I will be still

Call me crazy, but I've been thinking about monasticism.

Not to become a nun or anything, of course. I mean, come on, I'm married. The vow of chastity would be out the window in a minute.

But on a more serious note, there is a lot in the monastic lifestyle that intrigues me, or calls to me, if you will. With the lifestyle comes a certain amount of peace, solitude, stillness. A contemplativeness that transcends the busyness of life and focuses on God and God alone.

This is what interests me.

I find that I often get too caught up in "doing" and "going" and forget to be still and know that God is God. And this is the most important thing for us to do.

In chapter ten of the book of Luke, Jesus visits the home of Mary and Martha. Mary sits at Jesus' feet and listens to him, while Martha busies herself with, presumably, household chores - things that do need to get done, in a practical sense (especially when one is entertaining Jesus - "My goodness, those dishes aren't clean! Can't have the Messiah eating on that!"). But while Martha is upset that the majority of the chores have fallen to her, Jesus tells her that "...one thing is necessary. Mary has made the right choice, and it will not be taken away from her" (Luke 10:42, HCSB).

Right there, Jesus is speaking not only to Martha, but to all of the Marthas in the world (men included!). We all get too caught up in the "doing" sometimes, and we all need a reminder that it is okay - actually preferable and vitally important - to sit at Jesus' feet and just listen.

I couldn't just drop my life and go live in a monastery. I have legitimate responsibilities that I have already committed to (such as my husband). But I think it is feasible to bring a bit of the monastic experience into my life. Yes, it will be difficult to turn off the computer after the fourth time checking my email and playing Geo Challenge on Facebook. Yes, my husband is hungry and wants dinner now. Yes, there are a whole host of other things just waiting to be done.

But what is more important: a casserole, Or the King of Kings? My husband, or the Lover of my soul?

Jesus is important enough to make time for. I have no excuse to not make time for him. If he is truly my All in All, then shouldn't I be giving him my time?

This is my goal this year, an early New Year's resolution, I suppose. I am determined to be conscious and aware of my days, of how I spend my time. I want to live my life with purpose and intention, and I don't want to do anything that will pull me away from God and into the busyness and chaos that screams for my attention.

I will be still.

breakdown

"i'm pregnant."

two words
that can hold so much
joy
but yet so much
ammunition
when fired at you
unintentionally.

the questions come:

why not me?

i thought that
sex + ovulation day = baby?

why can fourteen-year-olds
have healthy pregnancies,
but my baby died?

why did my water break early?

why couldn't she wait just
a few more days?

why?
why?
why?
why?
why?

self-pity.
self-loathing for the fact that you're
not entirely happy.
guilt.
anger.
impatience.

warning:
nervous system overload.
shutting down in
three...
two...
one...

The Importance of Story

I don't know why I've run from my calling for so long.

And perhaps "run from" is not necessarily the best choice of words. Perhaps I should say "ignored what God has been telling me about (my calling for so long)."

I've known for a long time that story is my passion. I love reading - always have, always will. Give me a good book and a comfy chair and a cold rainy day and a cozy sweater and I'm good. And I've always loved writing. I've written poetry, lyrics, children's stories, and I'm working on a couple of novels. And I have a few more ideas in my head, floating around, running into each other every once in a while to create still more ideas.

But for a long time, I've considered my desire to work with and in stories silly. "No way, God. An English degree is really rather stupid. I mean, what kind of ministry can I do with that?"

And tonight it all became clear.

I attended the Centennial Celebration of the Church of the Nazarene at Trevecca Nazarene University tonight and heard Nina Gunter, one of the general superintendents of the denomination, speak. And although she spoke a lot about trusting in God, believing in ordinary people, and expecting great things, two phrases stuck in my mind for the entire service:

              "Tell your story. Listen to other people tell their stories."

That was it. That is when I realized - fully and for the first time - that my calling is in stories. In that moment, all my previous issues, all my wrestlings with God over the subject, ceased.

I was meant to minister through story.

And to back it up biblically (because I always have to do that for myself - I can't base something solely on "feeling" - I need to know that God confirms it), I thought about Jesus. He always was telling parables to the people, simple little illustrations that they could understand but which held within them truth-diamonds that shone the light of the Kingdom of God.

The stories Jesus told range from those about farmers and crops to wedding feasts. He created situations and characters that his listeners and followers could relate to, and then explained how each story told another story - His story, God's story.

And that is what my calling is. Not only to write stories that minister to people, but to teach others how to capture the essence of that other-ness that draws us into the story, that thing that plucks at our souls and makes us want to be more than what we are now. That thing that takes our lives from ordinary to extraordinary.

I want to help people find God in the story and find the story in God.

Holding God's Hand

On Tuesday, I went to a woman's house to buy a stroller for a friend (it was a surprise for her, that's why I'm only now writing about this). This woman was wonderful, and we shared a bit about ourselves. When she saw that I could navigate around a Peg Perego stroller like nobody's business, she asked me, naturally, "Wow! Do you have kids?"

How do you reply to this question when your only child, whom you barely had the chance to hold, is no longer with you?

In my case, it went something like this: "Nn--. Ye--. Well, sort of."

And then I felt guilty. For saying "sort of."

I shared with her my story of how our first baby girl, Genna, came early and her lungs weren't developed enough for her to survive outside the womb. How we had a very short hour and forty-three minutes with her.

I did not share with her, though, how guilty I feel. Because I believe that over the past four months, I have tried to forget.

I don't think this was intentional, necessarily. I think it was more a subconscious reaction to grief. I'm going to admit something: There have been many times over the past several months in which I have not thought about my daughter for several days at a time. Not consciously, at least.

It is difficult to go through something so heart-wrenching and be all put-back-together quickly. I think if that happens, something is wrong. But I think that I have had problems dealing with the how of the grieving process. Let me explain why.

I believe that my daughter is in heaven with Jesus right now. I believe she was the moment after she breathed her last. Which means that "she" (or rather, her soul) was no longer part of her body, which I was holding when she died. I believe that the tiny body that we buried in May is not my daughter. It is merely a shell, the housing for her soul, if you will.

Because of my faith, I logically know that she is in better hands, in the best place, really, that she could ever be. And logically, I know - have seen proof - that so much good has come about in the wake of her death. And for this I am so grateful. And I know that I will see her again...someday.

But the thing I'm having trouble with is the sadness. The mourning of the loss of a part of my husband and me that we will never get back in this life. The loss of the opportunity to raise my daughter. And I allow myself to feel that sadness sometimes, but then I feel guilty for feeling sad, because I feel like I am being selfish. And so I have had problems balancing how to grieve properly. I will have times where I can talk about Genna happily. And then I occasionally have moments, typically when I am by myself, where I just break down, I miss her so much. And I can't for the life of me find a balance.

But I think that maybe just allowing myself to feel whatever feelings come is the first step. And my biggest comfort has come in knowing that my God has experienced the same feelings before. When Jesus died on the cross, He and God were separated for a time. God had to look away because Jesus took the sins of the world upon Himself. And when He died, God felt that loss. He grieved for a time, because He didn't have His Son with Him. He knows what I'm going through.

And the best part is that there was a happy ending to that story: Jesus is alive, and the separation was not permanent. God has His Son back, forever.

And one day, I will have my daughter back too. All I can do for now is hold God's hand.

Pottery by God

Last week in church, as we were singing our worship songs, a vision struck me. We were singing the words, "You're the potter, I'm the clay; mold and make me yours today," and I suddenly had this vision:

I was standing in a room full of all kinds of pottery. There were plates, mugs, bowls, saucers, basins, pitchers, etc. All different shapes, sizes, colors. Some glazed, some unglazed. Some with ridges, some smooth. Some up high on shelves, some on counter-tops, some on benches. There was a potting wheel, too. And all around the room was a feeling of work in progress - it felt like the potter was never going to be done potting.

And I began to realize that, beyond the cliche of the potter and the clay, God really does mold us. He shapes us with his hands. And each of us is made for something different. Plates are made to serve food to people, pitchers to pour out water, vases to hold flowers. A plate cannot ever be a vase, and a vase cannot be a bowl, and a bowl cannot be a pitcher, and a pitcher cannot be a plate. If the plate were to choose not to do the plate's job, then it would be placed on a shelf, because it could not do anything else. And once it decided to do what it was made to do, it would have to be thoroughly cleaned inside and out before it could be used for its purpose again.

Even in sets of things - like a service of eight plates, for instance - each plate is slightly different from the rest, because each was hand-shaped by the potter. The ridges and swells may be wider or smaller, or there may be more or fewer. The coloring may vary, the shininess of the glaze may be duller or brighter. Each one is extraordinary, because there is no ordinary when each thing is hand-made.

And I realized, as I looked around that potting room, that we are clay and God is the Potter. We must each do what we were made to do. Some of us were made to be pastors, and we will never be satisfied until we are doing what we were called to do. Some were made to be writers, or artists, or teachers, or managers, or musicians, or fighter pilots. And we must each do what we are called to do. We can run from it all we like, but we will never be happy - really happy - until we are performing the function for which God made us.

So, if you are a pitcher, stop trying to be a vase. Sure, perhaps you can hold flowers nicely. But everyone knows that a pitcher's purpose is to pour out water for thirsty people. So be the pitcher you were meant to be. Or if you are a plate, stop trying to be a mug. Stop fighting what God made you to be, and be who you are in Christ.

(I'm pretty sure I'm an inkwell.)

Perspectives; or, God - In and Out of the box

I came across an old blog (from another site) yesterday. I'd forgotten I'd written it, but it truly intrigued me and made me think again. So I decided to post it here as well. And although it's not Christmas, it's still interesting. (I wrote it less than a week before Christmas in 2007).

...

Last night I had a rough night of sleep. I woke up around 5 am after having nightmares. I was praying to try to calm my mind and spirit, and started thinking about God-stuff. I started out thinking of the Nativity, since we're so close to Christmas. Here's sort of how my thought process went. (Sorry if it seems sloppy, my mind goes all over the place.)

Everyone thinks of the birth of Christ as leading up to the Greatest Sacrifice - His death for our salvation. But I think I have to disagree with this viewpoint. There was a greater sacrifice that came first, that we think about and talk about all the time, and yet we overlook. The Baby Jesus. People sometimes use the phrase "you can't put God in a box." Well, in a way that's true. We can't (shouldn't) limit God by placing our own parameters around Him. But that's because He did it already Himself. He placed Himself in the box of human flesh. God is this infinite, all-seeing, all-knowing, all-present God, outside Time and Space and History and Future. And yet, He chose to limit Himself. For our sake. The Son part of the Trinity pretty much gave up his essential God-ness in order to place Himself in our shoes. It's sort of like an author and her characters. The author has the omnipotent, omnipresent viewpoint: The story, all of it - beginning, middle, end - happens, is happening, is always happening, in her mind. She knows, sees, the characters at every stage of development, and at any moment, she can see the character at any or all of the stages. She knows who's good, who's bad, who's right, who's wrong. She knows, sees, the outcome of each plot, each subplot. But the characters don't. They think, feel, live, from the moment, from their limited viewpoint.

Essentially, God became a character in His own story. He took Himself out of His infinite God-ness and placed Himself in a finite, frail, human body. A body that pees and poops and drools and aches and hurts and cries and feels pain. And He placed Himself into a soul that feels emotion, triumph, joy, sadness, tenderness, anger, love. And that rages with itself against itself. He became human. For us. He felt everything that humans feel. Physically. Emotionally. Spiritually. Think about that for a minute. People throw around the phrase, "Jesus went through all the same temptations you and I go through." But what are the implications of that? Do we really think about it, let it sink in? Or do we just brush it aside as something we've known already? If Jesus went through all the same trials we do -- How many little temptations do we face each day without even realizing they're there? How many times, when Jesus was trying to be God to a prostitute, did his humanness try to take over? How many times did He really just want to smack one of His disciples up side the head, and think, "Why, oh why must I be God right now?" How many times did He want to throw a fit growing up, or talk back to His mother, or hit one of His brothers? How often was He tempted to steal? Did He ever envy the kings and emporers of His day, knowing that while He was greater than they, He was required to suffer as a human?

I sort of just let my thoughts wander on this topic. It's amazing, really, to think about what all "humanness" meant to Jesus. God basically caged himself for 33 years. He felt time. How often did his soul ache from not being able to be fully himself? I know a little of that feeling when I can't get to my writing for a long time, because writing is such an expression of who I am, that to be unable to express myself makes me feel less myself. Does this make sense? And yes, God is "outside" of time, but He willingly placed Himself in Time, so that He could better understand us.

I was talking to my husband about all this tonight, and he brought up an interesting point. When Adam and Eve sinned in the garden, it wasn't just about disobedience. It was about them having something that belonged to God. What did they eat? Fruit from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. Perspective. They attained viewpoint. They saw a little more like God saw. And so, to fix the breach, God had to see a little more like we see.

The "Great" Debate

My husband and I saw Batman: The Dark Knight this week. And while we had some hassles with the theater, the movie itself was excellent.
 
The very concept of Batman is fantastic. I mean, think about it: an average guy who just wants to do some good in the world disguises himself and, using absolutely no superpowers but simply the power of his mind and his strength, puts himself on the line every day for people he doesn't even know. If that isn't inspiring, I dont' know what is.

I realized during the movie that Batman touches on that unnameable emotion - you know the one. That feeling that you must become more than you are; the notion that each of us has something to offer the world, and if we don't, our lives will remain mundane. 

And of course our thoughts immediately stray to big, noticeable things. Like changing the world. Or becoming famous.

It is difficult, though, to submit to the idea that we may never be "great." I have problems with that one myself at times. After leaving the theater, I just wanted to reach people the way the movie reached me. I want people to know that they can make a difference. How I actually do that, though, may differ greatly from how I imagine doing it. 

A friend reminded me that we don't have to reach for the stars in order to make a difference. Most of the time, it is the little things we do in life that have the power to change the world. And the effects of our actions may not be felt by us in our lifetime, but they may be far-reaching. Just imagine how your story - the way you live your life, the things you do in your spare time, your passions - will affect your grandchildren. Or their grandchildren. Perhaps one day, one of your descendants will be telling a story about how you rescued a kitten from a high tree branch, and it will teach someone to have compassion for all of God's creatures. Perhaps your "greatness" will be simply inspiring someone else to reach for greatness, too.

You could sit around your whole life waiting for greatness to find you. But the thing about great people is that they find their way to greatness. Being an inspiration doesn't happen by sitting and waiting. You have to do something. Actions, as they say, speak louder than words.

So maybe you are destined for fame. Maybe not. But either way, remember that "it is what you do that defines you."

Peanut Butter and Jelly

I understand the fascination of learning church history, doctrines, denominational differences, historical shifts, uprisings, theological philosophy, and Greek and Hebrew. It's interesting to learn where our beliefs have come from, why we believe the way we do, who came up with what ideas, and so on. But sometimes I feel like all the studying we do to learn about our faith has about the same purpose as studying peanut butter and jelly.

When someone hands you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, you don't lay it on your plate, take a microscope and analyze its make-up. Nor do you grab a dictionary and look up the words "peanut butter" or "jelly." And certainly you don't research a dissertation on the different types of peanuts, the ways they can be harvested, the process of turning them into peanut butter, or how many different types of grapes or strawberries go into your jelly. You take it for what it is: a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. You trust that the peanut butter is, in fact, peanut butter, made from peanuts and sugar and whatever else goes into making peanut butter (the details may be vague, but you trust that the people who make the peanut butter know what they're doing). And you trust that the jelly is in fact made from whatever kind of fruit the jar says (strawberries, raspberries, or perhaps blackberries...yum!).

You don't analyze a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

You eat it.

I think that sometimes we have to treat our faith that way. We come in all varieties: Baptist, Episcopal, Nazarene, Assemblies of God, Non-Denominational, Catholic. We have different flavors and different textures. But the fact of the matter is that we're still Christians. We make up the body of Christ. 

We shouldn't be analyzing one another, criticizing the slight difference in belief. We should be coming together to make some fantastic flavors in the world.

After all, no matter what we're made of, we're all peanut butter in the end.

Weak Women

In the modern times in which we live, women are encouraged to be strong, to be fighters, to not be weaklings. After all, women fought (and are still fighting) against being known as "the weaker sex." 

It's wonderful for women to be strong. Actually, I think a lot of times, women are stronger than men where character and morals are concerned. There's nothing wrong with strength. Even physical strength. 

I think the problem lies in women believing that weakness is bad. All our lives we fight to overcome things. Some of those things come from outside of us - the opinions of others, workplace prejudices. But a lot of those things come from within us - our own opinion of ourselves, our fears (of failure, lost dreams, missed chances), shame, guilt, pain.

I think that too often we as women are concerned with being "the strong one" for our families. We often become the universal shoulder that our children, friends, and family members come to in their times of need. But we don't often let ourselves be "weak," even though sometimes that's exactly what we need to do.

Sometimes, we just need to let ourselves break down. We want someone to hold us, comfort us, brush our tears away. Sometimes, we want to be rescued. 

Paul says that it is in our weakness that God is made strong (2 Cor. 12:10). We can't always run the show. We can't do everything on our own. Sometimes, we just can't be Superwoman. But it's in the times of being unable that God is able. Allow Him to be your comforter, your healer. Yourshoulder to cry on. After all, He wants to pursue us. So why not let Him?

Great Un-Expectations

A lot has happened in my family this year. And most of it has turned out differently than we expected. So my mom used this phrase, "Great un-expectations," to describe this year. It's crazy. I've never had a year of so much upheaval before.

First of all, in January, my sister Ashley was going to travel to Spain for a study-abroad, but she wasn't able to leave in time for the beginning of the semester because there was a hold-up with her student visa. I had gone out to visit her the week before she was supposed to leave and I had planned on seeing her to the airport, but I got to spend an extra day with her. The following week, I found out I was pregnant with our first child. In February, I started hemorrhaging and thought I was going to lose the baby, but I was placed on bed-rest off and on for about a month and a half. All this time, my baby sister, Alyssa, was planning her wedding for June. In my mom's life, a guy she used to know popped up out of nowhere and started paying her some unexpected attention. In the beginning of May, my water broke. I ended up in the hospital for a little over two weeks before I gave birth. My husband and I held our baby, Genesis Aria,  for an hour and forty-three minutes before she breathed her last. A few days before Ashley came home from Spain, one of her male friends professed his undying love for her. And it wasn't who we'd all thought it would be. They're now dating. And just last week, I went out to South Carolina for Alyssa's wedding, only we didn't go to a wedding. Alyssa had called it off the Monday before, for good reason. And as my dad said, if there's any hesitation, it's better to be safe than sorry. 

All of these situations had the potential to turn out differently. And not all of them were bad. But the unexpected has been startling my family this year, and we're only half-way through the year! 

The thing about the unexpected, though, is that it catches us off-guard. And when it does that, our true nature shows through. If circumstances turn out badly, our reaction shows our character. And while I don't believe that God is the cause of bad things, like my daughter dying, I do believe that He works through bad situations. Of course I wish I'd had the chance to hold my baby longer, to nurture her, raise her, spoil her. But she's not here. And I can choose to be mad at God and let this cause a breach in my relationship with Him, or I can fall on my face before Him and allow Him to hold me through this. I've chosen the second option. Sure, I don't understand why bad things have to happen to people who have real, deep faith in God. But we live in a fallen world, and because humans let evil into their hearts and minds thousands of years ago, we all have to live with the consequences of that choice. But the point is that God is still here for us. Jesus died to cover our sins, but we still live in the here and now, in this fallen place, and we sill have to deal with the results of sin and evil and death. And though we don't like that, we have hope in our Lord that there is coming a day when everything will be made right again: hearts will be restored, bodies renewed, and hope fulfilled. 

That's where I want to live my life. This mortal life is too short to get caught up in brooding over the bad. I've set my heart on the good, and I'm determined to find that good no matter what happens.

So bring on the unexpected! My God can handle it. And through Him, so can I.

scars

you see the scars
upon my heart
many
deep
fragile skin
almost healed
broken again
constant pain
wounded
shame
i try to hide
these scars inside
no one sees
that's the goal
my heart
is mine
perfect life
or so it seems
how i break
same mistake
push me down
i won't get up
no strength
no fight
no will
no right
i see my heart
so scarred
so hurt
it weakly beats
slowly bleeds
you pick it up
hold it gently
in your hands
protected
safe
then i see
you take my heart
and replace yours
with mine
now yours
is scarred
wounded
you took my scars
my pain
my shame
it is not mine
to hurt
to grieve

it's yours

(c) 2006

This is a poem I wrote during a really turbulent time in my marriage. My husband and I had both done things to hurt each other; my parents were in the midst of a divorce; I was extremely stressed because of being a full-time student, part-time employee, and full-time wife; and I was suffering from depression. I wasn't sure that my marriage would be different from my parents' marriage. But God saw us through, and though the healing process has been slow, we have healed.

I am grateful that my husband and I did not divorce, which I contemplated during that difficult time, thinking it would be an "easy" way out, that it would solve everything.

But these kinds of scars are the very things I feel God calling me to bandage for other women. No, of course I can't take them away. I cannot take away the pain in anyone's life. I can perhaps help ease it a bit, but only by ministering God's grace to that person. It's only God, through His Son Jesus, who can take away pain.
And even though I knew that in my head since childhood, when you're faced with a lot of overwhelming situations all piled up on top of one another, sometimes you don't remember how to apply head knowledge to your heart.

He can take away your pain. He can heal your wounds. Yes, you may have scars. My heart is very scarred. But those scars bear witness to how much He loves me.

Let your scars tell others the story of how God loves you so much he pursued you even while you were beaten down, trampled, and abandoned. How He picked you up and held you to His chest so you could hear his heart beat, even though your own heart was barely beating. How, even when you thought no one could love you again, your Savior and Creator, who knows you better than anyone anyway, gently brushed the dirt off your face, looked you in the eyes and said, "I. Love. You." And said it so you felt it in your heart.

Let your scars tell that story.

The Journey Begins

God has called all of us to go on a journey. Our paths will all be different, but the destination is the same: the heart of God. Along the way, we will encounter potholes, detours, and heavy traffic. But these are all things that help us learn things - about ourselves, about others, and about God. Potholes teach us to pay attention to where we're going. Detours teach us that perhaps there is a better way around obstacles. And the traffic - we all know what that teaches us: patience.

My journey of course has not just begun. My journey began when I was born, as all of our journeys began. However, I am just now embarking on a new branch of my journey, and this branch will change my life forever.

God has called me into ministry. I am not going to be a pastor or a foreign missionary. But God has called me to use the brokenness in my past to help heal the brokenness in hurting women. I know that somehow I will use my writing and my voice (through speaking and singing) to reach out to people who are or have been in or are coming out of places of pain in their lives.

Everyone experiences pain at some point in their lives. It's what we do with the hurt and how we allow God to heal us that matters. If you are hurting, know that it is okay to feel the pain. A lot of times we try to hide what hurts us and the pain that comes from it. We feel ashamed or embarrassed, perhaps because of the situation or perhaps because we have this notion that we're not supposed to hurt. That is wrong thinking. Even Jesus experienced painful places (and I'm referring to times before His death). He was overwhelmed with sorrow and burdened by the weight of the sins of the whole world as He prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane. He hurt so much, he fell face down on the ground and prayed that God would relieve Him and take away the source of His pain, which was His inevitable death (Mt. 26:36-45). He was fully God, but fully human as well. He didn't want to die, and certainly not in the way He was going to. But God didn't take that cup from Him. Jesus willingly went through with it. And out of His pain, His death, came His resurrection and the opportunity for the forgiveness of sins and eternal life for all who believe.

What is God going to do through your pain? Maybe a part of you has to die, as Jesus died. But what can God bring about through that death? How glorious will your resurrection be after! And how many other lives could God touch through your pain?

This is the journey that I am embarking on. Over the next year, I am studying the scriptures to show myself approved to God (2 Tim. 2:15), so that I may follow His will and help others see that God can heal their spiritual wounds, and He can build something beautiful out of the wreckage of their lives.