Death

I think I'm about to throw up.

I've felt this way all day.  Today is decision day.
Do we follow God, or do we declare ourselves god.

God P L E A S E make yourself real to them.

I'm unable to empathize, or even sympathize with them.  I cannot put myself in their shoes, to understand how they could possibly be turning their back on this new thing.  

Heartbreaking.  The chill in the air causes me to shiver, concealing the trembling.

************************
Flashback a few weeks:

There seems to be, in my own mind especially, a battle between church as we know it, and this new thing God's doing...
     ...perceived or not, denied or not, there's something shaking down in the deeps of the Body of Christ.

Certain statements and blanket comments and old-fashioned attitudes set off battles in my spirit, setting my neurons and my adrenaline levels into overdrive.

For example, recently someone asked a seemingly innocent question, about what if nasty weather had kept Mary and Joseph at home when Jesus was about to be born, obviously referring to nasty weather keeping people from church (building).

Innocent enough, sure.
Add in context, and it's not so any longer.  I'll spare that detail.
Now, take into account the weather on the morning the question was presented:  freezing cold, wet, rainy, patches of slick ice on the roads.

I put my myself into the mindset of the masses for a brief moment, and answer the question.  "...Oh, you're right.  How would I be displaying faith if I let the bad weather keep me home?"  Or something like that.
     As if our faithfulness is measured by our church attendance...

I know that there are church-goers everywhere who attend a church (building) every Sunday, without fail, (& scoff at those who don't, but that's besides the point).

Many believe, as they were taught by the 'faithful' before them, that your church attendance and the activities you're involved in at the church (building) is what shows your faithfulness.

Sadly, our church (building) attendance doesn't show how faithful we are, it shows how habitual we are.

*************************

Driving home one night, I pass by all the beautiful homes and farms on the main roads.  Decades of hard work have yielded the results I can see on this bright moonlit night.

I pass church (building) after church (building), some big, some small. Being part of a small church (building) myself, I understand to some human degree the mindset of the people in these communities who attend these churches (buildings).  Self-preservation, work ethic, and a strong sense of "I worked for it", for lack of a better term, are common attitudes accepted and live by here.

Off the beaten, well-worn main roads, I pass by the side roads that are notorious for their drug activity, and the seemingly shady activities that have been known to occur there under the shadows of night.

Right on the corner, a church (building).

As I make the connection in my mind, I wonder what is is about the passing paradigm that keeps the people of the church (building) from reaching the people in these nefarious neighborhoods, keeping them separated.

As I'm wondering this, the angle of the moonlight illuminates row after row of headstones in the cemetery on the corner.

    The irony is not lost on me.

**************************

I struggle with my church (building).  One-on-one with the people is no problem for me.  Loving my neighbor isn't as much of a struggle as I thought it would be.  (Turns out, I'm a people person.)   I've been humbled many times, and been told by God to bite my tongue enough times to learn to listen.  Really listen.
And in that listening, God's showing me that this particular body of believers is very much representative of how the un-churched world sees the church -as a whole.

When we're gathered together on Sunday mornings, we've started to idolize the building, and the people who attended the church (building) before us.  We honor "God's house", careful not to take food or drinks into the sanctuary, because, after all, that's God's pew, and doggone-it, you're gonna respect God's stuff.

But we have no problem rolling our eyes at the person giving a testimony, and we have no problem letting everyone know our disgust at the people who are different from us.  Or that the pastor went past noon again.
Or using disgusting and derogatory words for people when we think no one's listening.  We have no problem spending money on something to put our names on, while people in our own congregation are going hungry.

*************************

The Truth hurts.  No matter who delivers it, what form it comes in.

It causes us to finally pay attention to the true justice we know deep down in our souls, but are either taught to ignore, or just flat-out choose to ignore, based on the amount of discomfort it causes.

Even worse, and more devastating than that, is when we ignore the Truth for what we've always done.

The Truth causes us to examine who we are, with all of our character flaws, our imperfections.

In the face of Truth, do we let it transform us, or do we turn our backs on it, and remain in our comfortable little lives, oblivious to the moves of Heaven, and our part in it?

*************************

Where He goes, I will follow.

Change

I sit in my newly rearranged living room, awaiting the onslaught of impending Christmas decorations, with my to-do list in front of me.
And no desire whatsoever to get off my rump and get it done.

I am in desperate need of time to process everything that's going on, time to stop and just listen...  listen to anything God is saying to me right now.

I seem to be caught in the whirlwind of everything changing, in what seems like every direction, all at once.

Things I took for granted as being safe and stable in the past, aren't appearing so anymore.

Not that I don't want certain things to change, I've just never thought of these things as... "change-able".  I'd never put any conscious mental effort towards the possibility of these things being different.

In other words, I wasn't thinking too far into the future.

What I DO know, is that God is turning a corner.  He's doing the unexpected, in unexpected ways, and the only way we can tell is that nothing is comfortable anymore.

Church isn't comfortable any more.  (And for many, church has never been comfortable.)
      Invitations have been laid on the table, decisions need to be made.

     Discipleship, when intentional, feels like a brutal, double-fisted conversation with a brick wall.  It's the un-intentionality that's proving to be most effective.  And, it's in the unintentional discipleship that I'm being held accountable to what I teach, what I say, and what I live.

  What I'm finding is the incredible grace that lives in that space between accountability and the humbling.

Work is changing.
      (Hell, the fact that I'm working is enough to confirm that...)

Responsibilities are increasing, as well as the intensity of the relationships.
      I've become very close to a few of the women at work, women who are teaching me as much about human nature, the heart of God, and the grace that connects them, as I hoped I could bring to anyone else.
     These are women who display & live in a grace I couldn't fathom; as their lives and experiences are very different than mine.  I don't even know if they're aware of just how much I see the divine working in them, through them:
          not returning hate with hate...
          giving sacrificially to the unknown, unexpectedly....
          forgiveness...
          unmerited understanding...

I am humbled into a silence of admiration.  These aren't "church folks".


I'm having to adjust the way I learn, for even now, that's changing too.

I'm having to use my thinker pro-actively now.  I should've known; for years I've been under the instruction of incredible teachers, who've taught me that learning is a 2-way street - it involves my comprehension and mental application to information brought forth.  (Not just memorization)  The way I process it is dictated by who I am, the life and experiences I've had, and who I'm called to Be.

If I don't take the information I've learned and make it personal, or process it into something my brain understands through the filter called "my life", well, then I sound like a regurgitating robot, who has NO idea how to utilize what I've been given, whether it's for myself or for others.

And then, frankly, I'd sound like so many other Christians I've come into contact with, reciting Christian platitudes, yet living completely opposite to all the ways that Christ told us to live.

I'm processing this crash-course God's got me on right now.
     How He's teaching  and clarifying things in my intimate relationships, usually not until I've screwed something up, then confessing my lack of ability to do any of it apart from Him.

I'm seeing an increase in the number of Christian organizations, of every kind, being exposed for their (dark) religiosities, their hypocrisies.
      I can see doctrines- formed out of fear, or the desire to control or correct- utilizing the mis-translations and misinterpretations of Scripture as their goalposts.  It's created nothing but a culture of ignorance; spoon-fed baby food, barely satisfying the bone- and soul-deep desire to know and understand more.
And, like a baby, when we cry out for more, we get another spoonful of baby food.

It doesn't satisfy us, but it shuts us up.

One of the problems with this, is that if everyone's getting the same food, (just different flavors) then we're not getting what we need to G.R.O.W.

We're not growing up in our faith, because we've learned to rely on the regularly scheduled feedings.

This is why, after generations of increasing spoon-feedings, we're now living in a spiritually impotent "Christian" sub-culture, who's closest connection to Christ is the name we call ourselves.


So, after all this has been spoken and chewed on, I ponder this new insight as the Christmas season approaches.
God so loved the world (the people of the world) that He gave His only Son...

LOVE.

Hypocrisy cannot exist where Love is...
Love crushes all religion's rules and standards...

And now, FINALLY, I'm excited to see what's coming around the bend.

Safe Places

I should totally be working on my notes for Bible study tomorrow night.

But instead I'm hopelessly distracted by thoughts of what's going on around me/us.
(Hopefully I'll be able to get it all out before work, so I can actually get some work done today...)

This morning brings an early conversation from one of my girlfriends.  Her family was thrown a HUGE monkey wrench; and she's been coming out of the protective cocoon she created in the aftermath.
She's doing awesome.  (thank you, God!)  Much MUCH better than I would be, if I were in her shoes.

We're talking about plans for the weekend, the family gathering we're trying to put together last minute, to celebrate Thanksgiving with our group; our tribe; since we'll be scattered on actual Thanksgiving.

I'm loving this.
We're a safe place with each other, to each other.
We know we're all in different places in our lives, in the physical and the spiritual.  We (the girls) laugh at how we've got 4 decades covered in experience.  But never in my life have I seen four decades of women get along SO well.

We each have something to offer one another, and it's just usually, simply, who we are; something God knew we'd each need.

It's when we, okay fine...  It's when I start thinking about how to do this, or how to do that, that I get all preachy, and bitchy; thinking I know what I'm talking about.

Sigh...

I'm so thankful for all my safe places.  Not places I can go to, but places where I can be...me.

For my teachers who witness my moments of idiocy, my breakdowns, times when I open my mouth, thinking I know what I'm talking about, showing my tail.  And yet, they either ignore my idiocy, or gently guide me away from it. And they still continue to teach me.

For my husband, who sees all of it:  the questioning side, the confident side, the creative side, and the destructive side.  The learning side, the selfish side, the giving side.  The only one this side of heaven who knows my heart.  He may not know what to do with it at times, but he loves me anyway.

For my girlfriends, who've seen me show my tail, and then so graciously let me know in their own way that they love me, despite my imperfections. (I'm hearing a "Bless her heart" in there...)

I used to be jealous of times when my girlfriends would hang out, and I couldn't be part of it.  I would try to move heaven and earth to get to be part of their gathering, That's what my selfish, prideful and center-of-attention personality demanded.

And then I realized what a blockhead I am.
     Who am I to think that someone needs me around?
     Who am I to think that I can teach someone anything?
     Am I not still a student myself??!!

I have to keep this thought at the forefront of my day; or I become useless.

God isn't going to use me for what I know, He's going to use me for who I am.


Wait a minute...


That "I am" just got caught in my throat...

Veteran's Day, Birthdays, Tribes and Other Mental Vomitus

The ever-shortening weekends leave me ragged. 
    
Not enough time to get done what always presses to be done, I find myself longing for the workweek, so I can ignore domestic chores again, calling it "for the benefit of my sanity".
 
It's a vicious cycle, one that I'm choosing to ignore.  There are far more pressing items to contend with, such as a brain that won't shut down; thoughts that can't be organized.

So excuse my rambling thoughts, as there is absolutely no cognitive order to any of it.  I need to process it all, and this place is how I do that.

______________________________________

Realizing as my husband walked out the door that today's his birthday, I was overcome with guilt that I didn't plan anything in advance.  I am usually the one in the family who makes a big deal out of birthdays. 
I prayed a quick prayer, that God would show me what to do, special, for my hubby, while I writhed in my busy-ness.
I was not really expecting a response, but I definitely got one.

"Don't use your relationship with Me as an excuse not to think."

Uhhhh...crap. 
That does not help. 

At all.

______________________________________


Today is also Veteran's Day. 
A day of reflection for me, one near and dear to my heart. 
I find my small-ness in this day, not a product of, or a result of, but rather a tiny cog in the mighty military machine of this country.  Twelve years of my life given to this country, and I wouldn't trade it for anything. 

It isn't for the experiences, it isn't for the mission that I ache with remembrance.

It's the people. 

Some of the most amazing people I've known in this lifetime served alongside of me. 

Others served before me, setting the stage for legacy upon legacy of national service and dedication that could only come from the generations before.

It's the closest my 'pre-Jesus' life offered of community, outside of family.  (Yet in a dysfunctional family kind of way.)

So this weekend, when we learned of the unexpected passing of one of the guys we turned wrenches with, the strangest thing happened. 
My heart kind of broke.  We weren't close, but plenty were.  He was an AWESOME person.  One of the funniest people I've worked with, and made a sometimes really hard job not so bad.

He's not the only one, there have been others. 
Zooming out from the perspective of my life, and those in my sphere of influence, the grand-ness of the day presses in. 

I am not an attention person, so the discomfort that comes from all the recognition on Veteran's Day is unsettling to me.

Especially when there are others who have given so very much more.

Thank you doesn't seem big enough, appropriate enough.  But this humbled and thankful heart says it anyways. 

________________________________________

The trendy word going around in the discipleship circles is "Tribe".

At first I scoffed at the choice of such an odd word.
But the more I looked at the group of families we've been planted in the middle of, I'm finding that the word just fits.

One of my girlfriends and I discussed it on the way home from a retreat last weekend; a conversation that dominated the majority of the three-hour trip.

How each of us, (speaking for the girls) have something to offer someone else. 

(I'm sure it goes the same for the guys, but we laughed about how they didn't have a clue about these things the girls pondered over.  Fast forward a week, and a cold-morning conversation with my hubby over coffee and cigarettes on the deck totally proved me wrong.)

Every single one of us is in different stages of our lives.  Yet we stand together in a bond we can't fully understand yet.

We support each other, no matter what form that support comes in.
     Sometimes it's in the form of a collective prop, holding one another up in the hard times.
          **Believe me, there are hard times.  This is Life. There are always hard times.**
     Sometimes it's in the form of a listening ear, and hands that are opening the beer or the bottle of wine.
     Sometimes its coffee on the porch, Halloween candy, and a fire pit. 
     It's been words of encouragement for steps taken towards callings, and it' been the grass-cutting fairy.  The dog sitters, the girls' nights, the (attempted) monthly dinners, the help while one is away.
     Sometimes it's the prayers for understanding, other times it's the prayers for peace, for clarity, for perspective. 

There is the grace to realize we are all very different people, and the love to know that who each other is.. is okay. Right where we are.

Community. 

The bigness of the term seems too large to grasp sometimes.  But that's when God shows me I'm sitting right in the middle of it, almost wherever I am.

I see it in my military family.
I see it in my church family, small and large.
I'm starting to see it at my work.

And again, instead of seeing my "role" in all of it, I'm seeing the tiny cog that I am. 


This mighty machine of dead bones with regenerated flesh, with renewed breath in its lungs.

Sandspurs

I'm sitting in an uncomfortable place.
     (Nothing profound here, I'm literally sitting on the uneven stone cap of a century- and-a-half old civil war fort.)

My discomfort keeps me switching positions,  shifting my weight.

It's not til I pull one foot up underneath my other leg that I see the bottom of my shoe.
    
These things have been collecting on the soles of my shoes, and very 'princess and the pea', I see why my feet were starting to ache.

In between the traction-grabbing grippy knobs (like I need those), is a whole mess of sandspurs.

Not making the immediate connection between their name & why they're stuck to my shoes, I reach down & try to brush them away.

 

Once the flash flood of profanity subsided,  I thought I might be in trouble.

 

This was going to take some time.  

Very gingerly, one by one,  I have to s-l-o-w-l-y remove them.  The tiny needles have pierced the soles, & I brought nothing with me that would make the job easier.  Excision with my fingertips has become an exercise in surgical precision.

 

As I pluck away,  I try not to focus on the pain.   I let my mind wander.

 

     Why in the world do sandspurs show up in the places we like to escape to?  The little buggers pretty much go unnoticed in our relaxation,  until we go off the beaten path.  It only takes once.

     How long have these things been in here??

     Had I not say down here,  would I have seen them?

 

Had I not done something different,  I never would have seen the amount of junk  accumulating while on my afternoon walk.

 

They're everywhere!!

 

As I finish with the soles,  my eye catches one on the side of my shoe.

      There's another.
          

           And another!

They're intertwined in my shoelaces; they're clinging to my pant legs.

They're hiding INSIDE my pant legs, poking my skin; wrapped up in my socks.

 

How does that even happen??

 

Thoroughly miffed now, invisible needles stuck in my raw fingers, I am totally distracted from my prayer time.

 

I stand,  go to brush myself off.  My eyes grow wide as I realize that I've been sitting in a whole pile of the damn things.

 

Ugh.

Wounded

Surrounded by religion.
Hymns, written for another generation who's experience of worship looks nothing like mine, do nothing but quell the desire for the familiar in a strange place.
Liturgy that unites our voices, but leaves me feeling like the last kid picked for kickball.
A schedule that frustrates the hell out of me, because by the time I realize God's up to something, the moment is ushered away by our 'regularly scheduled programming'.

And it's just like God to do something so outside my scope of thinking:  He shows up anyway.

Like two men traveling down a road one third day, God shows up in their midst.

And they miss it.

You see, I am a blockhead.  Plagued by intellect and a stubborn pride, how often have I missed God in my midst.

I knew he was here when we worshipped; the unity of our voices would have drowned out a choir of angels, could have lifted the roof and let heaven pour in.  My chest began to quiver as I realized He was here.

Across the room, another voice recognizes Him.

I felt the weight of holiness, and froze in awe.

Everything in me wanted time to stop.  I was afraid to move, afraid to open my eyes, lest the invisible clock keep ticking.

Yet the schedule drove on, and the sound of the ticking clock was the sound of my heart breaking.

          ********************

We don't know what to do with words like "theology", or "discipleship".

We've equated the Christian life to "letting our light shine", grievously mistaking discipleship for witnessing, and the secret code of the churched - "God is good...all the time", "Thanks be to God", and prayers prayed in King James English.

I just might puke if I hear it one more time.

We look at the life of Jesus as an example to follow, a hero to emulate.

We think we've got the Ten Commandments down pat, and wonder why the the concept of grace seems so incredibly...ungraspable.

It's no wonder we've got a powerless church.

Sure, it looks like we can walk on water, but in actuality, the sea of our faith is merely a mud puddle; sticky, dirty, and making a mess.

           ********************

We build intricate, ornate, bigger and better and architecturally splendid buildings, so we can worship a God we can't understand on the surface of our lives.  Like He's an accessory, the shoes all the cool kids are wearing.

We'll address the budget, we'll address traditions.  We'll even admit that, quite possibly, the God we don't understand may or may have something to do with the job we're doing well at, or the health and success of our children.

But we fail to address the Wound.

The Wound is eons old, as old as time is to us.
It leaves no scar, but penetrates deeper than we can comprehend.
It's been so long since we've felt the freshness of the pain inflicted by the Wound in the beginning, all that remains is an ache...
     an ache of longing for restoration.

It's the Wound that steals our identity.
It's the Wound that drives our lives, the Wound we don't know we hide: who we REALLY are.
The wound goes so deep, so far back, that it wrecks us the moment we encounter holiness.  Our shame cripples us, and just like in the garden, we hide.

It's the wound that keeps us seeking; driving us to places we think will address the ache.
When the ache isn't soothed, when our eyes aren't opened to the Truth of WHY, when we're deceived and mis-taught,  this leaves us with rooms full of women who claim to be walking with Jesus, yet weep mainly because they don't know their identity.

Now we have churches full of people, here to get their weekly band-aid for the scab that life, so cruelly and yet appropriately, yanks off; wondering why it's not healing.

We have therapy rooms, doctor's offices, small groups and churches full of people who can't seem to get to the bottom of the issues in their lives, don't even know it's possible.
Who can't find peace.

It might, just might, have something to do with the spiritual atmosphere of today.  Our desire to grow outward, leaves us starving in the deeps.  The religious atmosphere of the day has the spiritual depth of a bologna sandwich.  And I say a bologna sandwich, because at one point in time, the pig had breath in it's lungs.


Life is more than skin deep.
     Love is more than skin deep.
          God is... so... much... more... than skin deep.


Rip the scab off, and do it quick.  The pain fades faster.
Poke at the wound.
Pick at the edges, see how deep it goes.
Examine the extent of the damage.

Where did the wound come from?

And more importantly, why aren't we asking this question??

Early morning rant.

I don't even know if I'm going to share this with anyone, at least on Twitter or Facebook.  Just a couple thoughts that are troubling me; irking me, and usually when that happens, words are the LAST thing that comes...

Scrolling through Facebook this morning, I see a suggested page for Relevant magazine.  So I click on it, and if I'm going to "like" something, I need to see what it's all about.

Needless to say, now I'm kinda pissed.  So I'm going to try not to be sarcastic or snarky...
No promises...

I can see why there's a publication that caters to the newer, younger generation. And even the name of it screams to what people in their 20's and 30's are sooo hungry for: relevance.
A renewed hunger for all things God, discussions on the cultural differences between the Christian who can sit in a bar and the Christian who calls every single thing under the sun sin "sin", ahem.
Sorry, clearing my throat.

And the worst thing is, I'm a comment reader.  I KNOW nothing gets me stirred up like comments... yet I scroll through them like a glutton for punishment.
Comment after comment,
Article after article,
Page after page.
My disgust growing, I soon close the page without clicking the "Like" button.

I fight the effects of "religion" enough in my daily life; "religion" being the imposing of my (or your)  interpretation of scripture onto your (or my) life.
Your rules, no matter how accurately scriptural, do not supersede my relationships with Christ.
     For example.  I smoke.  I get barraged frequently about how it's a sin....You know what, I don't even have time to get into this right now.  But until me and Jesus hash out why I smoke, no matter how many times you tell me it's a sin, I'm not quitting.  My relationship with Him trumps your lack of understanding of my heart.  Period.

My job isn't to shove the Bible down people's throat, I've alienated enough people with that.
My job is to let Jesus do, through me, in His divine perspective, whatever He sees fit in the situation.
Grace is awesome.

The younger church calls out the older church for being stuck in too many rules and traditions, yet falls into the same traps by not educating themselves on the scriptures they quote to make their case.
(I actually read an article on scriptural discrepancies... SERIOUSLY.)
This new generation of Christians is bound to repeat the waywardness, dare I call it "sins", of our fathers if we don't open our eyes to the real problem:  religion.

I get so aggravated when we miss the point.  Especially when I'm right there, realizing I'm to the left, the right, or underneath the target, along with everyone else.

Grrrrr.

I'm going to work.  >:-(