the gift of okay

I spent some time this morning contemplating Richard Rohr’s statement “the demand for the perfect is the greatest enemy of the good.” As a recovering control freak, this one really got to me.

As I sat with these words, I realized that perfectionism is a form of control. My striving for control, for perfection, left no room for God, no room for anything but what I said should be there. Things impossible for me to obtain, impossible for anyone to obtain. But then, when I was literally facing the fight for my life, God gave me the gift of “okay”. There was no promise that things would go the way I wanted, no promise of easy, there was simply the guarantee that everyone – including me – would be okay. There was no perfect, there was no option for control.  And that was such a breakthrough moment for me. All my years of battling for control and it was all taken out of my hands. I finally realized that if I truly believed in the sovereignty of God, there was nothing I could do but accept life as it would be – the good and bad, the hard and the easy, the mess and the beauty of an imperfect life.

And here I am, after 20+ beautifully imperfect years, realizing that I’m slipping back into old ways of thinking. The more I thought about it, the more I recognized those tendencies that I thought were behind me have been creeping back in. I can see it now in my irritability in certain situations, my sensitivity in others, but perhaps most tellingly in my deep hesitation to follow up on pursuing publication of Be With Me. I’ve been afraid to risk the rejection that hurt so badly in my childhood, afraid that once I release those words, I’ll have no control over them.

So obviously, the healing journey I’ve been on is not over. I can’t see what the future holds, I’m not sure what the next steps will be – but I’m willing to take them, because I know I won’t be alone. The Holy Spirit will continue along with me, guiding and comforting every step of the way. And if this blog has taught me anything, it’s that God can take my words and do so much more with them than I ever dreamed possible.  

I know I have no control over so many things. In fact, I’ve realized the only thing I can control is how open and accepting I am willing to be. And thanks to God’s oh so generous gift, I am okay with that.

you know who you are

I’ve been struggling lately, and knowing what I should be doing was making my not doing it feel even worse. It felt like I was in a hole and instead of working to get out, I was just making the hole deeper. And the deeper I got, the easier it was to focus on the walls of the hole instead of the sky above. I recognize that the sky is where I need to focus, that the hole is not where I should be. I also realize that I have allowed the voices of people around me to define my expectations for myself.

But last night, I heard that little whisper in my heart that I have come to recognize as the Holy Spirit. She reminded me that I am a child of God, and that I need to hold that identity as my foundation. When I stand on that foundation, I can change my focus, I can more easily ignore the judgement of those who have made me feel less than. In my heart I heard “this isn’t who are – you know who you are” (and yes it was in Moana’s voice, thank you Disney!), and I woke up this morning with that in my mind. I know in my heart that I am working to follow God’s call, and that is where I need to focus. When I look inside myself, I do know who I am and my intention is keep that identity as my focus. Because when I do, the walls of that hole recede, the sky becomes clearer, and those voices that judge me and seek to drag me down fade away.

So now, I move into this day, this year, with the knowledge of who I am, a strong foundation to stand on, and a renewed desire to follow my call. I hope to meet you here more regularly, so that we can continue to explore our faith and what it means in our lives; and to finally be brave enough to take the steps I need to see my book published.

And yes, I will keep that (Disney) song in my heart, to remind me that I do know who I am.

(If you have the opportunity, I encourage you to watch Disney’s Moana. It is a beautiful reminder to not let the voices
and actions of those around you define you, the importance of trusting yourself and who you know yourself to be.)

rubble

There have been several different representations this Christmas season of the birth of Jesus amidst the rubble of war. The most powerful for me was an icon created by Kelly Latimore titled Christ in the Rubble (I encourage you to check it out).

As I was contemplating the details and seeking the message God has for me in the picture – as icon are meant for us to do – I recognized the rubble of my own life. And in that moment I realized how much I need the hope, the connection, the renewal that this tiny baby brings. No, I do not live in a war zone as so many do, and I have a place to live and food to eat as too many do not. But that does not mean I need Jesus any less. In fact, too often when we have enough we are lulled into the sense that we can handle things on our own, that we don’t need a Savior. But the baby Jesus was born for all of us, whether we think we need Him or not. The coming of the Messiah is based of God’s recognition of our need, not our perception.

I think that is the power of Advent and the celebration of Christmas – the opportunity to pause in lives busy with the day-to-day and consider the eternal. The beauty of that baby is that in His coming we can celebrate God’s desire to help us reconnect; in His vulnerability we can recognize our vulnerability; in His company we can rest in God’s continuing presence in our lives.

Regardless of what our lives look like, whether we have much or little, whether we think we have it all together or have no idea where the pieces could possibly be, that precious gift born so many years ago is ours to claim if we will only reach out to take Him into our hearts.

And that is my Christmas wish for you, that in the midst of the rubble of your life you will make room for the Christ child in your life today, and every day.

writing my way to presence

In my journaling this morning, I found myself taken by the act of writing – the physical pen to paper as opposed to the thought process behind the writing – and how it made me feel. And as I wrote, I felt that familiar nudge from the Holy Spirit that these words should be shared. And since I have recently renewed my promise to listen to those nudges, and stop making excuses to avoid doing what is asked of me, here I am, sharing my journal entry with you. I wrote:

Watching the words roll off the tip of the pen is so very soothing. There are times when the words pour out, filled with emotion and hurry, rushing onto the page, heedless of how they look – the spacing, the size and consistency, the neatness and readability – intent only on being released. But this morning I am being intent on slowing down, focusing on the smooth flow of ink (pink this morning!), the spacing and consistency of the letters.

The years of emotional-release writing have had a negative impact on my handwriting – a small price to pay for the healing and growth they have brought! – and this morning I am feeling the reconnect with my pen, with the flow of ink, with the beauty of the balance of slower more intentional writing. As I look back, I see the emotional writing style sneaking out – old habits are hard to break. But as I go, if I see it beginning to show I am being intentional in slowing down, forming the letters clearly and neatly, being present in the process.

That isn’t always easy. Easy is rushing through the process, rushing away from the emotions. Getting them down on the paper and leaving them there. But this slowing down requires attention – to the tension in my shoulders, to the way I hold the pen. The emotional writing brings on that tension in my shoulders, in my hand; but when I intentionally relax, my writing evens out.

My prayer today is that I take this lesson – on being present, noticing the tension and being intentional in releasing it, on finding the comfort and joy in the result – into every aspect of my life.

And when I was done journaling, I looked back and realized that I am more relaxed, more present to how my body feels, and I am looking forward to doing it again, this writing my way to presence…

my boat

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about Peter’s walk on the Sea of Galilee (see Matthew 14:22-33 for the full story) and the concept of “getting out of my boat,” of trusting God as I do something new, something I once considered as improbable as walking on water.

I’ve talked about the journey of healing that I have been on for the last year, of the challenges, the times I’ve listened to the whispers of the Holy Spirit and done as She has asked (however reluctantly!).  There are times She has asked me to take up a new task, and times She has asked me to let go of old habits and old ways of thinking. She has asked me to do things that don’t just call me out of my comfort zone, they shove me out! And there have been times She calls me to stop and look at what is happening around me.

There was a time when I thought writing this blog, sharing my faith and the ways I’ve been listening, and perhaps more importantly not listening, was as far as I would be able to go. It has been a stretch, an exercise in listening and letting go, but an amazing way of deepening my faith as I hopefully am helping others to listen, to let go, and to stretch as well.

But I have had a dream that has been on hold for nearly four years, a dream I had been working with for some years before that, long before God called me out of my boat and into this blog. God has been using words to heal me and help me grow for quite some time. Words from others that helped me see a way forward; words from God to help me express what I was experiencing and feeling as I progressed through the initial stages of my healing. And as those words came, I wrote them down (at least most of the time – if I’m still working on listening now, you can bet I wasn’t a good listener then!). Words that came to me as my mind was on other things. Words that came to me as I was wrestling with an issue. Words that just flowed out of my pen as I journaled to process what I was experiencing.

And after a time, I began to see that the gift-words, these poems that God gave me to help me heal, might help others. And so the dream was born. And as I processed, and struggled, and healed, there were more gift words. More poems filled my notebook. And as I wrote, I grew. As the notebook filled, so did those deep holes in my soul. The more I listened, the more gift-words I received.

And then the Holy Spirit whispered again, whispered a call to climb out of the boat that my notebook represented. And because I listened, I was blessed to work with any amazing woman who saw God at work in those poems, who felt that they could help others. She worked with me, and comforted me as I released my hold on those gift-words and allowed them to be the best gift to God they can be. She shared her expertise as a published author, and helped me to see there was a pattern in the poems. A pattern of searching and finding, of turning and returning. And with her help, that list of poems took on a shape of their own, and became an offering to others to find hope and healing and connection in the words, just as I had. They became a draft, and then another, and another. Because she recognized and encouraged my dreams of creating a book to publish, with her guidance the draft became a manuscript.

God had worked so hard to heal me, so I offered that work back to God. I placed that manuscript in God’s hand, because I knew that if a published book was part of God’s plan for these words – not just to help me heal and grow, but to help others heal and grow – then it would happen in God’s time. I knew, and obviously God knew, that 4 years ago was not the time

But then things began to change. Opportunities presented themselves, and things that I knew needed to happen first, happened. I began to sense those nudges form the Holy Spirit, culminating with the work on a Sunday Worship Message about, yup, trusting God enough to climb out of my boat. I shared that manuscript with several friends whose opinions I respect, and here I am, telling you about it. I am in the midst of exploring publishing options, excited yet terrified. I have heard the same call that Peter did, “Come.” God has called me forward into this next phase of my dream, and regardless of the circumstances, regardless of expectations, I will trust God’s call to step out of my boat.

walking

I recently rediscovered a bracelet that I received quite a few years back. I say re-discovered, because I intentionally leave it in a visible place so that it’s easily accessible when God nudges me to look at these things. I pulled it out about a week ago, and felt that nudge to start wearing it, and since I’m working to follow these Holy Spirit calls, I put the bracelet on. It’s a simple soft plastic loop that says “Walking With Jesus”. At the time I wasn’t sure why these words were important, but I’ve learned over the years that reasons will become clear as they are needed.

In these situations, I spend time with the words God gives me. But what about the message on the bracelet? I try to walk in faith in all my daily activities – though if I’m honest I’m not always as successful as I would like – so I like the phrase. As I continued sitting with the words, I began thinking about the people I’ve been working with over the past several months in preparation for a faith retreat that’s coming up. These amazing people have shared the stories of their personal walk with Jesus. I am humbled by the faith they have, and obviously rely on, as they walk through challenges in their personal lives, their families, their jobs, the world around them.

And then, I needed to prepare a Children’s Message for Worship last week. The focus of Worship that morning was the story in Luke where Jesus appears to two of His followers on the road to a village called Emmaus. If you’re not familiar with the story, two of Jesus’ followers were walking along discussing the death of Jesus and the rumors of His Resurrection when a stranger joins them and in the course of their walk explains everything about the life of Jesus. It wasn’t until the stranger joins them for the evening meal that the two followers recognize that the stranger is actually the risen Jesus Christ. For the Children’s Message, I focused on the gift that Jesus Christ gave those two followers – walking with them in their pain and bewilderment. And I reminded the children of two important things: first that even if we don’t recognize Him, Christ meets each of us in our hard times and walks with us; and second that sometimes Christ looks like their parents, their teachers, grandparents, siblings, and even like them, because we all have Christ within us and can walk with others in their hard times. They seemed a bit surprised at that idea, but as I looked in their eyes, I could see the spark of Christ and I know that a seed was planted. I don’t know when or how it will bloom, and that’s ok. I was only called to plant a seed, and I’m so glad Jesus was walking with me that morning as I shared with the children.

The phrase “What Would Jesus Do” has been around for a long time, and while I think considering how Jesus would act in situations we face is a good first step, I think we can take it a step further and decide to walk with Jesus, to visualize Him in our situations, to invite Him to walk beside us in our pain and bewilderment just as He did all those years ago with those two followers on the road to Emmaus.

I see that in the stories members of our retreat Team have shared. I see them seeking His wisdom and reassurance, and I see the footsteps of Jesus walking with them, often in the shape of the feet of family, or co-workers, or friends, and even in the other members of our Team.  What powerful gifts Christ Jesus has given us – to know that He is walking with us and to be able to walk with others as Christ’s representative.

The footsteps of those who walk with us in that role may look like a hug, a prayer, a listening ear. They may be in shared tears and shared laughter, in words of support and encouragement as well as in moments of silence.  God knows the best way we can do that for those we walk with; what seeds we can plant or how we might best water the seeds others have planted or how to nurture the tender shoots of growing faith and recognition of Christ’s presence.

I’ve been trying diligently for the last few days not to write this, and I take that as a sure sign I needed to do it. I’m glad I did. Because, as God so often does, in the writing, the sharing, God has shown me what I needed to see. The beauty of being a part of this retreat Team, the recognition of Christ’s footsteps in the lives on these faith-full women and men, and a deeper connection to Christ’s footsteps in my own life.

Would you take some time to look for Christ walking beside you? For the times He has met you in your pain and bewilderment? He may have looked like family, or co-workers, or friends, but I promise you, His footsteps are there…

waiting

Today – the day between Good Friday and Easter – is easily overlooked. Because we know how the story ends, this day between the agony of Jesus’ death and the glory of the risen Christ seems to have lost it’s meaning.

I often take some time on this day of waiting to imagine what this day was like for those who knew and followed Jesus. The pain of the loss of their friend and leader; the broken dreams of those who thought the Messiah would be a warrior King come to vanquish the foes of Israel; the broken hearts of those who did not yet understand what Jesus meant by His reassurances that He would rise. This day must have seemed as dark and impenetrable as the stone that had been rolled in front of the cave that served as Jesus’ tomb.

But for some reason, today is different. Today, my mind and my heart have been captured by the thought of what God was going through on this day. After all, it was through God’s love that Jesus was born to bring humanity back into relationship with God. Because of God’s love for you and me, Jesus willingly went to the cross and God intentionally turned from Jesus’ cries on the cross in order to break the hold of death on humanity.

What loving parent is not affected when their child cries out for them? The pain they feel is our own pain and our instinct is to do whatever we can to comfort and protect them. But that day, out of a greater love for humanity God turned away from Jesus – for the sake of the disciples, and all those who followed Jesus in those days and every day since, and yes, even for the sake of those who condemned Jesus to death that Friday and every day since. Jesus had explained what was to come multiple times, still the disciples wandered this Saturday lost in their pain rather than relying on the truths Jesus had shared. On this Saturday, the proof that humanity not only ignored Jesus and the love He brought, but fought against changing their ways to the point that they willingly condemned Jesus to death rather than lose what they had grown comfortable with, was hidden in that tomb.

Yes, Jesus made a world-changing sacrifice that Friday, but so did God. Think of how God must have felt that all this had come about; the anger, the persecution, the death, the fear, the doubt. God knew the good that would come, but on this day, I can only begin to imagine the pain that all those turned backs, including God’s own, must have caused God…

Do I know that this is what God felt? Of course not, God is so much more than I, or any of us, can presume to know. For me, thinking of God this way helps me to draw closer to God by seeing the reflection of what I would feel in that situation in the loving heart of God. Because God’s love is deeper and more intense than anything we could ever feel, if my heart is breaking at the thought of what was happening on that day of waiting, I do know that God’s heart must have been breaking too…

facets

I have a cherished ring that I can wear again after many years. I was so excited to put it on that I didn’t pay close attention to the ring for the first couple of days. But then I began to notice that it was duller than I remembered, the fine details that make it unique were hidden. I gave it a quick clean and that helped some, but I was sad that it was not as beautiful as I remembered.

Then one day I decided to give it a good deep cleaning. I let it soak, I scrubbed and rinsed, and scrubbed and rinsed again – and there it was! The ring I remembered was back. The old soap and lotion and dirt were gone. And as I looked at it, I realized it was even more beautiful than I remembered. There is a complexity to the main stone that I had forgotten. On the surface, it seems quite plain, yet each time I hold it up the light, I see facets that draw my eye in and refract the light. And that refraction changes depending on how I hold my hand. The depth of its beauty astounds me.

The more I look at those amazing facets, the more I recognize that this ring is an analogy for my faith journey. My connection with God is deeper and more complex, more faceted, than it might appear from the surface; deeper and more beautiful than I often remember. When I neglect my relationship with God, I allow the “soap and lotion and dirt” of the world to cover up the beauty of my life lived in God. But when I take the time to clear all that away, I am astounded by the beauty and depth of that connection. The light is reflected in my life, but that light refracts differently depending on who’s hand I am holding in the moment. Different days, different moments, bring different people to walk beside; and when I allow the Holy Spirit to work through me, I am blessed to be able to share the beauty of the depth of my faith.

But like that ring, my faith needs care. If I do not pay attention, the world interferes and the facets are dulled and reflect the love of God poorly, for me and for those around me. The distraction of worldly things – recognition and acceptance to gratify my ego, the lure of time-wasting activities, allowing what I think others expect of me to speak louder than God, comparing myself to others – these all keep me from spending time with God, they are the “soap and lotion and dirt” that dull my shine and hide the facets of my faith. And a “clean” strong faith is what I need if I am going to live into my call to be a reflection of the beauty of God’s love…

rooms

There’s a verse in John’s Gospel (John 14:2) that reminds us the there are many rooms in God’s house, and I’ve always taken that to mean that there is room for everyone in heaven. But today, I found a new way to look at it.

You see, as I continue this journey I am on, there have been so many moments, even days, when I feel off balance, even out of sorts, and I couldn’t understand why. I’ve accomplished so much healing on this journey, so why do I feel so off? As I thought about it, I recognized that with each new step of healing, my faith changes, becoming a bit deeper and more meaningful, almost like a new level. But that still didn’t explain why I’ve been feeling so off balance. I thought the deeper my faith, the more balanced I’d be. So I offered my concerns to God, and waited. And waited, and waited, and waited. (No one said answers come on our time schedule!) And today while I was driving, I heard that whisper, saying there are many rooms. I had to think about that one for a bit. What do multiple rooms have to do with feeling off-balance?

I’ve always loved the analogy of our relationship with God being like a house and as our faith deepens, we move through the door into the house. But I always pictured that my faith was my room, and that we each had our own room. And I’d been in my room for quite a while and had gotten quite comfortable there. I knew the parameters and, mostly, what to expect. As I sat with that whisper about there being many rooms, I realized that each step forward, each bit of healing, actually brings me to a new room. At first, the changes came slowly, and I had time to adjust to each new room. But recently, these steps have been coming fairly quickly, and I’m moving from room to room without much time to get used to the new one before I move to the next. And that is why I have been off balance – because each stage, each room is lovely and inviting and I’d like to stay there and get used to what that means for my life. But it seems that as soon as I sit down and start to get comfortable, a new change, a new bit of healing, comes and I find myself in a new room all over again. And while this new room is lovely, it seems I’m not meant to stay there long either.

So, while I’ve adjusted to feeling off-balance and I’m grateful for the healing, there’s a part of me that wouldn’t mind if it slowed down a bit. Some of the rooms have been quite comforting. But I trust that the best parts of the previous rooms carry foward to the new rooms. I’m just hoping that I’ll have a chance to get used to them, at least a little, before I have to move on. But if not, I know I’ll be ok. Because whatever the next room holds, the healing and the growth are bringing me closer to God, and that is the best place to be – regardless of which room I’m in.

lies

There’s a contemporary Christian song, Look What You’ve Done, that is speaking to my heart right now. It’s written by Matthew West, Keith Smith, Andrew Pruis and Tasha Layton. I love the whole song, but the line that keeps circling in my mind is “the lies I believed.” I could go on about this on so many levels, but at this point in my journey, it’s the personal level that is calling to me.

There are the external lies – the things others have said or implied, the things society expects. But there’s also the internal lies – the things I’ve assumed people thought or felt, the things I believed about me. And as hard as those external lies are to deal with, it’s the internal ones that have caused me the most anguish.

But as I have worked through my past, and adjust to the “new” me, my biggest take away is that I need to stop believing what I see in the fractured mirror of my self-opinion. I need to see myself through God’s eyes, the eyes that saw me before I was even conceived; through Christ’s eyes, the eyes that saw me at my lowest and my worst and still deemed me worth dying for; and through the eyes of the Holy Spirit who sees all the potential within me and loves me enough to stand with me as I learn to see it too.

I need to let go of those lies I’ve believed, and accept these truths. It is the pivotal next step on my journey, and one that is as hard as all the work I’ve done up until now. And as with all the other steps, it’s worth the work and the struggle.

No, I need to be honest and say, I am worth it.