It is the vibration so penetrating that we have trained ourselves to hear its buzz. It sends shockwaves through our body and chills up our spine as we realize that someone, somewhere wants to talk with us. It is our cell phone, and it is ringing.
It is tough to let any call go to voicemail. Today’s world of fingertip technology has trained us to always be ready, to always be available in case that life-changing moment or that split-second emergency or that chance to intervene is just on the other side of the ‘answer’ button. If we put it off to voicemail, maybe we miss our moment, our invitation, or our last chance.
But sometimes, as we all know, it is not possible to take the call. Maybe we are in mixed company where such an
interruption would be rude. Perhaps we are at the movie theater, completely engrossed in the fantasy playing out before us. Maybe we have our hands full with the dishes, the groceries, the kids, or the housework. Maybe, as often happens at least to me, this call caught us with our pants down (no explanation needed). Or maybe we just screen our calls, looking at the caller ID to see if whoever is on the other end is worth interrupting our lives for at that particular moment.
If they are not, we ignore the call or send it straight to voicemail, waiting to listen to their message at a later time. A more opportune time, in our own opinion.
One missed call.
What if that call was the important one? What if that was our moment, our invitation, our last chance? What if the Caller had something life-changing to speak to us in that moment, and even though we could have guessed He really needed us, we sent the call to voicemail anyway because we could not be bothered with His interruptions?
Later, we tell ourselves. Not now.
And later, we press that speed dial button on our phone – 1. One leads us to our message. One takes us to the call we missed. One registers, connecting us to our voicemail box where we hear the words that can only haunt us:
“You have one unheard message. First unheard message….”
Silence. Leaving us to wonder what He wanted when He called.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Saturday, September 11, 2010
And....Scene.
God always wanted to be a God. That’s a statement I wrote earlier this week in the current book project, and it is something that surprised me a bit. Not because it isn’t obvious, but because it seems this is something I have struggled to live.
He’s been working on me. And I could not let the present times come and pass without sharing the awesomeness of this moment, this place.
This is the place of learning how to be. Not how to be…something. Simply how to be. How to let go and live simply and honestly from the truest core of my heart. How to accept the peace and confident assurance that has often troubled me, even as I have known it was a gift from God. How to accept my role in my own life without trying to be the stage crew, too – without running back and forth, deciding when to open or close the curtains or where to shine the spotlight or what colors to use in accenting the action.
It’s been very weird, to be honest. I have noticed as I fight my own reluctance to stop being stage crew that I’m a little concerned about the curtain closing right now. It is drawing shut on a long, tedious phase of my life, and I am almost standing here wondering when I’m going to see the next section of the script. I am an actor, and this should come as no shock to most of you, who loves to memorize my lines and know what is coming; perhaps many of us are that way (we are). So to understand that one thing is ending and not be entirely sure what’s coming next is…difficult. It’s a challenge.
But I am so blessed, and so humbled, to see this chapter closing. It is a realization that hit home for me this week in a very profound way, and it drops me to my knees in redemptive tears. To believe this could finally be over, that it will not be the final and drawn-out scene of my life, is just incredible. I am watching God’s work in me, and I am speechless.
Every day that I refuse to fight it, every day that I choose to let God be God and push my uncertainties aside, I come one step closer to complete healing. It is most noticeably physical, where my half-a-decade journey in the depths of illness is vanishing before my eyes. This month, I am celebrating over three years since vomiting. I am watching my body rebuild itself in strength, developing the core muscles that allow me to be active without needing a nap (but let’s be honest – who doesn’t LOVE a good nap?). I am accepting responsibility for things and becoming my old dependable self, the kind of person that people can rely on to do good work and to fulfill promises and obligations…the kind of person even I can count on. I am watching the physical signs of illness come and go, even as God is finally seeing fit to restore both the visible and invisible. In 2007, I came out of a surgery with a disfiguring rash covering my legs. In those three years, it has never gone away. Now, I am watching it heal…watching it every day fade, heal, and it is not because of anything I am doing. I simply asked God, then LET HIM answer. I am eating good food, exercising, being active, loving deeply, and I even know now what the sun looks like, the way the leaves start to change color, the way the grass feels (even dead and dried up) under my bare feet. In just a few weeks’ time, my final permanent crowns will come into the dentist, and my mouth will be restored. I, who could not even have my teeth cleaned without fidgeting and crying, made it through 10 crowns and 44 fillings. It’s going to be over…
A huge step in all of this, and perhaps the most significant contribution I could have made, has been playing in my heart for several weeks. It has been the absolute necessity of my forgiveness. I have had to forgive myself for getting sick, my body for betraying me, my God for not snapping His fingers and healing me. This was a decision that did not come easily for me (and forgiveness is a decision); I wanted to beat myself up forever, to angrily obsess over the missed opportunities and lost moments, to hate myself for not being strong enough to be as I wanted to be even in the face of the serious moment, and to demand my life back…with interest.
That forgiveness was a better choice, and it has freed me to finish healing. To accept my new smile, my new strength, my pure skin, my energy. I like not holding myself victim to my past. I like understanding that even though life still happens, not everything is a reflection of what has come before. Some things are new. Actually, all things.
And it is perfectly in line with the further work He has been doing in my spirit.
The spirit is a tough one, and though I long ago welcomed the idea of His wholeness into my brokenness, it’s not as simple as it sounds. It’s been awhile since I have been bitter about anything, hateful at all. I have nothing at all to complain about. It’s been forever since I thought about making an excuse for anything; in fact, I have been catching myself trying to fall back on those easy answers and rejecting them. Because they are not Godly; they are not the work of my Father. These things that used to so heavily weigh me down are no longer my heaviest burdens. They have been lifted, and I nearly glide as I move now, unencumbered by the things I was soooo determined to carry for too long. The trick, I guess, is to not begrudge life for being life.
But I’m noticing those little areas of doubt, those little hints that there is more I need to do here, more to be conscious of and faithful with. I am trying to make faith my first response instead of my second thought, and it is coming…but slowly. All of a sudden, I will notice that I’m kind of afraid that I’m not afraid any more. Or that I’m worried because I’m not more worried (and then, magically, I can always find SOMETHING to worry about). Or I’ll notice that I’m holding too tightly to something transient, something of this world that will not last when something so much more important is at stake.
I’m probably not alone in this. I know there are millions of people out there who will get scared just because they have realized they are not scared. Or who will worry because they haven’t worried in awhile. No offense, but I don’t want to be like them. My God calls me to a higher plane, and yes – it SHOULD be that simple to accept His goodness and to accept no fear, accept no worry, accept no hindrance. That is what He calls me to, and I can live it…until I realize I’m living it and then think this all should be harder, that there should be more strife here because it is not Heaven.
This does not by any stretch of the imagination mean that life is roses. Far from it. This is merely the definition of the peace that passes all understanding, the fullness of God who overflows my cup that makes life not stress-worthy. It is the foundation of unshakable faith. (I’m not quite at unshakable yet, but I can sense that growing inside of me. It is near…it is SO near.) And it is what makes me content to be quiet and satisfied to be still, not demanding attention but not afraid to be looked at. Just soaking things in, letting them happen, feeling myself humbled (which carries with it great relief and a tinge of the pain of conviction), knowing redemption, and embracing beauty. The stillness, the quietness, the gentleness….oh, the gentleness!..is what allows me to stay focused on what God is doing, to continue letting go and refusing to pick back up, to stop looking for trouble just because I have none.
A few weeks ago, I was reading in my Bible and noticed how clean and crisp the pages still were, even though this is the Bible I have used for the past 10 years since becoming a Christian. It has been on mission trips, hospital visits, funerals, and so much more…and I always keep it in the box. These past few weeks, those blank, crisp pages almost appalled me. Who am I to keep God clean and in a box? I was inspired to start living a messier life with and for Him.
As I write, it is thundering outside, and the first rains in weeks are falling.
And as if this beautiful work is not enough, I am now preparing for my fifth interview in about the past two weeks, with more promising opportunities on the horizon. Do I know where God will send me? Not exactly, but my understanding of His call on my life sharpens every day. Do I know what is coming next, after this long and arduous chapter in my life closes, as it is so near doing and I am both very excited and very nervous about it? Not really; some vague idea, maybe. Is God about to hand me the next section of script and let me memorize my lines before the next curtain opens? Doubtful.
Instead, He has a new direction. “Let’s just wing it. You follow me, and we’ll play off each other – you respond to My words, and I will answer yours.” It’s probably going to be better that way; then, I can’t obsess about getting it just right, about muffing a line here or there or missing a mark. It’s fluid, flexible. That is my God.
That is OUR God.
He’s been working on me. And I could not let the present times come and pass without sharing the awesomeness of this moment, this place.
This is the place of learning how to be. Not how to be…something. Simply how to be. How to let go and live simply and honestly from the truest core of my heart. How to accept the peace and confident assurance that has often troubled me, even as I have known it was a gift from God. How to accept my role in my own life without trying to be the stage crew, too – without running back and forth, deciding when to open or close the curtains or where to shine the spotlight or what colors to use in accenting the action.
It’s been very weird, to be honest. I have noticed as I fight my own reluctance to stop being stage crew that I’m a little concerned about the curtain closing right now. It is drawing shut on a long, tedious phase of my life, and I am almost standing here wondering when I’m going to see the next section of the script. I am an actor, and this should come as no shock to most of you, who loves to memorize my lines and know what is coming; perhaps many of us are that way (we are). So to understand that one thing is ending and not be entirely sure what’s coming next is…difficult. It’s a challenge.
But I am so blessed, and so humbled, to see this chapter closing. It is a realization that hit home for me this week in a very profound way, and it drops me to my knees in redemptive tears. To believe this could finally be over, that it will not be the final and drawn-out scene of my life, is just incredible. I am watching God’s work in me, and I am speechless.
Every day that I refuse to fight it, every day that I choose to let God be God and push my uncertainties aside, I come one step closer to complete healing. It is most noticeably physical, where my half-a-decade journey in the depths of illness is vanishing before my eyes. This month, I am celebrating over three years since vomiting. I am watching my body rebuild itself in strength, developing the core muscles that allow me to be active without needing a nap (but let’s be honest – who doesn’t LOVE a good nap?). I am accepting responsibility for things and becoming my old dependable self, the kind of person that people can rely on to do good work and to fulfill promises and obligations…the kind of person even I can count on. I am watching the physical signs of illness come and go, even as God is finally seeing fit to restore both the visible and invisible. In 2007, I came out of a surgery with a disfiguring rash covering my legs. In those three years, it has never gone away. Now, I am watching it heal…watching it every day fade, heal, and it is not because of anything I am doing. I simply asked God, then LET HIM answer. I am eating good food, exercising, being active, loving deeply, and I even know now what the sun looks like, the way the leaves start to change color, the way the grass feels (even dead and dried up) under my bare feet. In just a few weeks’ time, my final permanent crowns will come into the dentist, and my mouth will be restored. I, who could not even have my teeth cleaned without fidgeting and crying, made it through 10 crowns and 44 fillings. It’s going to be over…
A huge step in all of this, and perhaps the most significant contribution I could have made, has been playing in my heart for several weeks. It has been the absolute necessity of my forgiveness. I have had to forgive myself for getting sick, my body for betraying me, my God for not snapping His fingers and healing me. This was a decision that did not come easily for me (and forgiveness is a decision); I wanted to beat myself up forever, to angrily obsess over the missed opportunities and lost moments, to hate myself for not being strong enough to be as I wanted to be even in the face of the serious moment, and to demand my life back…with interest.
That forgiveness was a better choice, and it has freed me to finish healing. To accept my new smile, my new strength, my pure skin, my energy. I like not holding myself victim to my past. I like understanding that even though life still happens, not everything is a reflection of what has come before. Some things are new. Actually, all things.
And it is perfectly in line with the further work He has been doing in my spirit.
The spirit is a tough one, and though I long ago welcomed the idea of His wholeness into my brokenness, it’s not as simple as it sounds. It’s been awhile since I have been bitter about anything, hateful at all. I have nothing at all to complain about. It’s been forever since I thought about making an excuse for anything; in fact, I have been catching myself trying to fall back on those easy answers and rejecting them. Because they are not Godly; they are not the work of my Father. These things that used to so heavily weigh me down are no longer my heaviest burdens. They have been lifted, and I nearly glide as I move now, unencumbered by the things I was soooo determined to carry for too long. The trick, I guess, is to not begrudge life for being life.
But I’m noticing those little areas of doubt, those little hints that there is more I need to do here, more to be conscious of and faithful with. I am trying to make faith my first response instead of my second thought, and it is coming…but slowly. All of a sudden, I will notice that I’m kind of afraid that I’m not afraid any more. Or that I’m worried because I’m not more worried (and then, magically, I can always find SOMETHING to worry about). Or I’ll notice that I’m holding too tightly to something transient, something of this world that will not last when something so much more important is at stake.
I’m probably not alone in this. I know there are millions of people out there who will get scared just because they have realized they are not scared. Or who will worry because they haven’t worried in awhile. No offense, but I don’t want to be like them. My God calls me to a higher plane, and yes – it SHOULD be that simple to accept His goodness and to accept no fear, accept no worry, accept no hindrance. That is what He calls me to, and I can live it…until I realize I’m living it and then think this all should be harder, that there should be more strife here because it is not Heaven.
This does not by any stretch of the imagination mean that life is roses. Far from it. This is merely the definition of the peace that passes all understanding, the fullness of God who overflows my cup that makes life not stress-worthy. It is the foundation of unshakable faith. (I’m not quite at unshakable yet, but I can sense that growing inside of me. It is near…it is SO near.) And it is what makes me content to be quiet and satisfied to be still, not demanding attention but not afraid to be looked at. Just soaking things in, letting them happen, feeling myself humbled (which carries with it great relief and a tinge of the pain of conviction), knowing redemption, and embracing beauty. The stillness, the quietness, the gentleness….oh, the gentleness!..is what allows me to stay focused on what God is doing, to continue letting go and refusing to pick back up, to stop looking for trouble just because I have none.
A few weeks ago, I was reading in my Bible and noticed how clean and crisp the pages still were, even though this is the Bible I have used for the past 10 years since becoming a Christian. It has been on mission trips, hospital visits, funerals, and so much more…and I always keep it in the box. These past few weeks, those blank, crisp pages almost appalled me. Who am I to keep God clean and in a box? I was inspired to start living a messier life with and for Him.
As I write, it is thundering outside, and the first rains in weeks are falling.
And as if this beautiful work is not enough, I am now preparing for my fifth interview in about the past two weeks, with more promising opportunities on the horizon. Do I know where God will send me? Not exactly, but my understanding of His call on my life sharpens every day. Do I know what is coming next, after this long and arduous chapter in my life closes, as it is so near doing and I am both very excited and very nervous about it? Not really; some vague idea, maybe. Is God about to hand me the next section of script and let me memorize my lines before the next curtain opens? Doubtful.
Instead, He has a new direction. “Let’s just wing it. You follow me, and we’ll play off each other – you respond to My words, and I will answer yours.” It’s probably going to be better that way; then, I can’t obsess about getting it just right, about muffing a line here or there or missing a mark. It’s fluid, flexible. That is my God.
That is OUR God.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Communion
‘The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want.”
It is the funeral psalm, psalm 23. It is a beautiful portrait of the peace and tranquility of God that represents everything we long for and everything we hope to find when our work on Earth is done. In days of tragic loss and deep grief, these words comfort us as we close our eyes and sense the presence of those streams of still waters and the perfectly green pastures.
But this is not a psalm of death! It is one of life and life abundantly. This is another one of those cases where I believe different translations speak volumes, and I love the beauty of this psalm in the New Living Translation.
“The Lord is my Shepherd; I have everything I need.
He lets me rest in green meadows; he leads me beside peaceful streams. He renews my strength. He guides me along right paths, bringing honor to His name.”
This brings the power of this psalm right into the present, into the here and now. It is easy for us to hear those opening words – “The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want” and yearn for the time that is coming when we will not want anything. The time when we will have everything we need. The time defined by streams and pastures and peace.
What keeps us from embracing the promises of this psalm as the present? What keeps us from believing these things can happen before death, before we are lowered into the ground to return to dust? Why do we have so much trouble believing that God has created this tranquility, this calm, and this peace right here for us?
Especially because as we keep reading, we see that the present, the here and now, the life on this earth, is exactly what He had in mind.
“Even when I walk through the dark valley of death” – notice, “even when” not “now that I have” or “now that I have sent my loved one.” No, this is in the present tense, reminding us of the times when trouble comes. It is an active place, not a passive one; it is a present one in the continuum of life, not the final place we will ever go. God never leaves us in the darkest valley as our lasting memory. He walks through it with us and draws us to the other side!
“I will not be afraid, for you are close beside me. Your rod and your staff protect and comfort me.”
This is beautiful because of the subtle, delicate interplay of “shall” and “will.” Shall requires a foregone conclusion, something outside of our control. Something predetermined, that we should have no reason, even in our wildest imaginations, to…whatever. In this case, we have no reason to want. But the use here of will means that we are making the choice and drawing the conclusion. We can turn and see God beside us, walking with us, comforting us. We can feel the power of His rod and His staff, and it is at that point that we choose not to be afraid.
And then, here it is:
“You prepare a feast for me in the presence of my enemies.”
There are no enemies in death, no struggle or strife or forces to fight against. If God were trying to tell us about death and grief through this psalm, if He were trying to build our hope for the afterlife and for the Heavens, why would He declare this feast in the presence of our enemies?
Because He is talking about here. And this…this act of communion that we participate in, the bread of the body and the wine of the blood…is that feast.
This is that place in the midst of our enemies where we feast. It is the place where the outside disappears and we are invited simply to come to the table, to partake, and to fill ourselves with good food. Here, at the table, we are to eat and drink of what God has prepared for us with no fear of the darkness, no concern about the powers coming against us 6 other days of the week.
Think about the tremendous contrast here! There is a battle, a war raging where your enemies are against you, and right here in the midst of it all, you decide to sit down and have a meal. You can be vulnerable and relax, trusting in His protection, and let the fullness of His goodness nourish your body, your mind, your soul.
This is where we are nourished, strengthened, and given great rest…a small vacation from the grind of the world.
This is His invitation! This is our table, prepared for us by a loving God.
Let us come and accept His invitation. Let us be His honored guests here, partaking in this feast He has set for us. Let us tell our enemies to wait, put aside all care and concern, choose to live without fear, embrace His provision, and be taken fully in by this sacred moment, this sacred place.
This table.
It is the funeral psalm, psalm 23. It is a beautiful portrait of the peace and tranquility of God that represents everything we long for and everything we hope to find when our work on Earth is done. In days of tragic loss and deep grief, these words comfort us as we close our eyes and sense the presence of those streams of still waters and the perfectly green pastures.
But this is not a psalm of death! It is one of life and life abundantly. This is another one of those cases where I believe different translations speak volumes, and I love the beauty of this psalm in the New Living Translation.
“The Lord is my Shepherd; I have everything I need.
He lets me rest in green meadows; he leads me beside peaceful streams. He renews my strength. He guides me along right paths, bringing honor to His name.”
This brings the power of this psalm right into the present, into the here and now. It is easy for us to hear those opening words – “The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want” and yearn for the time that is coming when we will not want anything. The time when we will have everything we need. The time defined by streams and pastures and peace.
What keeps us from embracing the promises of this psalm as the present? What keeps us from believing these things can happen before death, before we are lowered into the ground to return to dust? Why do we have so much trouble believing that God has created this tranquility, this calm, and this peace right here for us?
Especially because as we keep reading, we see that the present, the here and now, the life on this earth, is exactly what He had in mind.
“Even when I walk through the dark valley of death” – notice, “even when” not “now that I have” or “now that I have sent my loved one.” No, this is in the present tense, reminding us of the times when trouble comes. It is an active place, not a passive one; it is a present one in the continuum of life, not the final place we will ever go. God never leaves us in the darkest valley as our lasting memory. He walks through it with us and draws us to the other side!
“I will not be afraid, for you are close beside me. Your rod and your staff protect and comfort me.”
This is beautiful because of the subtle, delicate interplay of “shall” and “will.” Shall requires a foregone conclusion, something outside of our control. Something predetermined, that we should have no reason, even in our wildest imaginations, to…whatever. In this case, we have no reason to want. But the use here of will means that we are making the choice and drawing the conclusion. We can turn and see God beside us, walking with us, comforting us. We can feel the power of His rod and His staff, and it is at that point that we choose not to be afraid.
And then, here it is:
“You prepare a feast for me in the presence of my enemies.”
There are no enemies in death, no struggle or strife or forces to fight against. If God were trying to tell us about death and grief through this psalm, if He were trying to build our hope for the afterlife and for the Heavens, why would He declare this feast in the presence of our enemies?
Because He is talking about here. And this…this act of communion that we participate in, the bread of the body and the wine of the blood…is that feast.
This is that place in the midst of our enemies where we feast. It is the place where the outside disappears and we are invited simply to come to the table, to partake, and to fill ourselves with good food. Here, at the table, we are to eat and drink of what God has prepared for us with no fear of the darkness, no concern about the powers coming against us 6 other days of the week.
Think about the tremendous contrast here! There is a battle, a war raging where your enemies are against you, and right here in the midst of it all, you decide to sit down and have a meal. You can be vulnerable and relax, trusting in His protection, and let the fullness of His goodness nourish your body, your mind, your soul.
This is where we are nourished, strengthened, and given great rest…a small vacation from the grind of the world.
This is His invitation! This is our table, prepared for us by a loving God.
Let us come and accept His invitation. Let us be His honored guests here, partaking in this feast He has set for us. Let us tell our enemies to wait, put aside all care and concern, choose to live without fear, embrace His provision, and be taken fully in by this sacred moment, this sacred place.
This table.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Rainbows
Let me put on my blinders for just a moment. Ok; ready.
Why is it so difficult to find a job? Seriously, you would think employers would be jumping all over someone as talented, passionate, and confident as myself, not to mention the kind of heart that dwells in this body. I’m anxious to serve, to find a way to do some good and maybe make a living off of it. (Not that I have anything against volunteer work, either; it just doesn’t pay the bills.) I worked hard all through school, graduated at the top of my class in both high school and college despite significant obstacles and a few major setbacks. I have volunteered my time in doing the things I love and trying to establish my skill so that one day, an employer would talk to me.
Here is one day. And more than two years after graduating, I’m not getting the interviews I want. When I do interview, a few have seemed promising only to collapse in front of me for one reason or another. And nobody has contacted any of my references, so far as I know (and my primary references have told me – nobody’s been talking to them.) So what does it take for a girl to get something around here? Or around anywhere?
Now take the blinders off…because this is not the whole picture. I am happy. Very happy. And if you’ve read my most recent note, you know why. This place I’m in – this middle of nowhere – is absolutely incredible and doing great things in me. The work I am doing, the books I am writing or the secret projects I am working on or the conversations I am having, are going so well. I pick up my pen or my pencil or sit down at the keyboard and open up the latest chapter or whatever it is, and I am content. I know something awesome is happening through this gift that God has given me – both the gifts of my talents and the gifts of His peace. This contentment, really, and fulfillment.
And then another job falls through, and I can be quick to forget everything He is working on in me. Because it is terribly easy to worry about tomorrow when it seems nothing good is around the corner. Yet, I have absolutely unshakable confidence that something good IS around the corner. He’s got plans for me, and a purpose, and with as clearly as He has put that in my heart and in my hands and in my mind and in my dreams, both sleeping and awake, I am ashamed to say that I am at times getting impatient and narrow-minded, forgetting His gift and His blessing in the many places to focus on the one place He has yet to come through for me.
The skies clouded over this afternoon, not long after another rejection letter showed up in the mail (rejection after what I felt was a good interview and a strong opportunity). Rain started falling, and I was thankful for the moment of cleansing. When I went outside to run a few errands, I saw the clouds forming and splitting – the sun here in the west; the clouds in the east. And I started looking around for a rainbow.
Rainbows seem so rare to me, and I can probably count on one hand the number of times I have seen them in my life. Yet, here I was on a cloudy day with disappointment in my heart…looking for a rainbow. Some sign of His covenant and His promise, something tangible and outside of my heart that I can hold on to for at least a short while.
I am very blessed. I am very gifted. My heart is full, and I rest in absolute assurance. God whispers wonderful love into my ear, and I hear Him. I talk back, and He answers me again. Beautiful things are happening. So I need to take my blinders off more often and see the big picture instead of waiting just here on this one thing.
There’s got to be a job out there, and I pray it comes quickly. Not for money, necessarily, because God’s math is greater than mine and He has seen fit to take care of me so far. But mostly, I am anxious to move on to whatever the next stage of my life is. I’m anxious to keep moving forward and pushing myself and growing, and I am confident I can take my new heart with me. Fully and without compromise. More than disappointed with this rejection, I think I could easily say that as each day passes, my anticipation of a promise fulfilled and my anxiousness to pursue His calling only increases.
Confident and blessed and gifted and assured as I am, and as full of faith and overflowing with goodness and completely content as I am, and with so much peace in my heart, it surprises me how simple it is to worry about tomorrow. Tomorrow is then, and this is now and today, surprisingly, is beautiful, too.
Just as I am sure tomorrow will be.
Just as I am sure every day will be when I walk with God.
Because someone somewhere is seeing my rainbow, even today.
Why is it so difficult to find a job? Seriously, you would think employers would be jumping all over someone as talented, passionate, and confident as myself, not to mention the kind of heart that dwells in this body. I’m anxious to serve, to find a way to do some good and maybe make a living off of it. (Not that I have anything against volunteer work, either; it just doesn’t pay the bills.) I worked hard all through school, graduated at the top of my class in both high school and college despite significant obstacles and a few major setbacks. I have volunteered my time in doing the things I love and trying to establish my skill so that one day, an employer would talk to me.
Here is one day. And more than two years after graduating, I’m not getting the interviews I want. When I do interview, a few have seemed promising only to collapse in front of me for one reason or another. And nobody has contacted any of my references, so far as I know (and my primary references have told me – nobody’s been talking to them.) So what does it take for a girl to get something around here? Or around anywhere?
Now take the blinders off…because this is not the whole picture. I am happy. Very happy. And if you’ve read my most recent note, you know why. This place I’m in – this middle of nowhere – is absolutely incredible and doing great things in me. The work I am doing, the books I am writing or the secret projects I am working on or the conversations I am having, are going so well. I pick up my pen or my pencil or sit down at the keyboard and open up the latest chapter or whatever it is, and I am content. I know something awesome is happening through this gift that God has given me – both the gifts of my talents and the gifts of His peace. This contentment, really, and fulfillment.
And then another job falls through, and I can be quick to forget everything He is working on in me. Because it is terribly easy to worry about tomorrow when it seems nothing good is around the corner. Yet, I have absolutely unshakable confidence that something good IS around the corner. He’s got plans for me, and a purpose, and with as clearly as He has put that in my heart and in my hands and in my mind and in my dreams, both sleeping and awake, I am ashamed to say that I am at times getting impatient and narrow-minded, forgetting His gift and His blessing in the many places to focus on the one place He has yet to come through for me.
The skies clouded over this afternoon, not long after another rejection letter showed up in the mail (rejection after what I felt was a good interview and a strong opportunity). Rain started falling, and I was thankful for the moment of cleansing. When I went outside to run a few errands, I saw the clouds forming and splitting – the sun here in the west; the clouds in the east. And I started looking around for a rainbow.
Rainbows seem so rare to me, and I can probably count on one hand the number of times I have seen them in my life. Yet, here I was on a cloudy day with disappointment in my heart…looking for a rainbow. Some sign of His covenant and His promise, something tangible and outside of my heart that I can hold on to for at least a short while.
I am very blessed. I am very gifted. My heart is full, and I rest in absolute assurance. God whispers wonderful love into my ear, and I hear Him. I talk back, and He answers me again. Beautiful things are happening. So I need to take my blinders off more often and see the big picture instead of waiting just here on this one thing.
There’s got to be a job out there, and I pray it comes quickly. Not for money, necessarily, because God’s math is greater than mine and He has seen fit to take care of me so far. But mostly, I am anxious to move on to whatever the next stage of my life is. I’m anxious to keep moving forward and pushing myself and growing, and I am confident I can take my new heart with me. Fully and without compromise. More than disappointed with this rejection, I think I could easily say that as each day passes, my anticipation of a promise fulfilled and my anxiousness to pursue His calling only increases.
Confident and blessed and gifted and assured as I am, and as full of faith and overflowing with goodness and completely content as I am, and with so much peace in my heart, it surprises me how simple it is to worry about tomorrow. Tomorrow is then, and this is now and today, surprisingly, is beautiful, too.
Just as I am sure tomorrow will be.
Just as I am sure every day will be when I walk with God.
Because someone somewhere is seeing my rainbow, even today.
Monday, August 9, 2010
This Beautiful Place
Sometimes, God meets us in the weirdest places. With the wonderful change that has been happening in my life, particularly the transformation in my heart, I’ve begun to wonder just what is this place where I have encountered so powerfully my Lord.
The more I thought about it, the more I struggled to define this place at all. It is an in-between, a bland and dull desert bordering on wilderness that has often left me feeling lost or forgotten or just completely out of place. I’ve been looking around here for some time, trying to find the signs to point me in the right direction, but there just aren’t any. It is…barren.
Not a student, but not a working professional yet. Not married, not dating, not content to be single…but not desperately single, either. No kids. Not even a place of my own. No misadventures that make for good stories. No wild parties or world travels or anything really of note. No wonder this place is so hard to grasp! And even harder to define.
But some very beautiful things are happening here nonetheless. I am encountering, in new and powerful ways each day, the Lord of my life. He is sometimes Comforter, sometimes Encourager; sometimes Friend, sometimes Antagonist; sometimes Listener, sometimes Speaker; but always, He is Lord.
It wouldn’t be enough to say this place has changed me, that my encounters with Him here have done something incredible. It’s more than that. It has been an entire lifestyle change.
It has been (and continues to be) a place of great healing and redemption, such a powerful transformation that it still takes my breath away when I notice it, even in the subtlest of ways. My heart is free – not aloof or in denial or staunchly protesting any circumstance – but truly free. There is no longer any hate or bitterness, no grudges or unforgiveness left. No worries or fear. No obsession or mindless compulsion. Even no concern as to time or money. Life is completely without burden by the simple submission of letting go. Without burden or hurry or worry or fear, but also without foolishness. My vision is clear; my perspective increases by the day. And hope and anticipation of the future to come keeps my heart buzzing.
I am simply…full. Full in freedom and in grace, in mercy and restoration. Unafraid of my past, which no longer seems painful nor foreign but it part of the intricate tapestry of beauty. I’m not drawn to dwell on anything, nor am I quick to respond any more. My tongue is more controlled, and there are many times I am content to say nothing at all. I do not begrudgingly do anything, but am able to tap into a new heart of service and humility that allows me to get more done than I ever imagined.
And I am so busy, accomplishing much. Serving well. Loving well.
Oh, yes! Loving so well. My relationships are changing, and I’m not sure if that is the condition of my heart or the way I am able to tame and control my responses to things. There are still some slips here and there, and some times when I realize I have not responded as I probably should have, but this is something I have prayed for for such a long time, and it is just wonderful to see this finally developing.
I’m not really driven to list my accomplishments; that is of little consequence, though “taught the vacuum not to catch fire” makes for an excellent status update and conversation starter. Before Facebook, did you know there were entire generations of people who worked hard every day and had no one to tell about it? Because it wasn’t some grand accomplishment; labor is life. That’s kind of how I’m coming to view it, because it satisfies me to work well, to work hard, and to simply let this be. And no matter how much I have to do on a particular day, there is always more than enough time when I let my heart do the planning. I’m not stuck in timetables and to-do lists, but just letting things happen naturally and then being shocked at how much time is left over.
God definitely provides.
That said, I am still pretty psyched about my third book, which I am now halfway through, and this year’s special top-secret Christmas project for the kids, which I am not at liberty to share until December 26th since my sister-in-law is now a Facebook friend.
Actually, I am gaining a lot of new FB friends lately, and it is another answer to a long-time call of my heart. It’s called…“family.” Those of you who know me well and know my story, or even hints of it, can understand that I’ve never really considered myself part of any network of relatives. One side of the family is unnecessarily cruel and standoffish, among other things, and particularly since dad’s death, I never really felt like I belonged there. And during his life, I was not privileged enough to know much of mom’s side. Well, I am coming to know more of mom’s side each day, and I have to tell you – that is where many of my questions have been answered. I see so much of these indescribable wonders of my heart reflected in the beauty of what can only be described as “good folk,” even if they do have some crazies around (hey, who doesn’t?). Hanging around with them, especially in this past month when it seems I haven’t been able to get AWAY from any of them, has just been so wonderful, and I can’t wait to experience more of that and see how this develops. I am honored to call them my friends, of course, but I am more awed by…well…family.
What maybe surprises me most around all of this, these deep changes in my heart and the way life is so different, is that it seems so automatic so quickly. It is easier now to let go than to obsess; it is often my gut instinct. I’m not quick to anger, nor quick to speak. I’m still a little naïve and probably a little innocent, but I’m not so sure that is a bad thing. I’m not rushed, and I notice even my footsteps changing. This is the life I have so longed for, and here it is unfolding before me! Gentleness, graciousness, humility, service, and so many other wonderful things. It would be endless to name them all, but I am seeing them. I am feeling them in my heart. And I am just stunned at how simple it all is.
And how beautiful.
And how counter-cultural. Can people really live like this in 21st Century America? Apparently so, because God is the same today as in the Garden. Now, that’s incredible!
Through it all, as well, and for the past several years, I have spent many nights praying for purpose, for that thing that will make me feel like I belong or am valued or whatever words you want to put to purpose. I thought it would come through this or that thing that I would eventually do, but it completely took me by surprise. Sometime last week or so, I suddenly felt it in this fullness – purpose. And it has nothing to do with finding a career, moving out on my own, making a statement in the world, or anything I ever thought it would center around. It simply is. It is in fullness and in God. I just can’t help it, but I feel fully purposed.
Even though it seems I’m not doing anything.
I am getting kind of a little crazy, too, if I’m being honest. There are some things I would like to try, things I might have been too afraid to pursue just a few months ago. I’m doing more things by myself, which is very cool, but I am also exploring the new self through all of that and pushing my boundaries a bit because I know I have boxed myself in for too long. On a serious note, I keep coming back to my yearning for a graduate degree, for pursuing a track in counseling that will enable me to serve others who have suffered immense trauma. I want to open a trauma center one day, and I strongly believe God is placing this calling on my life. But I am bound by a sense of stewardship, so I have to figure out financing before I do anything crazy like return to school. On the lighter side, I was thinking the other day that it might be fun to go boating. I was on the Maid of the Mist once, but that’s different than just encountering nature on the water, if you know what I mean. And I thought maybe karaoke would be fun. Something out of my box, something that requires me to fully shut off and let go and just enjoy myself. I am preoccupied a bit, maybe, by the idea of exploring this new freedom – where life is just life and a blessed gift from God instead of the way I’ve been living it for too long.
It all comes back to attachment. I’m going to get psychological for a moment, but I think this will make sense. One of the things we study about children in particular is attachment style, which is formed rather early in life. It’s why you can’t leave a baby screaming in a crib for hours, and we all understand that. Children with secure attachments, with parents who love them unconditionally and relate to them with appropriate nurture and firmness, tend to be more successful and less fearful in life. They are willing to explore a bit, to strike out on their own, to make friends, and more because they know that when they come back and if they ever need to, home will be there. Children with insecure attachments – the abused, the neglected, those with too permissive parents or too corporal parents, etc. – are fearful and tend to cling to what they know because they fear change, they fear letting anything be different because nothing is ever the same. They are less likely to risk because they don’t know if they can ever go home again, if home will ever be there.
I have found my secure attachment later in life, now here in my mid-20s, as I understand the safe love of my Father. I feel completely safe, completely secure, and that gives me the wings to fly and the heart to take risks. That is making a HUGE difference, beyond my wildest imagination.
I just can’t say enough what it’s like to not carry the heavy weights that have defined my first quarter-century. It is…indescribable. Wordless. And I am always speechless because of this great thing God has done, and is doing, in me.
I have compared some of this lately to a bad cold or a sinus infection, a universal experience that I think everyone understands. In the throes of sickness, we often sleep fitfully. We can’t breathe too well, or sometimes at all, and that keeps waking us up and preventing our bodies from finding rest. Then, when the fever breaks and our airways start to clear, we seem to do nothing but sleep…after the illness is over! Well, I finally feel like I can breathe after 25 years, and I am EXHAUSTED. I have been sleeping better in the past few weeks than ever before, but I’m still exhausted. (And great dreams, most of the time. A couple of nights ago, I woke up singing the most beautiful worship song that has never been written and of course, by the time I had enough consciousness to compose it, it was gone.) Not really worn out or overspent or anything like that; just exhausted and understanding my desperate need for rest. It kind of makes me emotional, too, which is actually part of the beauty here, too – things are really touching my heart in powerful ways. But yeah, I am absolutely loving the Sabbath and the rest. It is part of God’s beautiful gift here.
Which leads me back to the original question, one I finally found the answer to late last night and honestly busted out laughing in the dark. Where is here? Where is this place where I have so wonderfully and powerfully encountered the Living God? This place that I’m not sure I want to let go of, but that I am equally as anxious to see radically transformed? This place that is calling me out, through my heart, to do more good in the world and to serve in ways I haven’t imagined yet and am not even sure where to start? This place of wilderness and desert and barrenness with no visible signs pointing in any direction, no map to take me out of here, and nothing really of note going on?
This is the honest-to-God proverbial middle of nowhere.
God has met me even here. And it is beautiful.
The more I thought about it, the more I struggled to define this place at all. It is an in-between, a bland and dull desert bordering on wilderness that has often left me feeling lost or forgotten or just completely out of place. I’ve been looking around here for some time, trying to find the signs to point me in the right direction, but there just aren’t any. It is…barren.
Not a student, but not a working professional yet. Not married, not dating, not content to be single…but not desperately single, either. No kids. Not even a place of my own. No misadventures that make for good stories. No wild parties or world travels or anything really of note. No wonder this place is so hard to grasp! And even harder to define.
But some very beautiful things are happening here nonetheless. I am encountering, in new and powerful ways each day, the Lord of my life. He is sometimes Comforter, sometimes Encourager; sometimes Friend, sometimes Antagonist; sometimes Listener, sometimes Speaker; but always, He is Lord.
It wouldn’t be enough to say this place has changed me, that my encounters with Him here have done something incredible. It’s more than that. It has been an entire lifestyle change.
It has been (and continues to be) a place of great healing and redemption, such a powerful transformation that it still takes my breath away when I notice it, even in the subtlest of ways. My heart is free – not aloof or in denial or staunchly protesting any circumstance – but truly free. There is no longer any hate or bitterness, no grudges or unforgiveness left. No worries or fear. No obsession or mindless compulsion. Even no concern as to time or money. Life is completely without burden by the simple submission of letting go. Without burden or hurry or worry or fear, but also without foolishness. My vision is clear; my perspective increases by the day. And hope and anticipation of the future to come keeps my heart buzzing.
I am simply…full. Full in freedom and in grace, in mercy and restoration. Unafraid of my past, which no longer seems painful nor foreign but it part of the intricate tapestry of beauty. I’m not drawn to dwell on anything, nor am I quick to respond any more. My tongue is more controlled, and there are many times I am content to say nothing at all. I do not begrudgingly do anything, but am able to tap into a new heart of service and humility that allows me to get more done than I ever imagined.
And I am so busy, accomplishing much. Serving well. Loving well.
Oh, yes! Loving so well. My relationships are changing, and I’m not sure if that is the condition of my heart or the way I am able to tame and control my responses to things. There are still some slips here and there, and some times when I realize I have not responded as I probably should have, but this is something I have prayed for for such a long time, and it is just wonderful to see this finally developing.
I’m not really driven to list my accomplishments; that is of little consequence, though “taught the vacuum not to catch fire” makes for an excellent status update and conversation starter. Before Facebook, did you know there were entire generations of people who worked hard every day and had no one to tell about it? Because it wasn’t some grand accomplishment; labor is life. That’s kind of how I’m coming to view it, because it satisfies me to work well, to work hard, and to simply let this be. And no matter how much I have to do on a particular day, there is always more than enough time when I let my heart do the planning. I’m not stuck in timetables and to-do lists, but just letting things happen naturally and then being shocked at how much time is left over.
God definitely provides.
That said, I am still pretty psyched about my third book, which I am now halfway through, and this year’s special top-secret Christmas project for the kids, which I am not at liberty to share until December 26th since my sister-in-law is now a Facebook friend.
Actually, I am gaining a lot of new FB friends lately, and it is another answer to a long-time call of my heart. It’s called…“family.” Those of you who know me well and know my story, or even hints of it, can understand that I’ve never really considered myself part of any network of relatives. One side of the family is unnecessarily cruel and standoffish, among other things, and particularly since dad’s death, I never really felt like I belonged there. And during his life, I was not privileged enough to know much of mom’s side. Well, I am coming to know more of mom’s side each day, and I have to tell you – that is where many of my questions have been answered. I see so much of these indescribable wonders of my heart reflected in the beauty of what can only be described as “good folk,” even if they do have some crazies around (hey, who doesn’t?). Hanging around with them, especially in this past month when it seems I haven’t been able to get AWAY from any of them, has just been so wonderful, and I can’t wait to experience more of that and see how this develops. I am honored to call them my friends, of course, but I am more awed by…well…family.
What maybe surprises me most around all of this, these deep changes in my heart and the way life is so different, is that it seems so automatic so quickly. It is easier now to let go than to obsess; it is often my gut instinct. I’m not quick to anger, nor quick to speak. I’m still a little naïve and probably a little innocent, but I’m not so sure that is a bad thing. I’m not rushed, and I notice even my footsteps changing. This is the life I have so longed for, and here it is unfolding before me! Gentleness, graciousness, humility, service, and so many other wonderful things. It would be endless to name them all, but I am seeing them. I am feeling them in my heart. And I am just stunned at how simple it all is.
And how beautiful.
And how counter-cultural. Can people really live like this in 21st Century America? Apparently so, because God is the same today as in the Garden. Now, that’s incredible!
Through it all, as well, and for the past several years, I have spent many nights praying for purpose, for that thing that will make me feel like I belong or am valued or whatever words you want to put to purpose. I thought it would come through this or that thing that I would eventually do, but it completely took me by surprise. Sometime last week or so, I suddenly felt it in this fullness – purpose. And it has nothing to do with finding a career, moving out on my own, making a statement in the world, or anything I ever thought it would center around. It simply is. It is in fullness and in God. I just can’t help it, but I feel fully purposed.
Even though it seems I’m not doing anything.
I am getting kind of a little crazy, too, if I’m being honest. There are some things I would like to try, things I might have been too afraid to pursue just a few months ago. I’m doing more things by myself, which is very cool, but I am also exploring the new self through all of that and pushing my boundaries a bit because I know I have boxed myself in for too long. On a serious note, I keep coming back to my yearning for a graduate degree, for pursuing a track in counseling that will enable me to serve others who have suffered immense trauma. I want to open a trauma center one day, and I strongly believe God is placing this calling on my life. But I am bound by a sense of stewardship, so I have to figure out financing before I do anything crazy like return to school. On the lighter side, I was thinking the other day that it might be fun to go boating. I was on the Maid of the Mist once, but that’s different than just encountering nature on the water, if you know what I mean. And I thought maybe karaoke would be fun. Something out of my box, something that requires me to fully shut off and let go and just enjoy myself. I am preoccupied a bit, maybe, by the idea of exploring this new freedom – where life is just life and a blessed gift from God instead of the way I’ve been living it for too long.
It all comes back to attachment. I’m going to get psychological for a moment, but I think this will make sense. One of the things we study about children in particular is attachment style, which is formed rather early in life. It’s why you can’t leave a baby screaming in a crib for hours, and we all understand that. Children with secure attachments, with parents who love them unconditionally and relate to them with appropriate nurture and firmness, tend to be more successful and less fearful in life. They are willing to explore a bit, to strike out on their own, to make friends, and more because they know that when they come back and if they ever need to, home will be there. Children with insecure attachments – the abused, the neglected, those with too permissive parents or too corporal parents, etc. – are fearful and tend to cling to what they know because they fear change, they fear letting anything be different because nothing is ever the same. They are less likely to risk because they don’t know if they can ever go home again, if home will ever be there.
I have found my secure attachment later in life, now here in my mid-20s, as I understand the safe love of my Father. I feel completely safe, completely secure, and that gives me the wings to fly and the heart to take risks. That is making a HUGE difference, beyond my wildest imagination.
I just can’t say enough what it’s like to not carry the heavy weights that have defined my first quarter-century. It is…indescribable. Wordless. And I am always speechless because of this great thing God has done, and is doing, in me.
I have compared some of this lately to a bad cold or a sinus infection, a universal experience that I think everyone understands. In the throes of sickness, we often sleep fitfully. We can’t breathe too well, or sometimes at all, and that keeps waking us up and preventing our bodies from finding rest. Then, when the fever breaks and our airways start to clear, we seem to do nothing but sleep…after the illness is over! Well, I finally feel like I can breathe after 25 years, and I am EXHAUSTED. I have been sleeping better in the past few weeks than ever before, but I’m still exhausted. (And great dreams, most of the time. A couple of nights ago, I woke up singing the most beautiful worship song that has never been written and of course, by the time I had enough consciousness to compose it, it was gone.) Not really worn out or overspent or anything like that; just exhausted and understanding my desperate need for rest. It kind of makes me emotional, too, which is actually part of the beauty here, too – things are really touching my heart in powerful ways. But yeah, I am absolutely loving the Sabbath and the rest. It is part of God’s beautiful gift here.
Which leads me back to the original question, one I finally found the answer to late last night and honestly busted out laughing in the dark. Where is here? Where is this place where I have so wonderfully and powerfully encountered the Living God? This place that I’m not sure I want to let go of, but that I am equally as anxious to see radically transformed? This place that is calling me out, through my heart, to do more good in the world and to serve in ways I haven’t imagined yet and am not even sure where to start? This place of wilderness and desert and barrenness with no visible signs pointing in any direction, no map to take me out of here, and nothing really of note going on?
This is the honest-to-God proverbial middle of nowhere.
God has met me even here. And it is beautiful.
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