For What? (A Story of Redemption)

For what have I died? For what have I given over my spirit?

It makes me wonder about the tomb on Easter morning.

I've learned a lot about dying in the past 5 years. In fact, I've almost got it down to a science. It can almost become a very manipulative situation, as I've battled within myself to appease two opposing forces. It's not that part of me has wanted to live and part of me was ready to die; no, once death had overtaken me, it became a matter of community. Part of me wanted to do it as publicly as possible, for the only fate worse than death is loneliness, and yet, part of me wanted the dignity of a quiet process. So I searched for a way to drag others far enough into it that I could tell part of the story without telling the whole story. For those of you who feel manipulated by this whole process, let me offer my deepest apologies; it was never my intent to use people. And most of this has been unconscious.

But death was my closest friend. And I found myself quickly living a life that had no life left in it. My mind was warped to see only the bad. I lived pill-to-pill, nap-to-nap, and sometimes nap-to-pill and pill-to-nap. "Life" as I knew it was about sustaining it. Along with death came fear, which brought a facet of death all its own. What if I push my body too far, do too much? No, best not to do anything at all. It had laid in its bed so long that even the slightest activity seemed to much, seemed to push me past my physical limits. Or what if I were to go out somewhere and something were to happen? (My biggest fear has pretty much been throwing up in public.) No, best not to go anywhere at all. It got to the point where I was having panic attacks just THINKING about grocery shopping or church or anything like that.

What's weird is that when I died, people started treating me differently. They came to expect less of me, which made me, in turn, expect less of myself. When things popped up that scared me or that I didn't trust my body to handle, I backed down. "Sorry. I'm dead." And that was pretty much ok with people. Actually, it still is...with most people.

Somewhere in all of this, God's voice was lost. That is, if it ever existed to begin with. On that note, I have a bit of a spiritual confession to make.

God never really meant that much to me. As a pagan child, I think I had more faith than my first 8 years as a Christian. God was something I did because a cute boy with a rat tail led me to church one day, and what I found was that church filled a hole I had in my heart. Not with God, but with people. There were lots of people there! People who could, potentially, love me like I had always wanted to be loved, like my parents had failed to do. And in order to get these people, I had to get God. So I put on a show.

That's not to say I didn't have my divine moments. Lounging around the Bruce house or the Bruce office, talking about real stuff and feeling loved, not judged, I encountered God. Lying on the Cundiff couch, staring up at the cross in the ceiling and feeling safe, I encountered God. Hearing Ryan McCullough, standing on stage in a portrayal of Jesus and saying "I love you," I encountered God. Sitting in Ken's office, not crying, but feeling heard, I encountered God. But aside from this, most of my encounters with God were intellectual, not heart-led, and most of the things I said about Him were just repetitions of things I'd heard others say.

But these past several months, I have been on sabbatical. It's been a time "set apart," as the word indicates, just for me to wrestle with God and come to know Him. And boy, has He shown up! I read the Bible cover-to-cover, whereas before, I was only skimming to find verses for writing projects. God is more incredible than I ever could have imagined! Though I still struggle, I am learning to pray. I don't get much sleep these nights because God is usually talking most of the night, but that's ok because I am learning so much! I usually wake up with a song in my heart or just laughing uncontrollably, and I can't stop all day. There is so much joy, and I just can't explain it. Even in the bad times now, I just laugh, because it is so far beyond me, and I just can't help myself.

It moves beyond me, as well. A lot of what God lays on my heart these days is about my larger world, my bigger community. I am literally heartbroken over much of what I see and hear all around me. This is not the world God intended us to live in; we are far from Eden. And there is a pull inside me to look for a way to do something about it, even if only a little bit. In the meantime, I mourn. I literally mourn.

And so I find something deep inside of me now yearning to live. I want to let the sun hit me and rejuvenate my soul. I want to go outside and build a snowman. I want to hop in my car and drive, just pay a visit to someone who could use some company. I want to take a walk around the park. I just want to be out of this damned room, out of this damned bed.

Yet I still struggle between death (body) and life (spirit). The more I feel God pulling me to do things, the more my body comes under attack. If I just take off and go as the Spirit leads me, I find myself running frantically back home, usually searching for a pill. So I run back and forth between freedom and captivity, between life and death.

I find myself more on the "life" side as time passes by. Day after day, it gets a little bit easier to follow the Spirit and overcome death. But as I step into a new life, I can't help but ponder two ideas.

The first, I presented earlier. For what did I die? For what did I give up my spirit? The answer is not a pleasant one, but in honesty, it was for me. To give in proved easier than to fight. It was easier to lie around in death than to push forward and embrace what God has given me. After all, in death, there is no failure. No shortcomings. If I try my hardest and still fail, that is horrible. So I convinced myself it was best not to try at all.

And second, I find myself pondering the tomb on Easter morning. I wonder if Jesus found himself in the same boat I now find myself in - trying to learn to live again. A lot of people think Jesus always lived, but I doubt that. I think that for those three days, He lain dead, apart from God, apart from life. And when life returned to him that Easter morning, He had to learn to live again. You'll notice He didn't just go running out of the tomb, throwing off graveclothes and leaving a trail. He got up slowly, tidied His burial wrappings, maybe even pondered for awhile what death had meant, and then stepped back out into life.

So I don't think I'm gonna hop out and live right away, but I am definitely pondering the graveclothes. I feel the tugging of the Spirit and the defiance of the body, the life of God and the death of the flesh. It's a battle; I won't lie. But life, God, will win. In the meantime, I sit with a sense of contentment, with a presence of joy, and a stillness in my spirit...and I can't help but sing:

'Agios, 'Agios, 'Agios
Kurios o theos
Pleres tes es doxes
'o oura nos kai ge.
Panter pantor krator
poi ton ton 'olon
Soi prepe einos
doxa kai time.

For What? (A Story of Redemption)

What are you doing this evening?

So today, I was going through some of my packed-up belongings in storage, trying to purge some stuff (a great feeling!), and I found something interesting. I'm not sure exactly what year this belongs to, but I know it was some time in middle school. So without further ado, here is my "Agenda" for a typical day in middle school: (even if you think this is gonna be boring, keep reading and you WILL laugh)

6:30 Get up, Total Workout
7:15 Shower & dress, Eat Breakfast.
7:40 Be in car, totally prepared
8:05-3:05 Behave in school
3:30-5:00 STudy time & homework
5:30 Eat Dinner
6:00 Relax
6:30 Kickball
7:30 Ninja Practice
8:00 be inside & do total workout
9:00 be in bed & be asleep by 9:30

Wait! Back up....NINJA PRACTICE?

Ugh, I was a DORK! Well, probably still am. But one thing's for sure, I never became a Ninja.

I also disposed of what I call "My Life in T-Shirts." I had a T-shirt from every place i'd ever been to - every town, restaurant, event, etc. So I am donating a lot of those to charity. I no longer feel the need to cling to the past in the same way I used to. I also got rid of a lot of stuff I kept just because it was dad's. He doesn't belong to his things; they are just clutter. So I kept some important stuff and ditched the rest.

8002

Well, it’s been kind of a backwards year for me…get it? 8002? A backwards year? Anyway, I’ve been taking stock of all that’s gone on this year, and I thought I would share my experiences with you. Maybe it will help you reflect upon something in your own life; maybe not. But I couldn’t let this year pass without mentioning all of the incredible things that have happened in my life.

On the surface, the year looks really crappy. 3 CT scans, 3 ultrasounds, 1 x-ray, 2 MRIs, 2 surgeries, a bad gallbladder, poisonous spider bite, torn tendon, e. coli, surgical complications, ulcer from an antibiotic, severe concussion, torn rotator cuff, and that’s just the medical side! On the non-medical side, I barely graduated college because of a professor who wanted something more of a relationship with me and tried to really screw me over, there was an earthquake, I lost my dad’s belongings in the flood, and I missed about 4 months of church.

And yet, I will consider 2008 among my greatest years!

Why?

Well, despite the obstacles, I DID graduate with a college degree. I don’t care who you are or what fight you had to put up to get it, that is an accomplishment in and of itself.

And despite initial sadness at losing all of dad’s stuff, I find myself now free-er to live in the way I want to live, instead of letting the memory of him hang over me like a thick cloud. Instead of hanging on to him for dear life, I am now in a position to put him in whatever place I’d like him in my life, instead of feeling some dutiful obligation to let him stay where he always wanted to be.

In addition, I have done quite a bit of thinking and reflecting on myself and my own situation in life.

First, I saw some old pictures of myself with the buzzed haircut. What the heck was I thinking? Why did I do that to myself? I looked awful! But it was only a reflection of what I was feeling on the inside, and I am at a place now where I can recognize that. What’s more, I am enjoying the more girlish style I have taken on (and would like to follow the haircut with a better wardrobe when/if I can afford it). I have accepted my femininity and am now working to cultivate it. One day, I hope to take on the traits of the 1 Timothy woman: “For women who claim to be devoted to God should make themselves attractive by the good things they do…But women will be saved…by continuing to live in faith, love, holiness, and modesty.” (2:10,15b)

Second, I find that after looking hard at myself, I have been a terrible sister – not just to my biological brothers, but to my spiritual brothers and sisters as well. I have selfishly taken much more than I have given, and it has not bothered me until recently. Somewhere deep inside of myself, I felt like the world owed me something and I believed that people would love me no matter what. Some have, and for them, I am grateful, but I owe them so much more than I have given. Selfishness is not a good trait in anyone, and I aim to work on that in the future, though my struggle right now is that I feel I have very little to offer anyone else. That will change as I come to know myself more. For now, it is a simple matter of low self-esteem and high selfishness. So to those of you I have offended by not entering your stories as you have entered mine, I apologize, and I promise to work harder in the future.

Kind of along the same lines, I am working on forgiveness. I have discovered that I have very little forgiveness for anyone in my life, let alone myself. I have been a perfectionist, and I’ve expected everyone else to be perfect, too. I’ve not tolerated accidents. I expect that someone should pay for everything that’s happened. But no more – I am finding forgiveness in my heart and working every day to extend that to myself and others.

And then the coolest thing happened…

I have spent my life being afraid. Of everything. I’ve been sleeping with a nightlight since I was itty-bitty. I watch the shadows move across the kitchen floor at night (from the back porch light), just to make sure nobody is coming to kill me. I hide things so people can’t steal them (and sometimes, I can’t even find them), and I keep a bag packed with my valuables in case I ever need to get out in a hurry. It is, for all intents and purposes, the most severe of paranoia. But the other night, just a few days ago, I woke up in the dark with a storm brewing outside. In that moment, just before the panic set in, all fear left me. I mean ALL FEAR. I’m not afraid any more. Of anything. I have peace in my spirit, and it’s just the coolest thing. I don’t lay awake at night wondering if the doors are locked. I don’t watch the shadows in the kitchen. I went to the bathroom, and when I turned off the light, my eyes actually adjusted to the dark for the first time in my life. Darkness no longer blinded me; I could see, and I was unafraid. Still am. It’s REALLY cool.

And finally, I am getting tired of the excuses. MY excuses. It seems I’ve always had an excuse for everything. But no matter how justified I think I am, that doesn’t excuse ungodly living. And I think people have come to expect from me that I won’t do what I’m supposed to do because I will always come up with a reason not to. That’s just not cool. It doesn’t gel with my spirit. So I am working on that, as well.

So on top of all that, I am finding physical healing. My body is able to fight off most infections by itself now. Aside from a small bout of surgical complications, I haven’t been to the ER in over a year. I have gone from having 43 medications to now keeping NONE on my desk. As a matter of fact, the only things I’m taking right now are my birth control and an occasional anti-nausea pill, but God is even breaking my dependence on that.

Also in 2008, I finished reading the Bible cover-to-cover. There’s some pretty good stuff in there. My favorite books are James and Joel.

2009 is going to be MY year. I don’t know what’s going to happen, since I try to not put God in my box any more. But I have a few inklings, and they are all good. I sense a job just around the corner. There’s a young man I’ve been talking to who seems very interested in me, so we’ll just have to see where that goes. I anticipate further physical healing. I anticipate peace, the absence of fear, and contentment. It’s just going to be a good year.

That said, it’s not getting off to a terrific start. As it turns out, I have torn my rotator cuff in my left shoulder. I will find out tomorrow what kind of repair that will require, and then my challenge is to figure out how to get that care for myself with no insurance. And yet, as stressed as I am, I am also not worried. Because I know that God is going to handle this, too, and it will all be ok. And so, I trust Him.

And isn’t that what life’s all about?

So farewell to 8002, a sort of backwards year, and here’s to a brilliant 2009!

Father? Abba.

I have trouble conceptualizing of God as “Father.”
At best, it’s sterile. Be honest. Does not the word “father” conjure up images of the von Trapp children? Very formal, very respectful, and while I do not doubt the love of their father toward his children (or the love of the children toward their father), it is far from what I would describe as a “loving relationship.” These children go to bed each night with a wave; no hug, no kiss, no bedtime story. A surrogate must provide all of these things for them.
At worst, “father” is distant and angry. I know this has been true in my own life, as a young child, and I am sure I am not alone. You know what I mean, when after a particularly harsh punishment or stern “no,” you wake up the next morning to find your male parental figure standing in the kitchen, smiling a good morning to you. You look up slightly, not wanting to be disrespectful, and, nodding, say, “Father,” then proceed as if he doesn’t even exist. You want him to know you still know he’s there, but you also create as much distance as possible between the two of you and the message is clear: you are angry.
Neither of these fits my image of God, but those are all I can latch onto when I think of “Father.” I think Jesus had it right, though. I don’t claim to be a scholar in Aramaic, but from what I have studied, Jesus’s word “Abba” more closely translates to our word, “Daddy.”
And isn’t that what we all want? A daddy. It’s so beautiful. He is the strong man who becomes your rock. You sit on his lap and absorb his warmth. You listen to his stories because you honor his wisdom. You seek his advice because you respect his judgment. When life deals you a tough blow, he scoops you up and restores your sense of safety. He gives you a name and a place in life. He is everything you need, and most of all, he is loving. He is an active part of your life. You share a two-way relationship.
Maybe it’s just me, but God as “Father” puts an unnecessary barrier between us. I can’t talk to a father. But I will run to a daddy. He’ll see me coming a mile away, but the force of my impact will still knock him down. We’ll laugh; we’ll cry; we’ll talk. Mostly, we’ll love.
So if God the Father works for you, then by all means, work hard to develop that relationship. But if you, like me, can think of nothing but childish protest or the von Trapp children, then maybe re-think your name for Him. I don’t think God minds one bit when I pray, “Hey Daddy…”
He just smiles and says, “Yeah, kiddo?”