beauty, in so many forms.
Beauty in the mom here with her young kids and thirty pails and shovels.
The Indian family, whose toddlers are discovering the joy of the waves.
The big guys, relaxing on their rafts near the barrier of the swimming area.
The endless children, screaming in excitement, throwing sand from the bottom of the knee-deep lake where they stand, jumping in the water, squealing at their discoveries in the sand.
The bashful teens, apprehensive about disrobing to get in the water.
The pregnant mommas, the muscle-men, the dads holding their kids just above the waves.
My in-laws, walking into the water, hand in hand; exposing just a wee bit more of a misunderstood love.
All of them.
So.
Beautiful.
Being here, seeing all sorts of us who represent this global humanity...
Overcome by the realization of how, at this moment, we're all beautiful...
Despite our imperfections, our character flaws, our broken-ness, our humanity, and the potential for the ugliness we all hide inside.
Something moves inside me, correlating with the clouds in the early afternoon sky peeling away from the sun, bringing new warmth.
Now that I've had this conversation with myself, I can rest.
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
Saturday, July 13, 2013
Intensity
July has been one hell of a crazy month, and I'm not even half way through it.
I look at everything my eyes see, my ears hear, and my instant reaction is to run into the furthest corner of the deepest cave, curl up all fetal-like, and cry; hoping that the echoing of my sobs scares away anything that may have followed me in.
The heat of our NC summers already makes me cranky, and pretty much annihilates any patience or tolerance I may have had during the rest of the year. Throw in a couple hot flashes a day (I call them "power surges"), some 95% humidity, and I'm toast...
Put me to bed; we'll try again tomorrow.
This summer, however, has been a bit different. The tests and the challenges this summer seem to be more intense.
I'm trying to remember the last few summers and the lessons experienced in them: lessons in humility, God's provision, trust and faith, and the difference between the two. Looking back, I realize there aren't enough pages in my notebook to describe every single lesson that last sentence entails.
Those lessons, while I was in the midst of them, were consuming; and I thought they'd never end.
I seem to recognize a pattern developing, where before the "lesson" began, I went though a season where it seemed like God answered every one of my whiny, selfish, pathetic, and sometimes angry prayers.
So a few weeks ago, I almost got suspicious when a bunch of my prayers were answered. In big ways. Better than I could have hoped.
I stopped for a minute, kind of cocked my head to the side, and said "wait a minute..."
I wondered what was coming around the corner.
Then my job fell through. It's all good, something better is around the corner...
Enter the month of July. It really hit the fan. A threat to my security; one of the basics of our human needs: Shelter.
The security of my home, my safe place, no longer felt like my own; I had no control over it anymore. Someone else, all of a sudden, was trying to call the shots on my life.
I tried to stay calm. I really did.
The first couple days of July, I think I was in shock, and just ignored the new challenge.
When I realized that ignoring the problem wasn't doing anything, that's when the internal tremor set in: Worry. I might have seemed calm on the outside, but inside I was in a state of constant trembling. Depending on who I talked to, sometimes it snuck out in my voice.
I wasn't seeing results, so I tried to wrestle control out of God's hands.
What?
It's only been 5 days on a 30-day deadline?
OHMYGOD!
We have to do this!
We have to do that!
We have to do SOMETHING!!!
The scariest thing about it was, I couldn't do a damn thing about it.
I was cornered into a tight space, with the walls closing in on me, the ceiling coming down on me, and the floor turning to lava. I couldn't write, I couldn't pray, I couldn't think. Routine out the window, every waking moment went towards fixing this "problem". Still, I was getting nowhere, except more and more confused. Not to mention scatterbrained.
** Thank GOD my girlfriends are the calm type in this situation. None of them made me feel like an idiot, and if I careened too far out of the way, they'd gently guide me back onto the right-minded path. **
Cookie-cutter Christianity wasn't cutting it.
The cutesy, one-liners almost pissed me off, because there wasn't any depth. Like a sympathy card from someone who doesn't know you. There was no solace in the pretty, flowery, almost cartoon-ish sayings..."God will only give you what you can handle."
BULL. The enemy is trying to KILL YOU. Dead, gone, whammo.
I like to rephrase that one when I see it..."God is a blacksmith, and you're a chunk of iron. In order to turn you into a finished product, He's going to have to beat the crap out of you. Hammers, heat, and fire, baby."
See, the second I think I can handle something, two things happen. #1, I'm not relying on God, and #2, that's when I try to take control. Neither of which is what God wants me to do.
Call it what you want... submission, obedience, your walk, living a faithful life, cruciform.
This shit is hard.
Not hard as in 'I can't do it', because obviously, I'm still here.
But hard in the way you decide to do something, and stick with it, no matter what comes out of it.
Basic-training (for your soul) hard.
Looking back in hindsight, you think, "This wasn't so bad", but when you're in the thick of it, you don't know if you can handle another hit, another day.
My husband really came through for me in a big way during this time. When I'd normally bow up and be the b*tch I have the potential of being, he immediately recognized the attack on us, and the damage it was inflicting. He saw me shrink back in shock, instead of the usual reel-me-back-in and quiet my snarling. While I was busy flaking out, he was taking care of business.
I got to the point of pure frustration: I knew I couldn't do anything, I knew who could, and I hadn't asked yet.
My most desperate prayer was this, in probably not so many words:
"Lord, you're the God of the impossible. It's kind of your thing. I really really need you to come though on this one, no matter what it looks like..."
I was imagining all kinds of crazy scenarios; travelling missionaries, pastor and his family moved to a new church in a new town, maybe God was going to move us to South America... (I know, I know... these are not crazy scenarios...but my state of mind while I was thinking of them was a wee bit crazy.)
And through a beautifully chaotic orchestration of perfectly timed events, God came though in a miraculous way. And still is. Over and over and over...
It wasn't overnight, and I'm glad. Because I had to fight the fears, hour by hour. I had to learn how to chase away the demons that plagued my thoughts. And I'm stronger for it now. I had to once again remember to apply first the lessons I learned as a baby in Christ. Like, trusting God. Not worrying. Knowing He knew our needs, and He'd make sure they were met, in accordance with our callings and giftings.
Then I had to really apply some new lessons: Understanding the power behind my words - were they creative or destructive? Was I complaining about what I was seeing, or was I speaking and believing God's promises? And the big one - what is my automatic response to challenges? Could I honestly look another hit in the face and still praise God??
With the help of my gifted mentor and trusted friend, I had my breakdown. I could barely speak.
I don't remember the words she spoke. But I remember the peace she brought forth, by practicing the hospitality that she does so beautifully.
By loving on me the way God made her to.
By reminding me, indirectly, that it's not all about me, but what He's doing.
By giving me a new and positive perspective.
By reminding me that going though this struggle would lead to an answered prayer (and a big one at that. One that puts us in position for the next season of our lives.)
Before I can remember what even happened, I was able to not only see, but understand this struggle enough to vocalize why it was so crippling me so badly, and I could see it from the angles of what God was doing, and what the enemy was trying to stop me from doing.
Once the words poured out of my mouth, a colossal weight lifted. I was able to relax, for the first time in a week and a half. I finally felt the peace again.
I was floating on a raft in the middle of her pool, just elated, resting. I felt the words coming; the weight that was lifted was the dam holding everything back. Creativity, coherent thought, and prayer flooded back.
Along with them came new understanding of ancient concepts, like radical hospitality, and community. The power of creativity that each of us holds, in some form or another. Grace, and patience.
Understanding that can't quite be put into words...
Yet.
I look at everything my eyes see, my ears hear, and my instant reaction is to run into the furthest corner of the deepest cave, curl up all fetal-like, and cry; hoping that the echoing of my sobs scares away anything that may have followed me in.
The heat of our NC summers already makes me cranky, and pretty much annihilates any patience or tolerance I may have had during the rest of the year. Throw in a couple hot flashes a day (I call them "power surges"), some 95% humidity, and I'm toast...
Put me to bed; we'll try again tomorrow.
This summer, however, has been a bit different. The tests and the challenges this summer seem to be more intense.
I'm trying to remember the last few summers and the lessons experienced in them: lessons in humility, God's provision, trust and faith, and the difference between the two. Looking back, I realize there aren't enough pages in my notebook to describe every single lesson that last sentence entails.
Those lessons, while I was in the midst of them, were consuming; and I thought they'd never end.
I seem to recognize a pattern developing, where before the "lesson" began, I went though a season where it seemed like God answered every one of my whiny, selfish, pathetic, and sometimes angry prayers.
So a few weeks ago, I almost got suspicious when a bunch of my prayers were answered. In big ways. Better than I could have hoped.
I stopped for a minute, kind of cocked my head to the side, and said "wait a minute..."
I wondered what was coming around the corner.
Then my job fell through. It's all good, something better is around the corner...
Enter the month of July. It really hit the fan. A threat to my security; one of the basics of our human needs: Shelter.
The security of my home, my safe place, no longer felt like my own; I had no control over it anymore. Someone else, all of a sudden, was trying to call the shots on my life.
I tried to stay calm. I really did.
The first couple days of July, I think I was in shock, and just ignored the new challenge.
When I realized that ignoring the problem wasn't doing anything, that's when the internal tremor set in: Worry. I might have seemed calm on the outside, but inside I was in a state of constant trembling. Depending on who I talked to, sometimes it snuck out in my voice.
I wasn't seeing results, so I tried to wrestle control out of God's hands.
What?
It's only been 5 days on a 30-day deadline?
OHMYGOD!
We have to do this!
We have to do that!
We have to do SOMETHING!!!
The scariest thing about it was, I couldn't do a damn thing about it.
I was cornered into a tight space, with the walls closing in on me, the ceiling coming down on me, and the floor turning to lava. I couldn't write, I couldn't pray, I couldn't think. Routine out the window, every waking moment went towards fixing this "problem". Still, I was getting nowhere, except more and more confused. Not to mention scatterbrained.
** Thank GOD my girlfriends are the calm type in this situation. None of them made me feel like an idiot, and if I careened too far out of the way, they'd gently guide me back onto the right-minded path. **
Cookie-cutter Christianity wasn't cutting it.
The cutesy, one-liners almost pissed me off, because there wasn't any depth. Like a sympathy card from someone who doesn't know you. There was no solace in the pretty, flowery, almost cartoon-ish sayings..."God will only give you what you can handle."
BULL. The enemy is trying to KILL YOU. Dead, gone, whammo.
I like to rephrase that one when I see it..."God is a blacksmith, and you're a chunk of iron. In order to turn you into a finished product, He's going to have to beat the crap out of you. Hammers, heat, and fire, baby."
See, the second I think I can handle something, two things happen. #1, I'm not relying on God, and #2, that's when I try to take control. Neither of which is what God wants me to do.
Call it what you want... submission, obedience, your walk, living a faithful life, cruciform.
This shit is hard.
Not hard as in 'I can't do it', because obviously, I'm still here.
But hard in the way you decide to do something, and stick with it, no matter what comes out of it.
Basic-training (for your soul) hard.
Looking back in hindsight, you think, "This wasn't so bad", but when you're in the thick of it, you don't know if you can handle another hit, another day.
My husband really came through for me in a big way during this time. When I'd normally bow up and be the b*tch I have the potential of being, he immediately recognized the attack on us, and the damage it was inflicting. He saw me shrink back in shock, instead of the usual reel-me-back-in and quiet my snarling. While I was busy flaking out, he was taking care of business.
I got to the point of pure frustration: I knew I couldn't do anything, I knew who could, and I hadn't asked yet.
My most desperate prayer was this, in probably not so many words:
"Lord, you're the God of the impossible. It's kind of your thing. I really really need you to come though on this one, no matter what it looks like..."
I was imagining all kinds of crazy scenarios; travelling missionaries, pastor and his family moved to a new church in a new town, maybe God was going to move us to South America... (I know, I know... these are not crazy scenarios...but my state of mind while I was thinking of them was a wee bit crazy.)
And through a beautifully chaotic orchestration of perfectly timed events, God came though in a miraculous way. And still is. Over and over and over...
It wasn't overnight, and I'm glad. Because I had to fight the fears, hour by hour. I had to learn how to chase away the demons that plagued my thoughts. And I'm stronger for it now. I had to once again remember to apply first the lessons I learned as a baby in Christ. Like, trusting God. Not worrying. Knowing He knew our needs, and He'd make sure they were met, in accordance with our callings and giftings.
Then I had to really apply some new lessons: Understanding the power behind my words - were they creative or destructive? Was I complaining about what I was seeing, or was I speaking and believing God's promises? And the big one - what is my automatic response to challenges? Could I honestly look another hit in the face and still praise God??
With the help of my gifted mentor and trusted friend, I had my breakdown. I could barely speak.
I don't remember the words she spoke. But I remember the peace she brought forth, by practicing the hospitality that she does so beautifully.
By loving on me the way God made her to.
By reminding me, indirectly, that it's not all about me, but what He's doing.
By giving me a new and positive perspective.
By reminding me that going though this struggle would lead to an answered prayer (and a big one at that. One that puts us in position for the next season of our lives.)
Before I can remember what even happened, I was able to not only see, but understand this struggle enough to vocalize why it was so crippling me so badly, and I could see it from the angles of what God was doing, and what the enemy was trying to stop me from doing.
Once the words poured out of my mouth, a colossal weight lifted. I was able to relax, for the first time in a week and a half. I finally felt the peace again.
I was floating on a raft in the middle of her pool, just elated, resting. I felt the words coming; the weight that was lifted was the dam holding everything back. Creativity, coherent thought, and prayer flooded back.
Along with them came new understanding of ancient concepts, like radical hospitality, and community. The power of creativity that each of us holds, in some form or another. Grace, and patience.
Understanding that can't quite be put into words...
Yet.
Thursday, June 27, 2013
The Truth Is...
Watching the news is EXHAUSTING. Period.
It stirs up emotions, hoping to draw out an instant reaction from viewers. Journalists on every network spin a web or words, words that they hope demand a response from their viewers.
If I want to get you on my side of an issue, I'm going to only reveal the ugliness of the opposition. I'm going to purposefully leave out details of my own ugliness, bigotry, and/or wrongdoings. And if, at some point in time, my dark secrets were brought to light, I'd find a way to divert your attention from them. This is Battle 101.
Twisting of facts, hiding and revealing of partial information; this is the reason I hate politics, I abhor watching the news, and I cannot stand arguments on social media.
In any quest for truth, there's always an attempt to obstruct truth; whether its hiding certain facts, covering up history, or throwing boulders in the path of those searching.
I hate to fall into the categorization of a conspiracy theorist, but come on. You have to admit, the access to fully disclosed truth in any matter is usually hidden in a labyrinth of useless information, u-turns of misinformation, and roadblocks of lies.
Our ability to think has diminished greatly in the last few decades; easy access to information, however convenient, has numbed the ability of our neurons to seek truths and put facts together for ourselves. It's much easier to make the quick jump on a bandwagon of a cause or agenda than it is to gather information for yourself, and make your own opinion.
One thing about bandwagons is that they're usually fast-moving, giving the person who jumps on little to no time to do the research into said bandwagon/cause/agenda. It's goal is to feed and fuel emotional response to opposition, usually with half truths, man-made rules, or blatant lies, in order to further a cause.
I have to guard my own words here, because I myself am very susceptible to being swept into any passing emotional current.
Emotions have the potential to be dangerous for me. I'm sure for others as well, but I'm not talking about anyone else, just me.
I make the choice, personally, not to choose sides in an issue.
Instead, I choose Truth.
Truth leads me daily, hourly, minute by minute, thought by thought, breath by breath.
Truth shows me the absolutes on either side of a battle.
Truth also holds me accountable. For my own actions, for my own responses.
Truth shows me when I am in danger of getting swept away by emotion; when those emotions can be beneficial, and when they're not.
Truth shows me the errors in my thinking, fills in the blanks and answers questions.
I'm a "mercy" person. Loving, caring, and compassionate. I cannot stand to see people suffering.
Maybe it's because I've suffered.
I've been tormented by the skeletons in my closet.
I've done horrible things, and I've held on to hatred and judgment of myself.
I've held on to the demons of what I've done far too long to remain comfortable.
I've lived in the glass house, in fear of constant rejection.
I tried to hide my shame from the outside world, and hoped to redeem myself by joining forces with those who oppose what I've done.
Let me tell you, all that did was keep me in bondage.
A constant reminder of my sin. I tried being part of something that stood under rules they established in an attempt to uphold something that only God Himself Is.
(Hm. Puts the Law of the Old Testament into new perspective...)
Enter Truth.
All at once, the fear, the shame, the torment, the self-hatred...all disappeared with a word...Forgiven.
It didn't come in the form of conforming to a set of rules established by men, it didn't come in the wake of legislation by any government.
It came as love, in perfect time, blowing on the breeze of grace.
Truth came to me, right when I didn't even know I needed it, just before I fell over the edge into a life out of control.
As time passes by, and my relationship with Truth grows, I'm learning more about the individuality of that relationship. How I was created for that specific relationship. How nothing outside of that relationship can dictate that relationship, or how one gets that relationship.
And I'm learning of the sweet freedom that relationship brings...
Freedom from conforming to any culture that judges, that separates.
Freedom from holding the roles of judge and jury.
Freedom from thinking that different is bad.
Freedom from the deception of being "better" than anyone else.
Freedom from worry. All worry.
Freedom from self-oppression.
Freedom from guilt that comes from our weaknesses.
Freedom from being ruled by my unstable emotions.
Freedom from being limited to only what our eyes see.
Freedom to believe in the impossible.
Freedom to not be busy all the time, or working all the time.
Freedom to love others, as we love ourselves.
The freedom that comes with knowing I don't have to have it all under control.
I don't have to save the world every single day.
I don't have to carry the weight of a world revolving around me...
And the incredible weight that's lifted from my soul when I slowly realize that it's not all about me, anyways.
It stirs up emotions, hoping to draw out an instant reaction from viewers. Journalists on every network spin a web or words, words that they hope demand a response from their viewers.
If I want to get you on my side of an issue, I'm going to only reveal the ugliness of the opposition. I'm going to purposefully leave out details of my own ugliness, bigotry, and/or wrongdoings. And if, at some point in time, my dark secrets were brought to light, I'd find a way to divert your attention from them. This is Battle 101.
Twisting of facts, hiding and revealing of partial information; this is the reason I hate politics, I abhor watching the news, and I cannot stand arguments on social media.
In any quest for truth, there's always an attempt to obstruct truth; whether its hiding certain facts, covering up history, or throwing boulders in the path of those searching.
I hate to fall into the categorization of a conspiracy theorist, but come on. You have to admit, the access to fully disclosed truth in any matter is usually hidden in a labyrinth of useless information, u-turns of misinformation, and roadblocks of lies.
Our ability to think has diminished greatly in the last few decades; easy access to information, however convenient, has numbed the ability of our neurons to seek truths and put facts together for ourselves. It's much easier to make the quick jump on a bandwagon of a cause or agenda than it is to gather information for yourself, and make your own opinion.
One thing about bandwagons is that they're usually fast-moving, giving the person who jumps on little to no time to do the research into said bandwagon/cause/agenda. It's goal is to feed and fuel emotional response to opposition, usually with half truths, man-made rules, or blatant lies, in order to further a cause.
I have to guard my own words here, because I myself am very susceptible to being swept into any passing emotional current.
Emotions have the potential to be dangerous for me. I'm sure for others as well, but I'm not talking about anyone else, just me.
I make the choice, personally, not to choose sides in an issue.
Instead, I choose Truth.
Truth leads me daily, hourly, minute by minute, thought by thought, breath by breath.
Truth shows me the absolutes on either side of a battle.
Truth also holds me accountable. For my own actions, for my own responses.
Truth shows me when I am in danger of getting swept away by emotion; when those emotions can be beneficial, and when they're not.
Truth shows me the errors in my thinking, fills in the blanks and answers questions.
I'm a "mercy" person. Loving, caring, and compassionate. I cannot stand to see people suffering.
Maybe it's because I've suffered.
I've been tormented by the skeletons in my closet.
I've done horrible things, and I've held on to hatred and judgment of myself.
I've held on to the demons of what I've done far too long to remain comfortable.
I've lived in the glass house, in fear of constant rejection.
I tried to hide my shame from the outside world, and hoped to redeem myself by joining forces with those who oppose what I've done.
Let me tell you, all that did was keep me in bondage.
A constant reminder of my sin. I tried being part of something that stood under rules they established in an attempt to uphold something that only God Himself Is.
(Hm. Puts the Law of the Old Testament into new perspective...)
Enter Truth.
All at once, the fear, the shame, the torment, the self-hatred...all disappeared with a word...Forgiven.
It didn't come in the form of conforming to a set of rules established by men, it didn't come in the wake of legislation by any government.
It came as love, in perfect time, blowing on the breeze of grace.
Truth came to me, right when I didn't even know I needed it, just before I fell over the edge into a life out of control.
As time passes by, and my relationship with Truth grows, I'm learning more about the individuality of that relationship. How I was created for that specific relationship. How nothing outside of that relationship can dictate that relationship, or how one gets that relationship.
And I'm learning of the sweet freedom that relationship brings...
Freedom from conforming to any culture that judges, that separates.
Freedom from holding the roles of judge and jury.
Freedom from thinking that different is bad.
Freedom from the deception of being "better" than anyone else.
Freedom from worry. All worry.
Freedom from self-oppression.
Freedom from guilt that comes from our weaknesses.
Freedom from being ruled by my unstable emotions.
Freedom from being limited to only what our eyes see.
Freedom to believe in the impossible.
Freedom to not be busy all the time, or working all the time.
Freedom to love others, as we love ourselves.
The freedom that comes with knowing I don't have to have it all under control.
I don't have to save the world every single day.
I don't have to carry the weight of a world revolving around me...
And the incredible weight that's lifted from my soul when I slowly realize that it's not all about me, anyways.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Superman
I've recently had a few weird things happen, like in the last 4 or 5 days. To anyone outside my brain, these wouldn't seem like anything strange or out of the ordinary. But inside the machine encased by my thick skull, alarm bells were going off, warning of impending danger.
One of them was a girlfriend inviting me to her house for their Friday night fellowship. (See? Totally normal.) There was going to be food (Yay!) and great people. Normally, I'm all in. But my honey was still at work, so I didn't want to go without seeing him first. See, he'd been working for almost 2 weeks straight, most of which was between 12 and 15 hours a aday. I knew he'd be tired when he got home (if not fall into an exhaustion-fueled coma as soon as he crossed the threshold), so I didn't want him to have to deal with 4 dogs, or phone calls, or anything of the sort. Now, if he was to say, fall asleep 5 minutes after he got home, so be it. I'd make sure he could sleep undisturbed, and roll on over to my friend's house.
As the clock ticked on, the window for this event at my friend's house was closing, and my honey still hadn't called. I knew calling him was pointless, since he was working in an industrial environment; not to mention the 900-ton press he was working INSIDE. I really didn't want to distract him...
So when my girlfriend texted me with a simple question, something set me off. The red lights started flashing behind my eyeballs.
I knew that whatever I replied would have been snarky, sarcastic, and more than likely, incredible mean. So I removed any chance of that happening, and shut off my phone.
For 2 days, I stewed. I stewed about what she could've been saying with her question, I stewed about my possible responses, and I stewed unneccesarily about the repercussion of any one of my possible (but imagined) responses.
I knew something was irking me, and I'd gotten to the point that I knew that whatever it was, it wasn't my friend, or her question.
So what the hell was it????
Oh.... hell.
Here comes the backstory.
In the last couple of weeks, I've had my eyes opened to just how selfish I'd been in my marriage. For a really long time. If you care to read that story, and haven't yet, you can read it here.
To make a long story short. my honey had been sacrificing all the things that were important to him (time with his family, hobbies, fun stuff, etc.) in order to go to work, to provide for our family.
I, on the other hand, had not. In fact, I'd added things to my list of stuff to do, places to go, people to see; without taking care of my priorities - my family. (Sadly enough, I called all this "serving God"...)
So I was completely oblivious to what my honey said when he told me he felt like I wasn't making him a priority. And I had the cajones to think he was being the selfish one! (Holy cow, I'm just now realizing what a complete tool I've been...)
Wow.
Anyways.
After a miraculous couple of weeks, where I had an enlightening and humbling prayer experience, a new outlook on what my husband means by "priority", and a fantastic job that fell out of the sky and into my lap, a lightbulb went on.
What was irking me so adamantly was the challenge to my recent declaration to stand by my husband, to fight for what we wanted, together.
If I had decided to ditch my husband, who'd been sacrificing everything for me, for us, to go fellowship with my friends, I would've been missing the point. (Not to mention moving the target.) Completely.
I would have been throwing away the last few weeks, going back to the mode of thinking where I was first all the time, I was the priority, what I wanted trumped everything else.
It took SEVEN MONTHS to get out of that mode of thinking. I wasn't going back.
Looking back on those seven months? I saw Clark Kent, just like everyone else.
I should've seen Superman.
Because my husband IS my hero.
No one else knows what we've been through together, and no one knows everything he does for this family. No one else knows what he sacrifices, what he deals with, what he tolerates, what he pushes through.
So in my book, no one else can judge our relationship, nor do I have the right to compare our relationship to any others.
A HUGE weight has been lifted off my shoulders,and I have a new spring in my step.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go do Superman's laundry.
One of them was a girlfriend inviting me to her house for their Friday night fellowship. (See? Totally normal.) There was going to be food (Yay!) and great people. Normally, I'm all in. But my honey was still at work, so I didn't want to go without seeing him first. See, he'd been working for almost 2 weeks straight, most of which was between 12 and 15 hours a aday. I knew he'd be tired when he got home (if not fall into an exhaustion-fueled coma as soon as he crossed the threshold), so I didn't want him to have to deal with 4 dogs, or phone calls, or anything of the sort. Now, if he was to say, fall asleep 5 minutes after he got home, so be it. I'd make sure he could sleep undisturbed, and roll on over to my friend's house.
As the clock ticked on, the window for this event at my friend's house was closing, and my honey still hadn't called. I knew calling him was pointless, since he was working in an industrial environment; not to mention the 900-ton press he was working INSIDE. I really didn't want to distract him...
So when my girlfriend texted me with a simple question, something set me off. The red lights started flashing behind my eyeballs.
I knew that whatever I replied would have been snarky, sarcastic, and more than likely, incredible mean. So I removed any chance of that happening, and shut off my phone.
For 2 days, I stewed. I stewed about what she could've been saying with her question, I stewed about my possible responses, and I stewed unneccesarily about the repercussion of any one of my possible (but imagined) responses.
I knew something was irking me, and I'd gotten to the point that I knew that whatever it was, it wasn't my friend, or her question.
So what the hell was it????
Oh.... hell.
Here comes the backstory.
In the last couple of weeks, I've had my eyes opened to just how selfish I'd been in my marriage. For a really long time. If you care to read that story, and haven't yet, you can read it here.
To make a long story short. my honey had been sacrificing all the things that were important to him (time with his family, hobbies, fun stuff, etc.) in order to go to work, to provide for our family.
I, on the other hand, had not. In fact, I'd added things to my list of stuff to do, places to go, people to see; without taking care of my priorities - my family. (Sadly enough, I called all this "serving God"...)
So I was completely oblivious to what my honey said when he told me he felt like I wasn't making him a priority. And I had the cajones to think he was being the selfish one! (Holy cow, I'm just now realizing what a complete tool I've been...)
Wow.
Anyways.
After a miraculous couple of weeks, where I had an enlightening and humbling prayer experience, a new outlook on what my husband means by "priority", and a fantastic job that fell out of the sky and into my lap, a lightbulb went on.
What was irking me so adamantly was the challenge to my recent declaration to stand by my husband, to fight for what we wanted, together.
If I had decided to ditch my husband, who'd been sacrificing everything for me, for us, to go fellowship with my friends, I would've been missing the point. (Not to mention moving the target.) Completely.
I would have been throwing away the last few weeks, going back to the mode of thinking where I was first all the time, I was the priority, what I wanted trumped everything else.
It took SEVEN MONTHS to get out of that mode of thinking. I wasn't going back.
Looking back on those seven months? I saw Clark Kent, just like everyone else.
I should've seen Superman.
Because my husband IS my hero.
No one else knows what we've been through together, and no one knows everything he does for this family. No one else knows what he sacrifices, what he deals with, what he tolerates, what he pushes through.
So in my book, no one else can judge our relationship, nor do I have the right to compare our relationship to any others.
A HUGE weight has been lifted off my shoulders,and I have a new spring in my step.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go do Superman's laundry.
Monday, May 20, 2013
Stirring
Something's happening...
Underneath the humming of our everyday monotony; despite our schedules and calendars, our plans and our goals, something's stirring.
Like an invisible army that rushes inside the wind...
Unseen, barely perceived.
But there...
Growing.
Quickening.
Carried by a generation who can't deal with the discomfort any longer; who are following an unheard of yearning for more of what's real.
Pushing past the keepers of the flame, refusing to settle for "what is", because the longing for "what could be" is much greater... no matter the cost.
A new generation who are gasping for air in a world trying to drown them in nothing, under the crushing weight of worthlessness.
They are the ones who've been surrounded since birth with everything, but nothing; increasing costs, yet all worthless.
They hunger for a reality better than this.
They were born with a heightened sensitivity to what's real and what's make believe.
In this make believe world we live in, they can feel what's real; they have the ability to see past the surface, into the deep.
They can see the shift coming without knowing what it is.
It is in them, for this right now.
There are the ones who've lived, who've followed the desires of the world.
They've been the offenders, the ones who've hurt themselves and others.
The ones who've done as they pleased, given in and followed every golden dream, every silver lined wish and desire.
And ended up with nothing.
Staring at empty hands, angered by the deception they've fallen into...
Falling to their knees, they cry out for Truth.
And it finds them.
Truth gathers them all, these different people: different ages, different cultures, different experiences, different lives. And unites them in love; pure, brilliant and exhilarating love.
They push forward into Truth; carrying it when the time is right, following it when need be, like a pillar of fire.
They are like a generation of walking dead; they cannot be killed, they cannot be contained, and they cannot be stopped.
They are aware of what's to come.
The stirring is the twitch in their muscles before battle; filled with a reality so powerful they can taste it, they can touch it.
Infiltrating a false world armed with Truth, swinging the gates wide open for an unstoppable kingdom to rush in.
The kingdom rushes in on a cadence that shakes the earth, sweeping every breath, every breeze.
Invisible but quickly dominating.
Bringing with it a new reality; ushering in the not yet by swiftly closing in the walls of make believe.
Underneath the humming of our everyday monotony; despite our schedules and calendars, our plans and our goals, something's stirring.
Like an invisible army that rushes inside the wind...
Unseen, barely perceived.
But there...
Growing.
Quickening.
Carried by a generation who can't deal with the discomfort any longer; who are following an unheard of yearning for more of what's real.
Pushing past the keepers of the flame, refusing to settle for "what is", because the longing for "what could be" is much greater... no matter the cost.
A new generation who are gasping for air in a world trying to drown them in nothing, under the crushing weight of worthlessness.
They are the ones who've been surrounded since birth with everything, but nothing; increasing costs, yet all worthless.
They hunger for a reality better than this.
They were born with a heightened sensitivity to what's real and what's make believe.
In this make believe world we live in, they can feel what's real; they have the ability to see past the surface, into the deep.
They can see the shift coming without knowing what it is.
It is in them, for this right now.
There are the ones who've lived, who've followed the desires of the world.
They've been the offenders, the ones who've hurt themselves and others.
The ones who've done as they pleased, given in and followed every golden dream, every silver lined wish and desire.
And ended up with nothing.
Staring at empty hands, angered by the deception they've fallen into...
Falling to their knees, they cry out for Truth.
And it finds them.
Truth gathers them all, these different people: different ages, different cultures, different experiences, different lives. And unites them in love; pure, brilliant and exhilarating love.
They push forward into Truth; carrying it when the time is right, following it when need be, like a pillar of fire.
They are like a generation of walking dead; they cannot be killed, they cannot be contained, and they cannot be stopped.
They are aware of what's to come.
The stirring is the twitch in their muscles before battle; filled with a reality so powerful they can taste it, they can touch it.
Infiltrating a false world armed with Truth, swinging the gates wide open for an unstoppable kingdom to rush in.
The kingdom rushes in on a cadence that shakes the earth, sweeping every breath, every breeze.
Invisible but quickly dominating.
Bringing with it a new reality; ushering in the not yet by swiftly closing in the walls of make believe.
Friday, May 10, 2013
"Perfection"
Did you ever hear the one about the selfish woman who was being transformed? No? Wanna hear it?
Here it goes...
I'm not really sure what the heck I've been doing the last few months. If you were to ask me what kind of "productive contribution" I've made to my household, I'm not sure I'd be able to answer you. Sure, I've cooked, and cleaned, & laundered every stitch of clothing we own (most likely in the same two week period). I've shopped for groceries and clothes for a boy who won't quit growing, & taken dogs to the vet fifteen million times. I've made lunches, made phone calls, and made it to the utility companies just before closing time. I've dreamed, I've prayed, I've done homework (mine & the boy's), I've written (people have written NOVELS in the time I've been dorkin' around), and I've served.
About the only thing I haven't done is bring in a paycheck.
After looking at the above list of things I've done, some of you may jump on the "girl, if you're doing all that you shouldn't need a paycheck!" bandwagon. And some of you may choose the "If I can do all that with a job, so can you." train. I beg that you read the rest of this before you jump on anything.
I've always worked. From the age of sixteen on, I've always had a job, if not two. I enjoy working, it keeps me physically busy. Some jobs challenged my mind, others challenged my body, and others challenged both. So having a job is not something I've ever had a problem with.
My issue has always been time away from my family. A stint in the military brought that home for me, deployment after deployment, unannounced 12-hour shift after unannounced 12-hour shift, cancelled weekend after cancelled days off. After leaving the military, I went in the completely opposite direction, choosing self employment over a job outside the home. This allowed me to work with my husband, be available to take and drop off our son at school, appointments at all times of the day for whatever reason - school programs and awards ceremonies, vet appointments, doctor's appointments, fishing, etc.)
I got spoiled. I love being with my family!
Fast forward a few years. Last fall, my husband found a fantastic job. FANTASTIC... for him (and for me). He got a steady paycheck, and I was free to do whatever I wanted. His paycheck was substantial enough for me to not need to worry about getting a job. (I could stay at home! YAY! A job I'd never had but always wanted!!)
A long time ago, after the economy went south, we decided that we'd never have debt again. We learned an important lesson that our family was more important than "stuff", so if accumulating debt was going to put us in a situation where we'd have to leave our time together to pay off that debt, it just wasn't worth it, in our eyes.
Sigh... Yes, of course we accumulated more debt. Go figure. Sometimes you have to screw up twice to learn the lesson...
So my husband has this great job, and we're paying all our bills on time, and blah blah blah.
Except, our debt wasn't going away.
Goals and dreams, and plans and schemes, they're all great if a couple is working towards them together. And, for every couple, that "working towards them together" looks different.
"I" thought we'd be able to stick to a strict budget. A strict budget that would pay our monthly obligations, and tackle the debt, little by little. "He" thought I'd get bored after a month off and get a job.
Seven months later, here we are, and here's what we have.
A husband who's frustrated, and a clueless, self-absorbed wife.
Sure, I listened to his frustrations, but I dismissed them, not willing to mess with my own agenda: my leisurely life of (say this out loud in a dreamy, wispy, fairy-tale voice) "writing, praying and serving the least..." (HA. I sounded like Mrs. Doubtfire...)
And I did this for six months. SIX MONTHS. (I'm surprised he's still married to me.)
The bricks of my "agenda" started loosening about the six month mark. I wasn't as productive, I wasn't as creative. Sure I was busier, but that was just the weak mortar patches in my wall called selfishness.
I had been praying for my husband before: "Lord, promote him in his job. Give him peace in his job. Give him satisfaction in his job. Blah. Blah. Blah."
One morning, I didn't know what else to pray for him. So I simply asked God to answer his prayers, and not mine.
Then something happened.
I was being made aware of one thing he was wrestling with, day after day. All of a sudden, I felt his frustrations; like they were my own. I felt his hopelessness, I understood his lack of motivation and inability to dream. And I knew why.
All of a sudden, I could fully see that if we kept on the same path, it would take us til we were 130 years old to accomplish our goals... have some land in the woods, a little house, be debt free. Simple enough, yet I wasn't helping in any one of the ways I could to accomplish those goals. I'd left it all up to him.
Humbled, I told him I'd get a job.
And wouldn't ya know, I'm excited about getting a job! I have no doubt that it was part of the transformation that had to happen. (Of course, he's elated, too!)
I'm excited because now both of us can see the finish line. I'm excited because I'm now contributing to our goals. I'm excited because I'm able to do something to bring peace to him.
And if it gives my husband hope again; my chosen partner in this life, my other half, my best friend; well, then, every bit of it is worth it.
Here it goes...
I'm not really sure what the heck I've been doing the last few months. If you were to ask me what kind of "productive contribution" I've made to my household, I'm not sure I'd be able to answer you. Sure, I've cooked, and cleaned, & laundered every stitch of clothing we own (most likely in the same two week period). I've shopped for groceries and clothes for a boy who won't quit growing, & taken dogs to the vet fifteen million times. I've made lunches, made phone calls, and made it to the utility companies just before closing time. I've dreamed, I've prayed, I've done homework (mine & the boy's), I've written (people have written NOVELS in the time I've been dorkin' around), and I've served.
About the only thing I haven't done is bring in a paycheck.
After looking at the above list of things I've done, some of you may jump on the "girl, if you're doing all that you shouldn't need a paycheck!" bandwagon. And some of you may choose the "If I can do all that with a job, so can you." train. I beg that you read the rest of this before you jump on anything.
I've always worked. From the age of sixteen on, I've always had a job, if not two. I enjoy working, it keeps me physically busy. Some jobs challenged my mind, others challenged my body, and others challenged both. So having a job is not something I've ever had a problem with.
My issue has always been time away from my family. A stint in the military brought that home for me, deployment after deployment, unannounced 12-hour shift after unannounced 12-hour shift, cancelled weekend after cancelled days off. After leaving the military, I went in the completely opposite direction, choosing self employment over a job outside the home. This allowed me to work with my husband, be available to take and drop off our son at school, appointments at all times of the day for whatever reason - school programs and awards ceremonies, vet appointments, doctor's appointments, fishing, etc.)
I got spoiled. I love being with my family!
Fast forward a few years. Last fall, my husband found a fantastic job. FANTASTIC... for him (and for me). He got a steady paycheck, and I was free to do whatever I wanted. His paycheck was substantial enough for me to not need to worry about getting a job. (I could stay at home! YAY! A job I'd never had but always wanted!!)
A long time ago, after the economy went south, we decided that we'd never have debt again. We learned an important lesson that our family was more important than "stuff", so if accumulating debt was going to put us in a situation where we'd have to leave our time together to pay off that debt, it just wasn't worth it, in our eyes.
Sigh... Yes, of course we accumulated more debt. Go figure. Sometimes you have to screw up twice to learn the lesson...
So my husband has this great job, and we're paying all our bills on time, and blah blah blah.
Except, our debt wasn't going away.
Goals and dreams, and plans and schemes, they're all great if a couple is working towards them together. And, for every couple, that "working towards them together" looks different.
"I" thought we'd be able to stick to a strict budget. A strict budget that would pay our monthly obligations, and tackle the debt, little by little. "He" thought I'd get bored after a month off and get a job.
Seven months later, here we are, and here's what we have.
A husband who's frustrated, and a clueless, self-absorbed wife.
Sure, I listened to his frustrations, but I dismissed them, not willing to mess with my own agenda: my leisurely life of (say this out loud in a dreamy, wispy, fairy-tale voice) "writing, praying and serving the least..." (HA. I sounded like Mrs. Doubtfire...)
And I did this for six months. SIX MONTHS. (I'm surprised he's still married to me.)
The bricks of my "agenda" started loosening about the six month mark. I wasn't as productive, I wasn't as creative. Sure I was busier, but that was just the weak mortar patches in my wall called selfishness.
I had been praying for my husband before: "Lord, promote him in his job. Give him peace in his job. Give him satisfaction in his job. Blah. Blah. Blah."
One morning, I didn't know what else to pray for him. So I simply asked God to answer his prayers, and not mine.
Then something happened.
I was being made aware of one thing he was wrestling with, day after day. All of a sudden, I felt his frustrations; like they were my own. I felt his hopelessness, I understood his lack of motivation and inability to dream. And I knew why.
All of a sudden, I could fully see that if we kept on the same path, it would take us til we were 130 years old to accomplish our goals... have some land in the woods, a little house, be debt free. Simple enough, yet I wasn't helping in any one of the ways I could to accomplish those goals. I'd left it all up to him.
Humbled, I told him I'd get a job.
And wouldn't ya know, I'm excited about getting a job! I have no doubt that it was part of the transformation that had to happen. (Of course, he's elated, too!)
I'm excited because now both of us can see the finish line. I'm excited because I'm now contributing to our goals. I'm excited because I'm able to do something to bring peace to him.
And if it gives my husband hope again; my chosen partner in this life, my other half, my best friend; well, then, every bit of it is worth it.
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
Battle Scars
We all talk about ours. I got this one on my knee from a bicycle crash when I was 14. I got this one on my forehead from a fall off a chair as a toddler. And I got this one on my hand from hitting a tree on a four-wheeler not so long ago.
Scars. Left from cuts, wounds, assaults to our flesh; from accidents, fights, injuries, crashes, or collisions.
Surgical scars, left from battles raged within the body; where the final attack on our part, (or the part of medicine) required brutal incisions - no matter how precise- in order to launch our physical retaliation. Be it fighting against disease, broken bones, removal of something that didn't belong, or something that wasn't functioning as it should be.
We all have them, and some of us take pride in them. We wear then as a decorated war hero wears his medals. Sometimes boastful, other times quietly.
Every scar tells a story. Some of them are wonderful and fantastic tales, so amazing that others wonder if it could possibly be true. Some of them are just minute blips on the radar of our time on this planet. And others have horrific stories that accompany them; stories that bring rushing back such terrifying experiences that if told, would bring women to tears, and grown men to their knees.
For every scar we carry on our body, there's usually an accompanying emotional scar; ones that aren't as easily dismissed. Physical reminders of a trauma that won't heal as fast as the skin:
The girl who still feels the heat of the fire as she sees her burned skin.
The soldier who still feels the impact of the bullet that tore into his chest as he touches the
scar.
The fear that paralyzes the man from the wreck that left him trapped in his car with a bone
protruding from his leg.
Physical pain or injury isn't the only thing that leaves scars; sometimes we're scarred from emotional battles or challenges:
A fight with a loved one, where you KNOW you said the wrong words. A verbal assault
that cuts just as deep into the soul as a sword through the belly. A moment where being
"right", or a moment of selfishness, far outweighed any hurt that the words would inflict,
usually spoken out of anger or lack of understanding.
A challenge thrown out by a group that you're supposed to belong to, supposed to accept
you, supposed to understand you, your heart. A new chasm opened up between you, and
the eyes to see it...
it challenges you, offends, and damages; leaving you wounded and raw.
More often than not (at least for me), regret is the first responder on the scene, followed closely by shame and sometimes, the lookey-loo (bringing nothing productive to the situation), more anger. If we're smart, interactions like that leave us scarred, hopefully for the pure reminder to NOT do that again.
These scars come in all forms, usually inflicted by words and our use, or misuse of them.
When I'm the offender, I'm just as wounded from the words I say to someone as I would be if they were directed at me.
At the moment I speak the words, my personal will far overshadows God's will. But He steps in, like a gentleman, once I've launched my venomous attack.
It is then that I notice Him in the room.
The damage is done; conviction sets in.
Conviction is my battlefield surgeon, stitching me up just well enough to close the wound and stop the bleeding, but not well enough to hide the damage permanently. So I have a reminder.
Then we have what I call Battle Scars. Sure there's physical scars or emotional scars. But that's not what I mean.
There are scars that we inflict from the daily choices we make. The scars and wounds carried from the challenges we face as we (try to) grow in our belief and understanding of our relationship with Christ.
For me, the biggest wounds are coming from learning the difference between "following Christ" and "Churchianity".
I'm learning that "following Christ" is much more painful; painful in the way that my life is being transformed, and my awareness of the changes taking place.
Instead of spouting off at the mouth, or taking offense to every negative word spoken, or automatically going after every single wish, want or desire, I'm beginning to look at my life through the lens of Jesus Christ - as if He's the one living it, not me.
It's like we say in church, in the Wesleyan Covenant Prayer: "I am no longer my own, but thine."
(Thine. Who in the world says THAT anymore?!)
In order to be "no longer my own", something has to happen to give myself up to this decision.
First, I had to realize I'm broken.
Fallen.
Not perfect.
Frankly, I suck.
Because of the fall of Adam and Eve in the garden of Eden, I now carry sin in this human flesh of mine, just as every single person born since, (except One). We ALL do. This leads me to be selfish, calloused, prideful, jealous, and interestingly enough, able to recognize the same in others. Quiet arrogance has historically been a fault of mine.
Second, I sought help for this fallen nature. Who am I kidding. How it really happened was, right at the moment I was at the lowest of the low, when I was under the rock at rock bottom, Christ found me there, hiding and ashamed. (Kind of like Adam and Eve after the fall?) He took my hand and began to show me the Truth about who He is, and opened my eyes to understand.
Third, I had to agree to this life, willfully submit to what could be.
In order to have "what could be", I needed to make room for Him in my life. So what could I give Him?
A couple hours on Sunday morning?
Didn't seem fitting enough for the King of Kings, the Lord of all Creation, the One who could take my life at the end of this breath.
Spend 30 minutes a day reading my Bible?
Again, not big enough.
What was I really giving up by squeezing Jesus in?
NOTHING.
I was still the same person I was, as pigheaded as ever, as self-reliant as ever, living like God was an "addition to", not a "rescue from" this life.
I love in Romans 12:1-2, the original language written says, "Brothers and sisters, because of God's mercies, I come along side you in comfort to present your bodies as a living sacrifice that is holy and pleasing to God. This is your only rational and logical worship. Do not be conformed to the patterns of this world (a.k.a. "religion", a.k.a. "Churchianity"), but keep on being transformed by the renovation of the intellect, so you can figure out what God's will is - what is beneficial, fully agreeable, and perfectly complete."
Anytime I see the word "perfect" in scripture, I realize that whatever it is in reference to, I can't do it, because I'm not perfect.
But Christ is...
So how do I get to live this life, sharing in the "perfectly complete"?
I have to give myself up. Not make time to squeeze Him in, not give up a couple of big-ticket items I want.
I have to give up my life. As a "living sacrifice", as Paul said.
I have to sacrifice me; my will, my desires, my life; in order for Christ to live through me.
And for me, it's not a one-time-deal-and-I'm-done. No, this happens every day. Decision by decision, minute by minute, breath by breath.
I die. What I want, my instant reactions, my emotions, my fleshly desires...I have to kill it all.
And moment by moment, in situation after situation, facing what I want versus what God is doing, I have to choose death.
Volumes could be written about that battle that rages inside me in that moment of decision time.
It's the most violent and bloody battle I've ever experienced. The battle between what my flesh wants to do and say, and my spirit, which longs for a re-union with the Creator; it's a battle I fight every day.
As in any battle, this one produces scars as well. But the scars are carried on Christ's body, not mine.
Scars. Left from cuts, wounds, assaults to our flesh; from accidents, fights, injuries, crashes, or collisions.
Surgical scars, left from battles raged within the body; where the final attack on our part, (or the part of medicine) required brutal incisions - no matter how precise- in order to launch our physical retaliation. Be it fighting against disease, broken bones, removal of something that didn't belong, or something that wasn't functioning as it should be.
We all have them, and some of us take pride in them. We wear then as a decorated war hero wears his medals. Sometimes boastful, other times quietly.
Every scar tells a story. Some of them are wonderful and fantastic tales, so amazing that others wonder if it could possibly be true. Some of them are just minute blips on the radar of our time on this planet. And others have horrific stories that accompany them; stories that bring rushing back such terrifying experiences that if told, would bring women to tears, and grown men to their knees.
For every scar we carry on our body, there's usually an accompanying emotional scar; ones that aren't as easily dismissed. Physical reminders of a trauma that won't heal as fast as the skin:
The girl who still feels the heat of the fire as she sees her burned skin.
The soldier who still feels the impact of the bullet that tore into his chest as he touches the
scar.
The fear that paralyzes the man from the wreck that left him trapped in his car with a bone
protruding from his leg.
Physical pain or injury isn't the only thing that leaves scars; sometimes we're scarred from emotional battles or challenges:
A fight with a loved one, where you KNOW you said the wrong words. A verbal assault
that cuts just as deep into the soul as a sword through the belly. A moment where being
"right", or a moment of selfishness, far outweighed any hurt that the words would inflict,
usually spoken out of anger or lack of understanding.
A challenge thrown out by a group that you're supposed to belong to, supposed to accept
you, supposed to understand you, your heart. A new chasm opened up between you, and
the eyes to see it...
it challenges you, offends, and damages; leaving you wounded and raw.
More often than not (at least for me), regret is the first responder on the scene, followed closely by shame and sometimes, the lookey-loo (bringing nothing productive to the situation), more anger. If we're smart, interactions like that leave us scarred, hopefully for the pure reminder to NOT do that again.
These scars come in all forms, usually inflicted by words and our use, or misuse of them.
When I'm the offender, I'm just as wounded from the words I say to someone as I would be if they were directed at me.
At the moment I speak the words, my personal will far overshadows God's will. But He steps in, like a gentleman, once I've launched my venomous attack.
It is then that I notice Him in the room.
The damage is done; conviction sets in.
Conviction is my battlefield surgeon, stitching me up just well enough to close the wound and stop the bleeding, but not well enough to hide the damage permanently. So I have a reminder.
Then we have what I call Battle Scars. Sure there's physical scars or emotional scars. But that's not what I mean.
There are scars that we inflict from the daily choices we make. The scars and wounds carried from the challenges we face as we (try to) grow in our belief and understanding of our relationship with Christ.
For me, the biggest wounds are coming from learning the difference between "following Christ" and "Churchianity".
I'm learning that "following Christ" is much more painful; painful in the way that my life is being transformed, and my awareness of the changes taking place.
Instead of spouting off at the mouth, or taking offense to every negative word spoken, or automatically going after every single wish, want or desire, I'm beginning to look at my life through the lens of Jesus Christ - as if He's the one living it, not me.
It's like we say in church, in the Wesleyan Covenant Prayer: "I am no longer my own, but thine."
(Thine. Who in the world says THAT anymore?!)
In order to be "no longer my own", something has to happen to give myself up to this decision.
First, I had to realize I'm broken.
Fallen.
Not perfect.
Frankly, I suck.
Because of the fall of Adam and Eve in the garden of Eden, I now carry sin in this human flesh of mine, just as every single person born since, (except One). We ALL do. This leads me to be selfish, calloused, prideful, jealous, and interestingly enough, able to recognize the same in others. Quiet arrogance has historically been a fault of mine.
Second, I sought help for this fallen nature. Who am I kidding. How it really happened was, right at the moment I was at the lowest of the low, when I was under the rock at rock bottom, Christ found me there, hiding and ashamed. (Kind of like Adam and Eve after the fall?) He took my hand and began to show me the Truth about who He is, and opened my eyes to understand.
Third, I had to agree to this life, willfully submit to what could be.
In order to have "what could be", I needed to make room for Him in my life. So what could I give Him?
A couple hours on Sunday morning?
Didn't seem fitting enough for the King of Kings, the Lord of all Creation, the One who could take my life at the end of this breath.
Spend 30 minutes a day reading my Bible?
Again, not big enough.
What was I really giving up by squeezing Jesus in?
NOTHING.
I was still the same person I was, as pigheaded as ever, as self-reliant as ever, living like God was an "addition to", not a "rescue from" this life.
I love in Romans 12:1-2, the original language written says, "Brothers and sisters, because of God's mercies, I come along side you in comfort to present your bodies as a living sacrifice that is holy and pleasing to God. This is your only rational and logical worship. Do not be conformed to the patterns of this world (a.k.a. "religion", a.k.a. "Churchianity"), but keep on being transformed by the renovation of the intellect, so you can figure out what God's will is - what is beneficial, fully agreeable, and perfectly complete."
Anytime I see the word "perfect" in scripture, I realize that whatever it is in reference to, I can't do it, because I'm not perfect.
But Christ is...
So how do I get to live this life, sharing in the "perfectly complete"?
I have to give myself up. Not make time to squeeze Him in, not give up a couple of big-ticket items I want.
I have to give up my life. As a "living sacrifice", as Paul said.
I have to sacrifice me; my will, my desires, my life; in order for Christ to live through me.
And for me, it's not a one-time-deal-and-I'm-done. No, this happens every day. Decision by decision, minute by minute, breath by breath.
I die. What I want, my instant reactions, my emotions, my fleshly desires...I have to kill it all.
And moment by moment, in situation after situation, facing what I want versus what God is doing, I have to choose death.
Volumes could be written about that battle that rages inside me in that moment of decision time.
It's the most violent and bloody battle I've ever experienced. The battle between what my flesh wants to do and say, and my spirit, which longs for a re-union with the Creator; it's a battle I fight every day.
As in any battle, this one produces scars as well. But the scars are carried on Christ's body, not mine.
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