What Would I Give?

Anyone else get “zinged” in church this Sunday? I did! And mine was a double hitter! In my young adults class we talked about Generosity, what it is, what keeps us from it (our excuses,) what God says about it, and consequences for withholding it. End result…ever have that feeling like one of those huge multi-colored neon blinking arrows is right above your head? No one else might have seen it, but my psyche certainly did. Then in church we talked about what true Belief is. (Defined as: “Something considered to be true and worthy of ones trust; to entrust oneself to another with complete and total commitment.”—wow.) My pastor told this amazing story of a man he met in Uganda last week on a mission trip. The man came forward to pray to become a Christian and Jim asked him if he understood what that meant. He answered yes so Jim said, “Let’s pray.” The man stopped him and said, first I think you should know that I’m Muslim. Jim paused and looked the man in the eye and repeated the question: “Do you understand what you’re getting yourself into?” The man replied, “Yes, it means I may get kicked out of my family, lose my job, be ostracized from my community and become completely dependent on any charity the church gives me… I trust Jesus that much.” There was an audible collective gasp from the congregation. And I knew what we were all thinking. Do I believe like that?

After at lunch a couple of us talked about the messages and admitted to the difficulty in attaining this kind of Belief in Jesus. And, as God does so often with me, I spurted out a thought that made me stop and think about what I just said. I was talking about Moses and how I wouldn’t want his job. Hey, go to the most powerful man around and tell him he’s wrong and his power is going to crumble and his work force will be taken from him. Then lead a people who will grumble and complain against you and not listen to you. I wouldn’t want to live not knowing the next step I was to take until I took it. I would not want to wander seemingly aimlessly for decades!... But I want to see the waters part, and I want to go up onto the mountain and talk face to face with God. And I guess the question is, am I willing to give up everything I know for the chance to really see God move? 

Huh… would I? What would I give? Security? Future plans? Desires of my heart? Comfort? Reputation? And I realized. I WANT God. I have a deep longing that runs to the core of my being. And I’m terrified of the cost, but I have this sneaking suspicion that I’ll get to the point where my desire for more of Him trumps my fear. Because I’m not satisfied with once-a-week lessons that prick my moral and spiritual conscience. I’m not satisfied with guilt over what I haven’t done. I’m not satisfied with once a year mission trips. (Not that any of that is bad--far from it, I just want MORE.) I WANT God. I want to see the hopeless become the hopefuls. I want to paint my world in His colors! He is SO amazing! And I want people to see glimpses of who He truly is in all His complex and confusing shades. I used to sing a song long ago in a group called Living Proof. “There’s a voice calling me from an old rugged tree, and it whispers, ‘draw closer to me. Leave this world far behind, there are new heights to climb and a new place in me you will find.’ For whatever it takes, to draw closer to you Lord, that’s what I’ll be willing to do, and whatever it takes to be more like you, that’s what I’ll be willing to do. Take the dearest thing to me, if that’s how it must be to draw me closer to thee. Let the disappointments come, lonely days without the sun if through sorrow more like you I become. Take my houses and land, change my dreams and my plans for I’m placing my whole life in your hands. And if you call me today to a land far away, Lord I’ll go, and your will obey. I’ll trade comfort for pain, I’ll trade sunshine for rain, that’s what I’ll be willing to do. For whatever it takes for my heart to break, that’s what I’ll be willing to do.” … I think I’m beginning to get that song now. 

Silence is golden...

"Finding myself at a loss for words, and the funny thing is, it's okay..." No truer words have been sung. Alright that's a bit hyperbolic but that's how I felt day 1 of my "Word" fast for lent. I had expected that there would be plenty of moments I wanted attention in some capacity and only recognized it because of my vow of silence. What surprised me was how much I wanted to explain myself! To be understood. How hard it was for me to relinquish other people's opinions of me. Even small things like, "Well you can't talk but you can text so it will be alright." Well no, written words are still words, but I can't explain that to you because I've given up words! Another surprising thing: How LOUD it is in my mind! Even on day 1 I found it extremely hard to turn the inner monologue off. To be quiet and just listen. No wonder I often find myself in the past or future rather than engaged with the present. This was definitely a hindsight enlightenment to why I even began this fast. This past fall I found God leading me back to the scripture in James about being quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry. It got to the point where I would pray this over my life on a pretty regular basis. Then around December a seed was planted in my heart for the desire to do a word fast. This brings me back to lent. 

Well by day 5 I found myself in a constant battle to listen and not be drawn into my inner monologue. Seriously, it was like my brain had "shiny object" syndrome. You could say "cat" and I'd be gone for the next ten minutes thinking about my parent's cats and the Cheshire cat and the pros and cons of Dogs vs Cats, etc ad nausium. About this time I also began to realize a thread of critical thinking towards others but also towards myself. Take traffic for example. Someone would cut me off without even signaling with their blinker that they were headed in my direction and I would angrily rant about right-of-ways and politeness (as if they can hear me) then catch myself and begin to yell at myself for not being more forgiving and loving... something is wrong with this whole picture. 

Day 10 felt like the biggest milestone (even in I did have 30 more to go!) And I had found gentle ways of guiding my thoughts. I had decided that my drive to and from work would be times for me to exercise silence in my mind. So when thoughts would invade the stillness of the car I would gently correct, "Shhh... listen." Okay so it's a bit like talking to a child, but I figured it was better than "Shut up!" I also began to pay attention to colors. I never really appreciated color so much, but I would find myself in stunned silence looking at the green of the grass or the pink of the budding trees or that amazing red/orange of the sunset. But one of the biggest surprises was the discovery that God wasn't overly talkative when I was completely silent, and I finally realized that the times when I hear him the most is when I'm in dialogue with him. I'm an external processor and that's how God speaks to me. I can't tell you how many times I'll be talking (processing) and out of my mouth will come something that was never in my head. And I can't really put it into words, but there was this incredible connection between me and God in that revelation. He sees me, he knows me, he made me, he relates to me in my own terms... wow.  

Now I wish I could go on to tell you of a glorious victory and how much I am changed because of it, but the truth is, I knew going into this that there was a huge change of "failure" on my part. I had also told God that if I found myself getting overly angry or resentful towards him about a vow I made (and was not forced to make) that I would rather break the vow than blame him. I didn't last much beyond Day 10. Some of it had to do with the fact that I was beginning to have VERY vivid dreams that wore me out because all my unprocessed thoughts were cramming into them. Part of it was weakness of resolve. But I began talking socially again. Not all the time, but far more often than was needed. And while I admit that I failed, I also admit that I've forgiven myself. I'm proud of how far I made it, and maybe next year if I feel led, I'll make it even farther. I'm SO thankful for the things I learned and hope that this has given me tools to remain present in the moment, gently still my mind to listen, and think about others and myself with a more positive inner voice. Wow, that last sentence was rather long! And this blog is heading in the same direction. So before I become a complete hypocrite for saying "less is more" I'll end my words and focus on the present. 

The best things in live aren't easy

So I've realized over the past week or so a great fallacy in my beliefs. I have been praying for God's rule an reign to come into different areas of my life thinking, "If I do it God's way, it will be easier." AKA, All the pieces will fall into place, there will be smooth sailing, I will live in a bubble of blessing, etc. But looking at scripture I see the opposite. Abraham listened to God and left everything he knew to wander about till he found there God wanted him to go. He faced many instances where it seemed God had abandoned him all together. Moses listened to God and talked to Pharaoh who didn't let his people go. (Not at first anyway.) And then he got stuck between an army and the sea. And then dealt with his people groaning and complaining about him and refusing to go where he tried to lead them. In the end he spent the rest of his life, wandering around in the desert. Jeremiah was thrown into a well. Many of the prophets were ignored, ridiculed, and hunted down. All the disciples were killed violently (except John who was exiled.) I can see why some people have a hard time with this "all in" concept. Our recruitment posters (if honest) aren't on the surface that enticing. "Join us and you're sure to struggle, be misunderstood, go without, be harassed, and possibly killed!" This is a far cry from the prosperity preaching that is so popular.

Now all of that isn't to say following God isn't worth it. It is! But if we go into it expecting Him to make our lives easier then we are in for a world of disillusionment. It's not as if we get some magical draft that makes everyone like us and want to do good things for us. There is, however, a perk (I guess you could call it) to following God. I discovered it quite by accident when talking with a friend the other day. If I follow God, I may lose everything--my job, my home, my friends--but I would still have God. If I don't follow God, I may still lose everything--my job, my home, my friends--and I'll be left with nothing. The problem is, so often, I think I'm in control of what I gain or lose, but I'm not. And I'd rather lose everything and have God there to support and provide for me, than to lose everything and be left on my own. "We are pressed, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down but not destroyed." --2 Cor 4:8. "Though sorrow may last the night, His joy comes in the morning." --Psalm 30:5

So following God my not lead me into a life of ease, but trusting Him can lead me into a life of peace. One where I can stand, even in the midst of the raging storm knowing it's going to be alright.

I Am Known

I was having dinner with a friend the other day when the question came up: How can God--who is non-corporeal, love humans--who are? The idea being that love comes in part from interaction and while we can "spend time" with God, and talk to him, and get to know him on some level, it certainly isn't the same as it is with another human being. Now one could argue via Christian theology that God did in fact have a corporeal form in which he demonstrated his love. But the question stuck in my mind. I have to admit that I have often wished God was more tangible. While I've felt the Spirit on many occasions, I can't just collapse on the couch and lean my head against God's shoulder. I can't run into his physical outstretched arms when I'm crying. I can't dance with him when I'm joyful. So while I was driving home that night, I talked with God about my disappointments on this front. And I realized something. I may not be able to physically reach out and touch God whenever I want to (at least not yet,) but I have something else that is only possible with him: absolute understanding. My conversations with him go to a depth far beyond any I could have with mere mortals, because he KNOWS me. He knows all the logic (or lack thereof) that I use. He understands my fears and failings. I can go to him and present my questions, thoughts, opinions, etc without any sort of preamble or explanation of how I came to whatever it is I'm telling him about. I don't have to leave him thinking, "I didn't explain that well enough" or "He just doesn't understand." Because he does! Probably even better than I do. So while I still long for the day I get to see him face to face, I rejoice in the fact that there is someone who has looked into the deep waters of my heart and has understood every last thing hidden and exposed. I cherish the truth that there will never be a time that God will regard me with confusion. He gets me. He sees me. He knows me. Wow.

A good dose of "medicine"

Ever heard the old adage "be careful what you wish for?" Well as many Christians could probably attest, the same is true for prayer. Things like "Lord, teach me to be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry," will most likely be answered by placing you in situations where you have very strong opinions about why the person across from you is WRONG! Likewise, prayers such as "Lord, I want to truly understand what Paul meant when he said, 'I have learned the secret to being content in any situation,'" are almost guaranteed to hand you blindsiding trials. How do I know this? I was the crazy person who prayed these prayers. (Back to back none-the-less.) What was I thinking?! I've known for years how God's schooling works. Sanctification is not for the faint of heart. In fact, I've gotten to the point now that when I feel the urge to pray one of these trial-inflicting prayers, I generally add a plea for protection on behalf of any who are in my general vicinity and have to endure me while I slip and slide my way through the lesson. I've heard it said, you learn more through failing than succeeding and if it's true then I must be living up to my last name.

In Disney's "An American Tale" Fievel's father says, "If growing up were easy, would it take so long?" I didn't get it as a kid. I remember thinking, "It's not that hard." But now that I'm older, I think I get it. At least from a spiritual standpoint. It would be much easier to stay a "child" in the faith. To sing "Jesus loves me this I know..." for the rest of my life. And he does. But he also want's me to become more like him. And that's hard.  It's hard when you feel like no one appreciates all the hard work you do--Jesus knows this more than anyone! How many times did he have people coming to him merely to demand more of him? (By way of a side note, I have to say that I find it very interesting that there is no documented moment that I can think of when Jesus was alone with his disciples and he complained saying, "Man none of these crowds appreciate all that I do for them. I'd never say it to them, but really, are they blind?! They have no clue how much energy it takes to do what I do. This is exhausting! Honestly, it feels like I'm being taken advantage of. Maybe they should try being the Messiah for just one day. Maybe then they'd get it. I'm gonna go pray for God to increase my love for them because honestly I need it right now. Hey, thanks for listening guys, it was great to let off some steam..." I point this out with my tail tucked between my legs. But back to my original point--it's hard.)  It's hard when you are told to turn the other cheek. To not judge your neighbor. To bless those who curse you. To walk two miles when you are asked to go one. Hard, hard, hard, hard.

Well, as you may have guessed by now, this week hasn't been fun or easy for me. (Well really the past month, but it came to a head in the last seven days.) But I've discovered something in the midst of my anger and guilt and failings and fatigue. God is standing in the middle of the storm with me. And it would be so easy to miss him. He isn't loud or boisterous. He doesn't have flashing neon signs or  trumpets announcing his arrival. But he's there. He's there when I'm honest and say "I feel all alone." And he answers through the next song on the radio: "I'll be by your side wherever you go, in the dead of night whenever you call, and please don't fight these hands that are holding you. My hands are holding you." He's hears me say, "I feel guilty for wanting what I want," and answers in the new song introduced in our worship with a chorus calling Christians to let go of guilt. I say, "I know I shouldn't be worried but I am." He answers in the text we study in Sunday school: "Let not your hearts be troubled. You believe in God, believe also in me. In my father's house there are many rooms, if it were not so, I would have told you. And I go to prepare a place for you, and if I go I will return for you..."
I say, "I don't know how to not be anxious" and he answers in the sermon which ironically enough is all about how to let go of anxiety.

And it finally clicked as I was externally processing with a friend yesterday. Trials are the classroom of faith. I used to think of them more like tornadoes. You do your best to survive them, and the more that come the more havoc they wreck. Best to avoid them at all costs because the next one may kill you. But for the first time I realized, scripture it right when it says that trials produce perseverance.  This epiphany came when I heard myself saying, "You know, I don't think I could have handled this three years ago." Woah! Stop. Rewind. Play. If this statement is true (and I still believe it is) then it means God has given me strength that I once didn't possess. And I gained that strength through dealing with... you guessed it: Trials. Now that doesn't make them something I joyfully long for. But there is GREAT hope in the idea that I am gaining strength. That God is gaining ground in my heart and mind. That the level of what I can endure is actually growing. Because if something worse does come along one day, I know that I have a chance of surviving it. Because if something similar comes along in the future, it may be easier than it was this time. Because all those hard things I mentioned earlier may turn out to one day not be so hard after all. And for me (a girl who in the past six years has become a disillusioned realist as to the state of our broken world) these thoughts birth great HOPE.

So here's to the trials of life. Like medicine, they may not taste good going down, but, when placed in God's hands, they can work wonders.

A Childhood lesson for this "Adult"

I love my job. No really. I do! I consider myself extremely blessed to be in an occupation that I am passionate about and in a position where I feel my strengths are used. But that doesn't change the fact that sometimes we have long weeks. Though this week isn't one of those "long" ones, it comes on the tail of a small train of long weeks. And I guess you could say the venom of stress is still coursing through my veins. How do I know this? Because of a passing comment from a co-worker about how I had "stress face." You know what she means right? That look people get when they're freaking out about something. And the comment stopped me and made me wonder, "Why am I stressed out?" I was reminded of something my mother used to say to me on a fairly regular basis throughout my childhood: "Trisha, you care too much." This was usually said because I was all upset about something someone at school had said or done. I almost laughed at the memory because she was exactly right--and it's still true today. Sometimes I care too much. I care too much that this idea wasn't fully realized or that concept flopped. I freak out when everyone doesn't get exactly what they want when they want it. I feel guilty for admitting when I need rest. I feel weak and pathetic admitting that I can't pull it off by myself. 

It's like that book "You Are Special" by Max Lucado. If you haven't read it, there is a puppet named Punchinello who lives in a town where people give out stickers based on impressions they have of others--gold stars for good impressions, and grey dots for bad ones. He has a bunch of grey dots and consequently has pretty low self esteem. Then one day he meets a puppet with no stickers--they don't stick to her. She tells him it's because she visits the woodcarver. Finally Punchinello gets up enough courage to go himself and the woodcarver tells him that the stickers only stick if you let them, but if Punchinello would trust in what the woodcarver thought more than what the other puppets thought then their opinions wouldn't stick to him anymore. So often I find that I'm Punchinello--I care too much about the opinions of others. (Or rather my perception of the possible opinions of others.) I care too much about how I am viewed by those around me. I care too little about what God has to say. But maybe, just maybe, if I go to Him every day, I'll find that the "stickers" don't stick anymore and the stress that I had allowed to build up over them has lost it's toxicity.

So there we go. Today I learned a revolutionary lesson from my pre-teen childhood and an elementary school picture book. 

Unexpected Blessings

Blessings come in all shapes and sizes. Some plain as the nose on my face, some cleverly disguised. This is one I literally never saw coming. I was asked to run lights for a symphony performance (a gig paid $100 for four hours) and had left early from home expecting traffic. I was driving and thinking of dozens of things—was I going to be able to get anything done during this performance? What did I need to do at work the following day? Who I needed to catch up with socially, etc. The car in front of me slowed to make a turn and so I braked as well. Then BAM! The car behind me slammed into me. For a split second I was scared they were going to plow me right into the turning car ahead. But thankfully we stopped in time. Dread filled me—what kind of damage had my car received? I put on my blinker and turned into a business parking lot, then parked and got out of my car. My heart sank lower when I saw the girl pull un behind me—the front of her car was completely smashed in. Headlights were shattered, the hood bent up in an inverted “V.” I walked around my car and relief washed over me. The only visible damage was some scratched paint and a hairline crack in the bumper. Thank you God!! I’m telling you, it was like he put his hand in between my car and hers. When the police showed up they couldn't believe the difference in damage. Well, I ended up missing the gig, but I was able to give it to a friend who I knew could use the financial boost. And because my car was still in good shape I had the emotional wherewithal to extend sympathy and pity to this poor girl who hit me. Then I went home and with my extra time was able to catch up with some old friends that I hadn't talked to in forever! All three things were blessings that far exceeded the $100 I was supposed to make that night. But that’s not the end of the story. Her insurance company called me and told me they claimed full financial responsibility for the damage to my car. They got me an appointment at a shop close by and they paid for a rental car. So for two days while my car was in the shop I drove around a Chevrolet 200! I’ll never make enough money to own a car like that, but let me tell you it was fun driving it around for those two days. I now have mine back with a new bumper (which is probably the cleanest part of my car) and I'm still reeling at how amazing this has all turned out. Who knew that I would ever praise God for a car wreck?