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.  >:-(

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...

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.

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.

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.

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.