Sunday, December 29, 2013

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.



Sunday, December 8, 2013

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.


Tuesday, November 19, 2013

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...


Monday, November 11, 2013

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.

Monday, November 4, 2013

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.

Monday, October 21, 2013

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??




Tuesday, October 15, 2013

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.  >:-(




Friday, October 11, 2013

Empty

I had the "opportunity" to run into the nearest mega-store this morning to pick up a couple of shirts I needed for work.

My mindset hasn't changed much since coming into the season of dual-incomes; my mindset still remains one that 6 years of self-employment taught:  extremely frugal.  EXTREMELY.

Flashback to those few years; we never knew when the next paycheck was going to come in.
     It was a period of time when the world would dictate that I worry, stress and completely freak out about when the bills would be paid.  (Never mind what we wanted, we're talking basic needs.)
     Despite what the world dictated, God was teaching us something completely opposite, upside-down from the norm.
     He was teaching us a few of the basics of faith.  To trust Him.  He'll supply our needs.

And repeatedly, He proved the truth in His word.  Over and over again, month after month, year after year.
 
So much so, that there was absolutely no elevation in the blood pressure whatsoever when the electric company would show up to turn off power for nom-payment.  I knew that I knew we'd have a check in the mail that day.

Once I started grasping hold of the remote possibility of truth in His word, my eyes were opened to each and every time He provided.
Right when we needed it.


Fast forward to this morning:
I write the check for my purchase, gather my bags, and head for the parking lot mindlessly.

As the door closes is my car, I have a sickening realization, which begins a brief but powerful conversation.

Me:  "This is what normal people do.  Everyday."

     : "Yep.  How'd it feel?"

Me:  .........."Empty..."

I wondered. I thought.  I prayed, and I listened.

I recalled my mindset as I speed-shopped; frugal, minimal.

I recalled my thought process as I whipped out my wallet; easy-breezy.  Not a care in the world, because gone were the days I'd be praying for the money to be in the account when it was time to pay.

I realized my thoughts as I walked to the car were somewhere along the lines of, "Ah, so that's what it's like..."

All of them, empty; self-centered, and god-less.

All of a sudden I understood why my family was moved to where it was.
I understood why we both had to work.

Not just the immediate, surface, bill-paying reasons, but the deep down, 'what's-your-purpose-in-this,-God' reason.

We knew what it was like to live that life, a long time ago.  Back then I had no idea that my interaction with God could be anything other than, "Sure, I believe...?"

In the stripping away that happened the next couple years, when we lost every physical possession we ever wanted and worked hard for, it was then that we gained the most valuable relationship.

And life became very deep.  Not because of what we were going through, but because of the WHO we were going through it with.

Faith established, new standards and new levels of understanding of Truth became the norm in my life. Character refined, and healing occurred.

******
For a while now, I've associated the season of our worldly struggles with the place we'd be closest to God, so I was jarred a bit when our station in life changed rapidly.
We live in a neighborhood now, with awesome neighbors, fantastic jobs that have been, without a doubt, tailor-made for each of us.

Very...Normal...

and yet, I cringed; like something was very wrong.  Things were so different than they used to be, I began to wait for the other shoe to drop.
     It hasn't come.

{I always fought "normal."
One of my favorite sayings in "Normal is boring."  I always wanted to be juuuust a bit different than everyone else.  Not to gather attention, but to NOT be one of the mindless masses.
So when we were in our season of hardships, during the stripping away, I didn't see this happening to anyone else, so I knew this wasn't "normal".  But the strengthening relationship with God gave me peace in all of it.}

But week by week, another piece of the puzzle is laid before me.
     Nowhere close to revealing the big picture in it's entirety, but each piece, put together with the previous pieces, makes more sense to my part in all of it.

******

So, without being able to piece this all together as eloquently as I hoped, I think that's why I felt so empty after shopping this morning.

I used to live my every day that way, without any need for the divine.
Without any holy, bigger-than-me connection.
Without a hunger for truth.

And yet, here I am, in the same situation that led me down the road to change that perspective.
Back into the life that led me to step away from the ordinary.
Back into the life that brought me no peace, but now with a growing perspective of life lived outside the ordinary box.

Without jumping to conclusions, I believe there just might be something huge in this...



Monday, October 7, 2013

New Seasons

The date on the calendar isn't lining up with the sounds and the moisture coming out of the predawn hours.

I still think it's summer, drummed further into my brain by the cadence of the rain dripping off the roof.  

This change in seasons is screwing me up.  My season of life changed in the middle of a calendar season, so only a few months in, I'm fighting the natural rhythms to change with the weather.

I have to get it through my brain that my season isn't changing; it's just coming forth.  The "changing" of the season isn't complete yet.  


Just like in nature, it doesn't happen overnight; it's a process.


For me, this is going to be a big one.  I can sense definition on the horizon.  Clarity.  A calling, perhaps, of something bigger, more purposeful.  And it's not just for me.


My new geographical location has given me new insights into my heart, as well as a view that stretches for miles.  

I believe that the new perspective is crucial for this next season, for what's coming... to be able to see further into the distance than ever before.


There are hints of what's coming; just as with the change from winter to spring, or summer into fall.  

The rush of color is always what catches my eyes.  The beauty in the variations, the surprises; they never fail to mesmerize me.

An awareness of a new appreciation, a new understanding, a new level of comprehension.


Seeing that autumn is fighting so hard to get here, I'm anticipating the cool down. 
And with that, I call it the "re-emergence", from hiding indoors all summer to escape the oppressive heat.

In the cool down, I always look forward to the fresh air, the new opportunities to be outdoors, and the reinvigorated desire to go.  
Go be with friends, go be with people, to try new things...


...the possibilities are always endless at the beginning of a new season.

Tuesday, September 3, 2013

Rest

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.

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.




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.

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.


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.


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.

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.



Tuesday, April 23, 2013

Trembling

FOREWARNING:  This post isn't aimed at every single church in America.  This post is a plea, not an attack.  If this post does not pertain to your church, please don't think I'm saying it does.  I do not have the time, not the desire, to visit every single church in this beautiful country.  That being said, read on.


Burden and heaviness of heart are plaguing me this morning.

After a tiring week, being busy with obligations, a heavy work schedule, family stresses, and serving those I love so dearly, I was REALLY looking forward to a weekend of quiet contemplation, rejuvenation in the Word, and precious time resting.  I knew the upcoming week's schedule removed me from my family, and time away, for me, is never relaxing.

I was hoping to utilize the weekend for meetings with my friend to unwind, but as one of my best friends says, "The battle never ends", and Sunday hit me like a freight train going 100 miles-per-hour.

I should've known the bottom was about to drop out; I actually got to church early.
I should've known something was about to happen; my dear sweet sister-in-Christ and I were able to sing together in my car before church.  Praise.  Eyes closed, tears rolling, reckless abandon, Worship.  It was awesome.

God knew what we were walking into that day, that's why He arranged that precious time to worship Him, to be renewed in His strength, to be filled with His peace, and joy, and hope, and love.
Boy, did I need it later.

I"m struggling to understand what happened.  Actually, I am understanding.  The hard part is restraining my reaction.  I'm grasping at small straws, piecing everything together with the guidance of the Spirit, trying DESPERATELY to utilize tact, wisdom, and love.

My parents taught me early on, "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all."
Jesus and experience have refined that lesson, "If you can't say something with love, it won't be received."  That has helped me restrain from reacting (like an animal) our of an emotional response that would do nothing but offend and add fuel to what is most likely an already volatile situation.

I was able to witness this weekend, with my own eyes and ears, a problem the American church is plagued with, but in its own self-righteousness, can't admit.

We like to talk the talk, but we have NO IDEA what it looks like to walk the walk.

We all ourselves Christians.
We come to church every Sunday to worship (our idea of) God.
We call ourselves blessed, because we have jobs, we work to pay for the things we want and need, we have nice homes, we have happy families.

We live like we don't need God.
We are seriously clueless as to what "following Christ" really looks like.

At the rare opportunity to actually see someone who is living this lifestyle, we scoff, we call them radical, or even worse, we don't recognize it for what it is, and begin the oh-so-familiar process of judging, condemning, persecuting, and ostracizing.

Ah, how I love the American church.

The scary thing is, I do.  I seriously do.  I see the amazing potential of the American church.

I see the church in almost every single one of Jesus' parables; what it is, and what it could be.

The potential I see for the American church mirrors a story in Luke 7, verses 40-48.  Jesus is speaking with a Pharisee named Simon, following the woman anointing Jesus with oil, washing his feet with her hair and her tears.
(See, in the church, we love to make a big deal about washing one another's feet.  but how quickly we overlook the lesson that follows.)

Jesus replied, "Simon, I have something to say to you."
"Teacher, speak," he said.
"A certain lender had two debtors.  One owed enough money to pay five hundred people for a day's work.  the other owed enough money for fifty.  When they couldn't pay, the lender forgave the debts of them both.  Which of them will love him more?"
Simon replied, "I suppose the one who had the largest debt canceled."
Jesus said, "You have judged correctly."
Jesus turned to the woman and said to Simon, "Do you see this woman?  When I entered your home, you didn't give me water for my feet, but she wet my feet with tears and wiped them with her hair.  You didn't greet me with a kiss, but she hasn't stopped kissing my feet since I came in.  You didn't anoint my head with oil, but she has poured perfumed oil on my feet.  This is why I tell you that her many sins have been forgiven; so she has shown great love.  The one who is forgiven little loves little."
Then Jesus said to her, "Your sins are forgiven."

I see the church today going through an awakening of sorts.  God is opening the eyes of this western giant, which I dare not say has been asleep, but rather deceived.

We've been deceived into thinking that we're better than other people, because we're Christian.

We've been deceived into thinking that because we carry the name of Christ, everything we do now is somehow endorsed by the kingdom of heaven.

We've been deceived into thinking that God only comes to our churches on Sunday mornings; that He got our memo that services for Him (us) are scheduled for Sunday mornings at 9.  Or 10.  Or 11.  Or whenever the lights are on.

We've been deceived into thinking that God fits into this tiny little compartment of our lives (and churches) that we've created just for Him.

We've been deceived into believing that God loves our love of our traditions.

We've been deceived into thinking that God could be pleased with us, with our commitments to the church, with our programs, and with our adherence to the Ten Commandments.  (Please.  Crucial theological lesson there, but it's a subject for another day.)

We've been deceived into idolizing the building, and the schedule, and the tradition, and the clock.  In all actuality, we don't even know if God is really there at all.

Sure, we pray for our leaders, we pray for victims and those affected by natural disasters, terrorist attacks, horrible explosions half-a country away.  We pray for people who need healing.  It's so easy to corporately pray for someone you have no connection to...don't need a whole lot of faith for that prayer, do we.

But how often do we pray for the next generation being raised up, not just our children and grandchildren, to live productive lives, to experience Christ early and remain strong in Him?

How often do we pray for God to open our eyes?  To show us what we're doing wrong?  (Which, by the way, is painfully humbling.)

How often do we pray for the troubled teens in our own backyards, who have been abandoned and neglected, therefore resorting to the life of common criminals?

How often are we actually putting our hands and feet into motion, to help those who so desperately need the Gospel? 

We've been deceived into thinking that we can judge who is worthy of receiving the Gospel.

We've been deceived into thinking that living and sharing the Gospel is reserved for missionaries and preachers.

We've been deceived into ignoring the lessons on living in true community, according to Paul's letters in the New Testament.

We've established our own set of rules, and so easily condemn those who don't fit in.

We've distanced ourselves, in our opulence, "blessed-ness", and self righteousness, from the ones Jesus lived among, the ones who needed Him the most: the criminals, the outcast, the sick...
Jesus said, "I did not come for the righteous, but sinners." 
Um, y'all?  In case we forgot, that's every single one of us.

We have to step outside our comfort zones to really open our eyes to who Jesus spoke of when He said, "I assure you that when you have done it for one the least of these, you have done it for me."

The "least of these" aren't just the hungry, or the thirsty, or the naked, or the sick.  It's not only orphans and widows (fine job we're doing there...yes, that's sarcasm.)

The "least of these is anyone we've labeled an outcast.
-  Teenagers, who have no ambition, because it's never been modeled for them.
-  The elderly, locked in nursing homes, because they've either been abandoned, or require too much care for family members to take on.
-  New parents who have to work two jobs to cover the cost of expenses, the cost of daycare, the cost of groceries.
-  The couple who lost a child, no matter how old.
-  The newly retired people who just realized they have to continue to work.
-  The family that divorce looms on their horizon.

Church, this is all of us.  No matter what secret we try to hide, we are all the least of these.

SOOOO, as God is opening our eyes to the deception we've fallen into, this brings about the potential I see.

What would it look like, if the American church was to realize the deception on a grand scale, and turn back to the God who is so much bigger than all of us could collectively fathom, and "love greatly"?

"This is why I tell you that her many sins have been forgiven, so she has shown great love.  the one who is forgiven little loves little."

Can you imagine!!
     Instead of ostracizing the "questionable" members of our society, we embraced them, loved them, gave them a sense of worth, let them know how much they are valued by God, and as a byproduct, we are witnesses to the amazing transformative love of God in someone's life.

That's what happened to the people who encountered Jesus.  They weren't just healed.  They had a collision with our holy God, an experience that radically changed their life.  They were physically healed and delivered on the outside, and their hearts and minds were transformed.

Not just "changed", because people can't change.  (How often do we use that as an excuse to continue on in our sin, our deceptions, our habits, and excuses...)

God transforms.

This is plainly evident in a life that has come into contact with the Creator.  All of a sudden, the "light" shines.  And everyone around them notices it, too.  The peace they carry is displayed, and day by day, more and more of the transformation is revealed.  Christ shines through.


Church.  I say this with all the love I can humanly hold in this heart of mine:  We're deceiving ourselves if we don't study who exactly Christ IS.

We have to realize that we've created a counterfeit, a humanized deity, and called it God.  No wonder so many younger people are not even remotely attracted to the idea of going to church!

Not only have we "missed the mark" (picture an archer shooting an arrow at a target) of what God wants for us, we've moved the target, and called it our religion, our church, and our traditions; sacred cows that cannot be toyed with, and can not be altered.

God is shifting the world as we know it.
He's shifting the way we do "church".  Part of that is revealing His Truth, opening our eyes to it, clearing the smoke from our understanding of it, and calling people into a new understanding of "following Christ".  Not just in words, but in action as well.

What does this look like?  It starts with an examination of the religious culture when Jesus first came.  The "same old thing we've always done" was exactly what Jesus was up against when He began His ministry here on earth.

How did He do it?
He started with twelve.

Monday, April 1, 2013

How NOT to Take Your Youth Group to an Event.

Planning:
Start making lists.
Who's going?   Ask every single teenager you know.  Beg if you have to.
      (You won't get a final number until the last minute, but totally sweat it.  Put it on your "to-do" list every day for two months.  Send hundreds of texts, Facebook tags, Facebook messages, emails, phone calls, etc.)

Point of Contact / Event Coordinator:
     Wait to contact them until only a couple weeks away from the event.  It's okay, they don't have enough to do, and now they have to scramble to get extra tickets for your group, which, by the way, you don't even know the size of yet.

Transportation:
     We'll ride in the church bus.


Day before the event:
     Meals planned.  Simple, inexpensive, yet filling.  And don't forget something healthy. 
     Go grocery shopping; forget to buy drinks. 
     Make lists.

Transportation:
     We'll take a church van that fits 15 people.




The Day of the Event:
What to pack: 
     Deodorant, toothbrush, toothpaste, hat. 
     Clean socks, clean shirt.
     Make sure jeans are clean when you put them on, and don't think to bring extras.
          (You won't need them.  The black streaks on the thighs?  We'll start a trend! 
            Quick!  Everyone put air in your tires between picking people up!)
     A super healthy giant attitude...don't worry, it packs discreetly in the driver's back pocket.
     *(Make sure to leave humility at home)

 - Cooler packed
 - List after list written and marked off
 - Gas in car
 - Make sure household will not fall apart in your 30-hour absence
       (because who ELSE would take care of it!?)
 - Spend every waking moment on the phone, mindlessly (and prayerlessly) wandering around the house to make sure you're not forgetting anything... for a 30-hour trip.
- Mutter a 3-second "best-of-luck" prayer as you walk out the door.

Pick Up Time!!
- Run late.
- Forget something (most likely attached to kitchen sink)
- Go back to retrieve forgotten item.
- Run even later.
- Gather with group, even though you've missed the main group by at least two hours.

Transportation:
     Now that you (finally) know how many people are going, to save gas, the decision is made to take personal vehicles.
     Cram 7 adults in minivan.  And cooler.  And food.  And bags.  And blankets and pillows.
     Adult driver, baby in car seat, and two teenagers in car.  And everything else that wouldn't fit in van.

30 Minutes into the trip...
     "Where are we going?"
     "I don't know.  We'll find out on the way.  Someone has to have a cell signal strong enough to get online for an address..."

Dinner:
    In case of emergency, break glass to expose brutal militaristic hustle and pace; scheduled efficiency... no one else got that memo?

Pray the entire way to the event for God to keep all the tires in our caravan fully inflated, intact, and protected.  (Make it good.  These are your only prayers during the entire event.)

Arrive late, but excited. 
Leave early that same night, to ensure safe passage to previously arranged sleeping destination.
Shuttle adults, teens and pre-teens back and forth from event when vehicle troubles strike.

Get locked in... I mean, settled in.  Calm the fears of pre-teen girls who overheard a discussion about "ghosts in the building".  This may or may not include raising your voice.  If you choose to do so, don't worry, you won't come across as an unapproachable, bossy, b*tch; at least not in your own mind.

Next morning:
Reveille to rouse the troops from the eluded slumber.  (Drill sergeant mode works best here.)

Push everyone with unrealistic timelines. 
     (If you tell them the doors open at 6am, you might be there by 7:30am.  But make sure you're prepared to endure the weather for 30 minutes when you realize you were wrong - a verbal "oops" should help you save face.)

COFFFEEEEEEEEEEEE....

Make sure you park as close to the building as possible.  It will come in handy to have access to a cooler full of drinks, especially when the venue sells a 16-ounce water for $4.00.


Special Notes:
No matter how hard, no matter how much slippage you're fighting in order to have some semblance of control, it's going to go.

     You cannot control when and who takes smoke breaks.
 
     You cannot, contrary to military training, coordinate potty breaks.

     Don't get mad, scoff, or roll your eyes when the younger kids sleep through the speaking parts of the event. 

     Make a big deal of someones "theology being wrong".  It's one of the best ways to win friends and influence people.

     You CAN feed 24 people out of the back of a minivan...it will start as mild chaos, but everyone will eat.

     That being said, if you pack mayonnaise for sandwiches, DON'T FORGET A KNIFE, so you can get it out of the jar.

     Seagulls do not like, and therefore will not eat spilled and splattered mayonnaise in the parking lot.

     Enjoy the event, seriously.  It's what you came to see!

     Be sure to put yourself out there as pushy, self-righteous, bossy, and in control.
          ...that's how Jesus did it, right?
                    Right???