Something a Bit Rusty Like Hope {rambling reflections}

Love is a verb -- it's something we've been told many times and are consistently reminded of.  There are songs about it (*inserts 'Luv is a verb' by DC Talk*).  People teach about it. When you think of all the important relationships in your life, it comes down to 'choosing to love', and not just that, but also to do other actions propelled by this choice to love.

But you know that verse in the Bible about Hope, Faith, and Love? Because love is the greatest, often the other two words slip through the cracks. Hope more so than Faith, and yet, they are all verbs. They are all words of action.

Hope is a verb. I hadn't realized that until recently when I was reading a post on the To Write Love on Her Arms blog. This past twelve months, I've been disappointed, almost ashamed, by the lack of hope I felt. As a Christian, I should have all the hope in the world and my hope should be anchored on something untouchable by life, but I didn't feel hope. So what did that mean? Had I let my hope go?

And yet this blog post I read gave me a different image of hope. The author painted hope as something you do. You show up to life each morning, regardless of how you feel, regardless of the many times you ask yourself 'why', and you do the next thing and the next thing after that. Maybe like love, hope has little to do with how you feel and more to do with your actions.

Hope is more of a trust, and our trust is placed in God -- That He will make our attempts enough, that He will use even our most tired of actions to mean something, that tomorrow's tomorrow's tomorrrow will bring light and life and another spring. Hope is getting up every morning and still believing that someday, eventually, you'll want to try again and you'll have a hope you can hold in your disbelieving hands.

Hope, like Love, is not always dressed with perfection. It's a grittier thing, a stubborn thing. Maybe the 'feeling' is a bird with many feathers, but the real thing is time-resistant, two steadfast boots not about to budge, hands rubbed raw as they hang onto the end of the rope, taking care of yourself even when you ask, 'But why? What's the point?'

       We're imperfect humans in an imperfect world, and any hope less than the hope that involves clinging wouldn't be sufficient. So we will get up. We will lace up those boots, and we will try and try and try, and when hope in tomorrow and our resilience and those around us falters, our hope is 'built on nothing less than Jesus' blood and righteousness'.

Forgiveness: 7X70 {rambling reflections}

Something brought her face to mind and the same old anger followed as a mask to hide the pain of being painted a different color, the hurt of a love misunderstood, and the sorrow of losing something irreplaceable.

If she really knew me...if she really loved me...if she was--

It happened every time without fail. The memory and then the rekindling of the anger to steal my joy, to sour the day, and that made me even more angry. Why was I letting her have this much power over me?

Each time the anger came, I'd try to smother it, to bury its sharp edges with forgiveness, because what good was the hurt now? If you're hurt or angry, swallow your words. Pretend you have a tougher skin. Don't ever let them know how much power they have. Besides, anger was of no use. I had chosen to keep silent and not direct the hurt towards someone who had wounded my heart so why would I let the memory wound me further?

I'd be walking the dog, cleaning a house, and there it was again, and there was the anger. How come the anger always came so swiftly when I supposedly already forgave and pushed the emotion out the door? Each time, I had to choose to forgive and not to dwell in the bitter resentment, but what did that mean? Had I even forgiven or did I just go through the motions of forgiveness?

She was in the wrong. She was the one who ruined it.

150 days of anger and the pretension of forgiveness?

She was the one who changed, not me. I would never have given up on her. 

Was my forgiveness really just an idea and not reality?

Maybe I don't even know about forgiveness which is funny since there's books and articles on it everywhere you look. There are the 'facts' you hear about over and over again -- forgiveness is healing. Forgiveness sets you free. Forgiveness knits hearts back together. Forgiveness and the asking for forgiveness is what heals relationships and makes them last. Forgiveness and the asking for forgiveness is what Jesus-loving people do and all that really matters with us flaw-filled humans.

Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors. Leave your sacrifice before the altar and go make amends with your brother and then come back. Forgive them for they know not what they do. Don't let the sun go down on your anger. 

Why wasn't it working?

Maybe I don't know about forgiveness because I never really tried to give it, not when it mattered the most, anyway. To be honest, forgiveness is a hard thing to like. Even when I need it, I still struggle to like it because it's not fair (and we have a funny way of picking and choosing what is fair in life), but this time, forgiveness mattered, even if it wouldn't ever be asked for or likely ever knit hearts back together.

I say to you, if your brother sins against you up to 70x7, forgive him. 

70X7. That's a lot of times. Maybe when Jesus told that to Peter, it's because He knew we'd sometimes have to forgive someone for the same thing over and over again in our hearts. Every single time we thought of the person or the circumstance. It doesn't mean there is something wrong with our forgiveness or that we're not doing it right. It's just that we're humans, and we're forgetful, and we hold tight to things that hurt us, but God knows our frames. He knows how we stumble over ourselves.

Forgiving is easier mentally than emotionally, and so we work on our minds and our thoughts. We work on them day after day after day until our heart finally catches up, and our emotions right themselves -- a lot easier said than done. After six months, I realized there was no longer any anger, and a month later something happened, and I was angry all over again.  We're all a work in progress, and that's alright.

"Feelings are meant to be fully felt and then fully surrendered to God. The word emotion comes from the Latin for 'movement' -- and all feelings are meant to move you toward God." - Ann Voskamp

Emotions fully felt, not judged by us, and given to God.

Words Without Meaning {rambling reflections}

I am a lover of words. In the beginning it was just a story thing, but then the love grew to poetry and lyrics, quotes. Just words in all their many forms. I think you're like me. I think we write because words hold a unique power, and we hope and hope our words have a place. That these letters sewed together will, in turn, slip inside someone else's mind and become something to cherish and believe in. Oh, the beauty of words! The endless possibilities!

We create worlds and people with the paint of words. We take the achings from our hearts and etch them on pieces of paper in different forms. We save quotes, memorize scripture and poetry because well-chosen words is music to souls. There is a beauty to words, and yet... and yet, with all their power, words have this way of turning to ash and becoming nothing.

I write a lot words, but I find myself fighting to believe them day to day. They deflect off of me, never penetrating the surface, never being absorbed. Not the good ones, anyway. It seems strange, doesn't it -- that words of affirmation are low on the list of my love languages? I don't know why exactly. I can't pinpoint the reason. Maybe it's because there have been times when good words filled me with hope, and then later, they disappeared because there was no substance behind them. They were just easy words to say, and words are too easy to say without having any meaning behind them. And some words are spoken with good intentions, and the intentions were good, but there was no fulfillment of them.

So there's the issue then. It's not just the words. It's never just the words. It's a mistrust because people know the right things to say, the polite-even-though-there-is-no-substance words, and who's to say if there is actually heart behind them? It's best not to put too much weight on them then. It's not a fear decision. It's a practical decision, right?

I've grown hesitant to hope, hesitant to put too much weight on words because one action can turn a multitude of words into noise -- a chaotic, teeth-grating noise. Words can be lies, and there is only a temporary, skin-deep beauty to lies. So words deflect. The good. The bad covered with what appears good. Sometimes there is never a chance to weigh the words given too easily, and sometimes good hearts give me good words. Words that are supposed to be life-giving, that are supposed to be like an exhale to the chaos inside, but they slide off. They just slide off, and it's not that I believe my doubts and all the inner monologue in my mind more than hearts I'm meant to trust. I know my inner monologue lies. It probably lies more than anyone else and in more destructive ways, but why are life-giving words so easy to dismiss?

Maybe if someone clasped my face in their hands and made me look them in the eyes because eyes mean vulnerability, the words spoken might penetrate deeper. Maybe there are too many words, too many superfluous words mixed in. Too many opportunities for me to make excuses and dismiss them because they don't know me that well. They can't know me that well. They can't because then they'd see their words aren't true, and you can't accept words you don't believe.

There many words and many ways to make words mean nothing, and sometimes I lose sight of the words that do mean something. The God-breathed words, the ones I need to believe because God is not human, and His words are not tainted by flawed language and human misuse. His words are true and always will be, but I'll forget and then I'll remember again, and maybe each time some portion, will stay with me, and by learning to believe the words that are changeless, words given to me by good hearts will be easier to accept. It's all a circle.

I think I might grasp a small piece of the importance of writing words of meaning. More than that, to live a life where the words I SPEAK mean something because writing well without speaking and living in accordance means nothing. And maybe some other heart will become a little less hesitant and someone else's wound will ache a little less.

***

This is mostly just a thought dump.
 I haven't reached any grand conclusion so please, share YOUR thoughts in the comments! Any of you writers out there wrestle with these wonderings? 

Perfection & Compassion

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

courage to change the things I can,

and wisdom to know the difference.

Oh dear heart, I see you and I feel your exhaustion. I feel the weight of a burden too heavy you've been carrying on your shoulders and how it keeps forcing you to your knees. You keep pushing and pushing and pushing. I know because I do the same, and it seems the only way I learn this lesson of grace and compassion is on my knees, stripped of the moorings I've used in my life, with a keen awareness of my inadequacy.

We keep chasing after a perfection we think is possible to achieve without God's grace and righteousness, but it is only an illusion, a hole in the floor we fall into time after time. This hole is a suffocating place to pull ourselves out of. In this desolation, we have no hope but to cast ourselves on God's mercy and compassion, as if surrender is a last resort when it should have always been our first hope.

Why is it so hard for some of us to learn compassion for ourselves? Maybe we're molded by expectations set too high by those older than us. Maybe our environment, circumstances, or a fear of failure and disappointment formed us. If we do all things well, then we won't have to rely on this thing-- this compassion, this grace -- that doesn't make sense, that has no justice in it.

Maybe we'll never know the cause of this cruelty toward self, but it's there deep inside of us, worked into our very core -- the idea we are somehow unworthy of compassion from others, and especially from ourselves to ourselves. Oh, we would bleed from our very cores for others to know compassion and grace. We would fight for others to know rest, to know how it is to lay aside their load of expectations, their drive to do better, always to do better. What have we done so unforgivable that others are deserving of this grace but we are not?

Why can't we grasp onto the compassion God has extended and extends to us? If we cannot learn to accept God's compassion, then we will never be able to accept compassion from others or our own selves. This cycle will repeat endlessly.

We are torn equally between mind and heart. Logic and feelings. We have both, so what is missing? We raise high standards, impossible standards and become frustrated when we can never reach them. We fight against every aspect of being human with all our strength. Our wheels spin until we're burned out, and how do you come back from being burned out? How do you learn compassion for self and remember God's voice isn't the same as the condemning voice constantly on inside of your head?

We latch onto truth and forfeit grace in exchange as if the two could not exist together. Randy Alcorn writes, "People thirst for the real Jesus. Nothing less can satisfy. Grace and truth are His fingerprints. We show people Jesus only when we show them grace and truth. Anything less than both is neither."

Anything less than both is neither. 

There is no hope in truth and subsequent condemnation (I have fallen short and sinned, and now I am separated from God). There is only hope in compassion (I have sinned, and I sin, but God knows my frame is only dust. He knows. He knows. Beyond this, 'He who believes in Him is not condemned' - John 3:18a. We are not condemned. In fact, Jesus is in Heaven now as our great intercessor. As we condemn ourselves again and again, He intercedes.).

Yet, we believe so strongly in our pursuit of perfection that the pieces of scripture we let penetrate our mind show our pursuit to be right. The words condemn us because we are nowhere near where we are called to be. After all, perfect love casts out fear, and the very pursuit of perfection is driven by fear. 'Be perfect as your Father in Heaven is', and if we are not perfect or striving toward perfection with all our strength, then are we even trying?

We seem to forget how lopsided this arrangement of eternal life is in the first place. If we don't grasp a small inkling of how unimaginably absurd it is that we should have this gift, then we'll never know of God's heart. We'll never believe grace and compassion in all their wonderful colors.

Oh, if only we could take to heart the things we are shown of God's mercy, grace, and compassion. "For He has not despised nor abhorred the affliction of the afflicted [persistent pain or distress, great suffering]; Nor has He hidden His face from him; but when he cried to Him, He heard." (Psalm 22: 24). God does not despise us, the poor and striving. He delivers the needy (Psalm 72: 12-14). We are the needy. Their blood is precious in His sight (Psalm 72:12-14). Our blood is precious in His sight. He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds (Psalm 147: 3, 10). He takes pleasure in those who fear Him, in those who hope in His mercy (psalm 147: 11).

What He doesn't take pleasure in is the legs of men. He has no pleasure in our own strength (Psalm 147: 3), and yet, we do use our own strength. We fight for perfection almost entirely with our own strength, and we forget we are human. God never forgets our frame of dust, but we do. We forget our goodness is nothing apart from Him (Psalm 16:2) and that it is God who arms us with strength and makes our way perfect (Psalm 18:32).

So what do we do? How can we rest on this grace and in this compassion? We must grasp hold of the fact God's perfection is enough. It is not simple or something we will learn in a day. Maybe it will take a lifetime. A lifetime of accepting humbling compassion and grace from others and from God and in time, letting ourselves rest. We will fail and fall short, but we must get up and try again. We need to remember to look past our rules, regulations, and goals to God's heart because there is an easier way than the one we've chosen.

Our God is the God who said: "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light." (Matthew 11:28-30). Dear heart, let us run to Jesus with all our tiredness from trying so hard and heavy burdens of unrealistic expectations for ourselves and learn from Him. This is the only way to start.

***

This is something I've been struggling with a lot lately - compassion and perfection. Sometimes perfection has a way of sneaking into our thinking where we don't even realize how much we're influenced by it. I hope you felt love, compassion, and understanding as you read this. Do you struggle with perfectionism? What is something you do to offset that drive?  Happy Thanksgiving!

To Love Well (Part Two)

(Read part one here)

I feel there is nothing more truly artistic than to love people. - Vincent Van Gogh

     If we are artists, what kind of artists are we? If we are Christ-lovers, what should we be known for? What do you want to be known for? If we believe our lives consist of more than what we create, do we dare to live that belief wholeheartedly? Do we dare to learn how to love well, even if that means the sacrificing of ourselves or our own comfort?

     It is when the lives of others are messiest that they desperately need us to walk beside them in silence for that stretch of broken road. It'd be easier for us to stand just beyond the splatter screen unaware of the darkness inside they battle with just like us. Somewhere safe where we don't have to know of the wars they rage against their own brokenness, and this brokenness -oh, we know it so painfully well. This brokenness looks a lot like us.

     And that hurts because we're repulsed by our own crippled limbs. We'd like to think we have it together or are somehow better, but we grow weary, too, and become too tired to fight, too discouraged to hope. We get torn down, and then we are most vulnerable to temptations, to those pesky little thorns which dig into our sides out of others’ view. And the weariness cripples our ability to fight. We succumb and hide our shame because we should know better, and we do, but we’re so tired. We're so broken. It hurts to see the same brokenness in another. How are we even capable of love, let alone some kind of artistic love?

      Although we are broken, we are far from useless. Somehow, with all our flaws, God can use us in unimaginable ways. He has this knack of making broken things beautiful, artistic even.

     For example, in a portion of Joni Eareckson Tada’s autobiography, The God I Love, she relates the events following an accident that left her a quadriplegic at 17-years-old. Joni spent many lonely hours in the hospital questioning God as she tried to wrap her mind around this new way of life.

     One night after visiting hours, a friend she never considered particularly ‘close’ to snuck in and spent the night with her. For those hours, she was able to forget where she was and what was happening. She was a normal teenager having a slumber party with her friend.

     In the grand scheme of things, the action might have seemed so small, but it wasn’t. Later when Joni was asked where the turning point was after her accident, she always pointed to that night and said it was the best thing a person could do for a paralyzed girl.

     I read that story, and I stopped. Could I be a friend like that? Could I be brave enough to be that close to someone’s hurt? Joni didn’t write that her friend tried to fix her sadness or tell her it was going to be all right. Joni wrote that her friend just laid beside her and sang, "Man of Sorrows".

      In the same situation, I would make so many excuses. Rules. I can’t break the rules. Maybe she doesn’t really want company. I even make excuses for my selfishness because of my unwillingness to drastically break routine. Or just because of fear. Fear of being that intimate with someone else.

     This depth of relationship isn't something that is just nice. God gave us friends specifically for these dark hours. In 1 Timothy 2:1 (NKJV), Paul writes: "Therefore I exhort first of all that supplications, prayers, intercessions, and giving of thanks be made for all men."

     Intercession - that is such a strong word. It means we’re pleading for someone else. We're asking on behalf of someone else's soul, and those are the prayers all of us desperately need not just in the hardest places of life but every day.

     You know the first scene in It’s a Wonderful Life? It’s the one where the prayers of almost everyone in town are being sent up to Heaven on behalf of George Bailey. It may be just a fictional story, but I can’t think of a better picture of intercession than that.

     If we never open ourselves up to that kind of relationship to begin with, how will anyone ever know the sadness behind the offhanded, "If you could pray for me, that’d be great." Prayers are the very lifeline a person needs. There will be days when each of us will desperately need people to go before the throne of God, into the Holiest of Holies, on our behalf. That is nothing to be ashamed of.

     Some days we will be the ones whose hearts plead for someone to come and just sit beside us. Someone who won't tell us the things we already know deep down or try to say we shouldn't feel these things. Some days all we will need is for someone not to be afraid of our desperation, of our human brokenness. Other days we will be the ones interceding on someone else’s behalf. Or maybe we'll be the answer.

     And this is the artistic love. It isn't perfect, but it is trying. It's doing the things we find hardest. Being brave enough to expose our own brokenness in order to share in someone else's vulnerability. It's giving our time. It's fighting tooth and nails for someone else's very soul. And it's praying. It's stepping back from being right, taking credit, pulling the attention to ourselves in order to be a channel, albeit a leaky one, of God's perfect love. This is what makes a masterpiece. 

To Love Well (Part One)

"I feel there is nothing more truly artistic than to love people." - Vincent Van Gogh

     A lot of us here are artists of some sort. An even greater portion are introverts, and the art we do takes a lot of our time and energy. With art, there is no definite arrival. There is always something else we can do, and let's be honest, we get swallowed in our passions, stuck in our creations. Who are we kidding? The act of creating and the creations appeal to us more than the outer world. 

     

     But what if we viewed our art as something more than the books we write, the visions we create, the music we make? What if we viewed our life as the art and those things we create as the means to better prepare for the tasks God gives us outside our hobbit holes? The tasks we are given in life are important, but what is the second greatest commandment given to Israel? 

     

      “You shall love your neighbor as yourself...” -Leviticus 19:18b (NKJV)

     Maybe Vincent Van Gogh was onto something. We are artists with pen and paper, with words and music and color, and that is noble and God-given, but what if our greatest artistic work is the love we learn to give others? 

     Love is the hardest thing to do. 

     “Love suffers long and is kind; love does not envy; love does not parade itself, is not puffed up; does not behave rudely, does not seek its own, is not provoked, thinks no evil; does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth; bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails.” - 1 Corinthians 13: 4-8 (NKJV).

     In the KJV, they use the word ‘beareth’ which in Greek is a term stemming from a verb for the term ‘roof’. So instead of the image of someone carrying around a huge burden on their back, ‘love bears all things’ should create an image in our minds of us being a roof, a shelter over others. 

     It seems impossible, doesn’t it? How do we love another, especially in times of grief and deepest hurt when this strangely artistic but broken love is needed most? 

     You know that book in the bible where God lets Satan take away a bunch of stuff from a guy and then there’s a lot of chapters of talking and you feel a bit confused at the end? Oh yeah, Job. Towards the beginning of the book, after everything has been taken away from Job, his friends show up. 

     “So they sat down with him on the ground seven days and seven nights, and no one spoke a word to him, for they saw that his grief was very great” - Job 2:13 (NKJV)

     Think about that. They sat with Job in silence for seven days and seven nights. Honestly it would probably have been better for him if they had kept silent because when they started talking, they were going to fix his situation by fixing him. They said a multitude of words that meant nothing because they could not see the whole picture. Then there was Job's wife that told him to curse God so he could just end his misery. This story is a good lesson, not just in trusting God’s character in all situations, but also what love doesn't do when someone is hurting. 

   

      So the whole 'you've done something to deserve this' isn't the right way to go about this artistic love? What is the right way then?

     I can't think of any Jesus lover who doesn't want to one day lead another individual to Him. We want to be a small part of saving someone else's soul, and so when we know someone who isn't a Christian, we imagine going into battle for that person's soul. 

     But what about our brothers and sisters, our best friends? That intense caring for souls can't stop as soon as someone comes to Christ. We wanted to save a soul from utter destruction, but then we continue on our merry way with maybe a nudge deep down that something may not be well, you know, if people are anything like ourselves. What about the bruises and the crippling? Do we care then? There's more to be done for a soul than just simply pointing it towards the path of salvation. 

     I know, when all is said and done, we can't be someone's salvation or make someone else's decisions for them. But if there is a chance for us to fight for them, for their souls, just till they catch their breath, just till they find their footing again, are we willing to do that? Are we willing to swallow them up with a Love not our own and give of ourselves? God can use us as a way to show someone His love, as a crutch to help someone go along their path for a little longer. 

     

     That's something we have to remember - sure, we want to fix the ones we love, and that's good and all, but we can't sew them up with feeble human hands. If we can't, there's no reason for us to be here, right? Hold up, they don't expect us to fix them and God certainly doesn't. 

     Sometimes it is enough to simply sit beside them in silence. To sit beside them in their darkness and become intimate with their brokenness, but do we dare?

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This is my 100th post! And somehow I'm still here. 

The Bruises of Friends

"I ran the risk
Of being intimate with my brokenness.
I was given a gift of hope and a thousand finger prints
On the surfaces of who I am." -Ryan O'Neal

They say the bruises of friends can be trusted, but I don't know what that means. Who truly bruises you for good? We bruise each other with our selfishness and pride, with our careless words and pinpointed daggers because we know each other's weaknesses. We know each other's weaknesses, and we would use them against one another.

We would never trust the bruises of friends. We'd rather lose faith in the heart of the one who loves us than acknowledge the truth. Who wants to be told they're wrong? We don't need to hear those words. We don't need to take those bruises. There are others out there who do not judge, who will not question or challenge, who will let us be comfortable in our lives, with our decisions.

People are dispensable, or at least that's what they say, but a love that loves regardless of our wrongs, our mistakes is greater than a love that loves and sees no wrongs. A heart of love will bruise you but be there to bind you up. Love will not expose your nakedness to the world but quietly clothe the ugliness and look on you the same.

The bruises of friends can be trusted because it means they aren't afraid of being intimate with your brokenness. They aren't afraid to reach down and say, "You don't repulse me." Those are the friends who have been given God's eyes to see us with. They see us and who we can be. They love us enough to want better for us than we, at times, want for ourselves. And that kind of love is without price.

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I'm temporarily forgetting about my blog schedule because it's stressing me out. Plus, one of my brothers was home for a week, and I didn't have much extra time. 

Also, this subject is something I've been thinking about for a bit. I wrote it all down, and then I found this more in-depth article just yesterday (funny how God seems to send things your way at the perfect time), and I really recommend reading it. Some of the things stated are similar to what I said here, but I would say it has a stronger Biblical center. 

Finding Your People

Originally I wanted to write this post back in December. It was inspired by long conversations with my mom and 'down the rabbit hole' streams of thought. At first I was approaching this as a single person, but since then, I'm not *as* single. In the end of December, I started getting to know a young man from church, but since nothing is very concrete about dating, I have still thought about this.

Not everyone gets married. Sometimes by choice and sometimes by circumstance. And at times the idea of not getting married is a lonely thought. Throughout life, you've had relationships come and go, and there was always that eventual go. You kind-of set yourself up for it so maybe this time won't hurt so bad. Siblings grow up and go to college. They get jobs. They get families. They get their own lives. They might come to visit, but eventually they leave with 'their people'. And you don't have 'your people', not yet anyway. There's always that nagging thought, though. Maybe 'yet' is actually just 'never' disguised with hope.

Family is good. They're your people while growing up, but as painful a thought as it is, they won't be with you forever. You won't always be cohabiting with people who drive you up the walls and polish your edges, who help keep you aware of other people's problems, who teach you patience.Your parents won't always be there to give you wisdom and correction and pray for you. Your siblings won't always be your live-in best friend. And we, as humans, are partial to that kind-of community. And sometimes that good, wholesome yearning gets the best of us. We desperately look for it, and we end up getting into romantic relationships hoping those will fulfill our need. We've had a taste of having our people, but we yearn for our person. The one that doesn't pack up and leave.

I guess that's one of the main reasons why we need to build ourselves a support system with a variety of people. It keeps us from rushing into anything. If our lives are filled, then why should we be in any hurry to find a significant other? If our lives are filled, we don't try to have some stranger fulfill our need for intimacy and emotional stability. We're not desperate to fill some hole. We have all the time in the world because marriage isn't essential to our worth or identity or the fulfillment of our life. Yes, those things are ultimately found in God, but God uses other people to remind us. A strong support group that's already in place will help you make wise decisions in relationships. They'll know what your goals in life are, they'll fight for you, and they won't be afraid to wop you over the head if you lose your mind Sure, the final choice is always gonna be yours, but marriage is far more than just for companionship or for 'fun'. It's so that together, you make each other stronger Christians, but that's what any close friendship is supposed to do anyway.

Single just for now? Single always? It doesn't matter. Your life doesn't revolve around that. You have a family, a handpicked family.

But I suppose there are the negatives: if you're perfectly happy with your life, if it's filled, then where does a guy fit in later on? Some of us will have to carve a space out. Some of us will have decided that this singleness fits us. It isn't because we're scared of the intimacy that comes with these dating relationships which may or may not lead to sacred marriage or because we can't stand the idea of having to consider someone else's needs again or being interrupted by people on a regular basis. It's because marriage isn't meant for us. And that's perfectly alright because we won't ever be alone. If something doesn't fit, it doesn't have to be forced. And taking time to make up your mind is alright, too.

Even Miracles Leave Scars

Sometimes the best things happen. The miraculous things.  Events that show the evidence of God's tender mercies. Curtain closed because when prayers are answered and lives saved, when a mother gets a new heart and goes back to her children, that is the end of the story. There can't be anything more to add to all the unimaginable good.

But even miracles leave scars.

And I know about miracles, and I know about scars. And the world does close the curtain after miracles. And life does seem to continue on the outside. Why wouldn't it be any different from what you see? If the miracle hadn't happened, then it would be just another part of life and death. If a person was a survivor of a tragedy, there might be some lasting damage. Some cracks on the surface. Some scars. Some need of a bandage here and there, a little help for the healing.

But the good? The miracle stuff? There's no healing needed there. No band aid on a brokenness. Good doesn't equal bad. It can't be bad. We were given so much. Our cup was overflowed with blessings so why does it now seem empty? Why has the miraculous become the limping mundane?

A couple weeks ago you might have read my post celebrating 18 years since my mom's heart transplant. That's big, and it's something to make us exceedingly joyful. There is nothing that can negate from God's immense love and provision for us through that time and continuing to today. But it's not perfect. Nothing will be perfect this side of heaven, and on this side of heaven, miracles leave scars.

I've told you about the miracle, but the scars? It's harder to talk about them because you're left with evidence of a seemingly cruel kindness, and God is never cruel. But you wonder about God's love all the same. Why, God? Why is it this way? Why does a nine-year-old turn into a teenager with depression who turns into a young woman who struggles with the fear of a returning depression all her life? Why does a three-year-old who remembers people's faces and sadness but no other emotions turn into a teenager with lack of confidence issues because she isn't brave and she should be braver. What is wrong with her? But her parents don't need two squeaky wheels and it isn't her mom's fault but maybe all the time she's just had anxiety disorder? Why? Why do miracles hurt? 

We got the heart, but what about the empty place at the table? What about the heart missing from someone else's life? Curtain closed. Don't look too closely or you'll see we're just threadbare in survival mode. 18 years and still in survival mode. Medications. Hospital stays. Emergency rooms. Fear. Wondering. Uncertainty.

Maybe these scars are here on our hearts so we might never forget it is by God's great love that we are not consumed. We can ask God to take them away. We can plead that He will, but sometimes His answer will be the same as the one He gave Paul - 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in your weakness'. We are crippled and so we cling. We are bruised so He can bind us up. Man of sorrows, what a name!

Dear Anxious Heart

Dear Anxious Heart,

This isn't your fault.

Hold up, don't stop listening to me.

I know you. I know what you're thinking because I've been hearing all the things you've said to yourself for the past ten years. It's that verse in the Bible, isn't it? The one where you're supposed to hold every thought captive? You're beating yourself over the head because killing those pesky little thoughts is what you're supposed to be doing. You're not supposed to have a million worries tearing you to pieces day in and day out.

Oh, you know really well what you're supposed to be doing. You've rehearsed it: Don't worry. Have you looked at the birds lately? Do they worry? Does worrying change anything? What about the verse where perfect love casts out fear? Yeah, I'm guessing you must not have much love inside, right? Then there's the practical side: Anxiety kills sleep, kills joy, physically kills (you know anxiety can help cause severe medical problems? Mom wonders some days if anxiety was part of the cause of her heart attack, but let's not think about that. It makes us anxious). It kills hope. And friendship. And let's not start talking about your future.

I've heard your 'mature' side going to war against those anxious thoughts. Mature side? No, it isn't your mature side. I've heard its cutthroat threats. Its screams: You should know better than this. If you loved God, you'd just do what you need to do, what you're called to do. Get over yourself. You're so selfish and self-conscious. You're a people-pleaser. You are not capable of doing anything. You can't even go into Walmart without putting on army as if you're going to war. Good grief, it's just a store! You hide behind some sacrificial garb to avoid facing your life. Oh, and you don't have any self-confidence (is that really surprising?). You love yourself more than Jesus. You'd rather be safe and warm in your little ball of a comfort zone than follow Him. You're a coward.

Oh, Anxious Heart! You're not a coward. You are courageous, and you are a warrior. Even when alarms are screaming, and they all scream the same, you still get up in the morning, and you try. You give life a go. You're bloody and bruised, but you haven't succumbed to hopelessness. You haven't given up. You think anxiousness is a part of your heart, a flaw in your character, but it isn't! It isn't you, even as it tries to swallow you up and forces you to believe all these lies. You're just a child hidden away in a closet of a house with bolted doors and windows. There's a knock at the door, but in your dark closet you cannot see if it's an enemy who will trespass or a friend. All those resounding knocks carry through the house the same - as alarms. That is anxiety.

But Jesus doesn't despise you, heart that's a little anxious. He knows you, and He knows the battles you fight every day. He doesn't ever, ever, ever despise you.

And sometimes it's not even your fault - these anxious thoughts. These moments of rapid heartbeat where you can't hardly breath, and everything is too much, and something has to change. Sometimes the seeds of anxiety were planted long before you had the Holy Spirit inside to help you ward them off.

Oh, heart that's anxious, what an unfair world we live in where small, hardly memorable, 'let's just brush them off' moments have scarred. Moments when bigger hands and bigger arms were supposed to protect you because you didn't know how to protect yourself. Moments when 'you just have to grow a thicker skin' created a current of consequential actions you didn't even know were anything but an aspect of your personality.

Dear (for the moment) Anxious Heart, remember these things: You are not anxiety. Don't rip yourself apart because you know this is not the way God wants you to live and you think it's all your fault. Don't hold a pity party. These plants might have grown up when you were young, but you fight against them, and you must continue to fight. Your weaknesses don't have to separate you from God. Surrender to His mercy. He waits just beyond the wall of your own strength to reach out and grasp you. He will be your safety, the house where your closet is hidden (and He'll know just who's at the door).

Dear heart, if you see yourself as broken, it's just because we all are. Only our cracks are in different places.

Fighting Forgetfulness

Why am I even doing this? What's the point? All I ever do is go non-stop to sew up the loose ends other people leave, to pick up the slack. Why am I out here working again when everyone else is on their computer or reading? I should do what she says. I should just focus on my own stuff. Besides, when is enough enough? I could keep going like this forever, and it'd make no difference. Why don't they ever think about helping me? This isn't even my project!

Hold up! Where are these bitter, angry thoughts coming from? Just last night I was reading Ann Voskamp's The Broken Way. She was talking about serving and loving and giving. And I wanted that so much. I wanted to help people, to love people, even the unlovable ones. And yet, here I am having a hard time loving the people who actually, in their human broken way, love me back. That feeling of having a world of potential inside but no outlet - where did that go? That feeling of a lightbulb coming on. Yes, this is the way I should live, but how? That feeling of overflowing with love, but no one to love - where'd that go, too?

Ann wrote about a study that showed when a person helps someone else more than three times a day, they end up feeling less stressed. Not the big, earth-shattering help. No, just the simple acts of kindness, of giving of one's self and energy. Open doors. Hang up clothes. Move along laundry. Let someone else go in line before you. Cook dinner. The mundane. The mind-numbing.

Then what on earth am I doing wrong? Why don't I feel less stressed? Why do I feel suffocated when I think that someone might ask one more thing of me? I wash dishes by hand after everyone else has already gone to bed. I hardly have an hour of quiet to myself unless I stay up hours after everyone else has gone to bed. I give of myself. I give of myself, but why aren't I filled? Is it because I do them for the wrong reasons? I don't know my reasons. I just can't stop myself.

Ann also wrote about what she called 'chronic soul amnesia'. Our faithful forgetfulness - oh, you can sure count on it more than anything else in the world. Temptations? They're hardly needed. We forget what we're supposed to know, and then it doesn't occur to us there's a battlefield going on inside of our mind. Just these thoughts. These thoughts that tear and rip and shred every bit of hope and joy and thankfulness.

This chronic soul amnesia is why we have to continually relearn lessons again. It's why we spend a year trying to move on and end up in the exact same place spiritually.

I forget so much. I forget that nothing we do for the Lord is useless (1 Corinthians 15:58). That we can do all for the glory of God (1 Corinthians 10:31). That we can do all things through Christ who gives us strength (Philippians 4:13). That He will never leave us or forsake us (Hebrews 13:5). That He is actually in us (John 14:23). That He is the only giver of peace and we shouldn't be afraid (John 14:27).  That we should always be joyful and prayerful and thankful 'for this is God's will' (1 Thessalonians 5:16-18).

And still with all these promises, I forget. I stumble and trip, and I get mad at myself because I'm so human. I go from light bulb moments when I think I finally get it to the darkest places in seconds. My forgetfulness is constant, but I'm not.

That's why we're supposed to read the Bible every day. That's why we purposely memorize portions of Truth. That's why we listen to songs reinforcing Truths. That's why we do Communion. That's why we surround ourselves with people like us who fight this forgetfulness. It's so we don't forget, and if we do, we'll remember it all again soon.

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I don't know. These are just the rambling thoughts of a frustrating day, a frustrating week. What are your thoughts on this? Do you struggle with this chronic soul amnesia? What do you do to help yourself remember? You all should read 'The Broken Way' by Ann Voskamp. It was a bit rough getting back into her style, but she writes poignantly. So many wonderings. So much possibility.

The Part Where I Don't Have the Answers

Answers. I scramble up the cliffs after them, snatching at their ankles and almost losing my balance. My fingernails bend as they scrape across the rock's face until they find a notch where I can anchor myself.

The answers stop. They are above me gazing down at my dirtied face, my bleeding hands, and they laugh because they know something I don't, that I won't.

So what do I have to offer?

Somebody told me once that no one needs to know when you're uncertain. We're just supposed to fake it until we make it. Things don't hinge on who we are. They hinge on what we can sell other people. If we can sell the right image, the right reassurances, then we're good to go.

Most people like shiny, perfect things. They like quick fixes (why waste our time searching for answers if someone else has already learned them?). They like to think someone somewhere does have the answers.

I like that last thing. Answers. Real, nitty-gritty answers.

But if you're looking for answers here, you probably should look somewhere else because I don't have them. I wish I did. Or maybe I wish I could pretend I did so I could make beautiful, shiny words filled with exactly what you need or what you want to hear. Oh, I would love to have something to sell you. It would be easy that way. I wouldn't feel like I should fill up when I only have empty hands.

I don't want to pretend, even if people like carefully organized lists and perfectly placed pictures and answers and a semblance of togetherness. I don't want to do that here. I don't want to wear some mask that doesn't look like me. Maybe I'm just afraid of going out on a line and saying something is definitely 'the way'.

I can't just say:

This is the way you write books.

This is way you learn to draw.

This is the way you should live.

This is the way you learn musical instruments on your own.

This is the way you bake bread.

This is the way you decide if you should pursue college or not.

This is the way you grow a beautiful garden.

This is the way you should grow in your relationship with God.

Because I can say something will work, but will it actually work? And if I know something works, but I don't actually put it into practice, what profit is that? Doesn't that make me a hypocrite?

Here's the thing, I sometimes do have answers, but the little, partial ones I find won't always fit you. I'm not you, and you're not me. My answers won't always be the same as yours because we're different. We have our unique ways of viewing the world, of solving problems, of thinking. And that's perfectly okay. We're not supposed to fit into some place we weren't created for.

I don't have perfect formulas. And sometimes maybe I should have more...plotted out plans of attack? But I could always do something more, but that's the curse of perfectionism. You can always do something better.

There's one thing I do have a lot of. Questions. So many of them, and I pray every day for wisdom so that I may have some more of those partial answers. I don't need to know a lot (although, if God gave me full answers, I'd be okay with that). I just want to know the next answer.

If you're a questioner with a handful of answers or empty hands, you're not alone because I'm here.

And I'm eager to learn. From you. From stories. From music. From Jesus.

Because 99% of the time, I don't have a clue what I'm doing. I'm just scrambling up this cliff, and it's only by the grace of God that I don't end up flat on my face.

I suppose one day eventually my questions won't matter anymore. I can't wait. But if I figure anything out before then, you'll be the first to know.

"I don't have the answer, and maybe that's okay, but we can search together." 

It's Okay to Ask for Help

I don't like asking for help. At all. I'll go high and low to avoid it, even if the help would give me peace of mind or save me from hours of extra work or worry that could have been avoided.

Nope. I'm absolutely, most assuredly not going to ask. Besides, I know exactly what they're going to say. They're going to say something I don't like, and it's not just that. They'll probably say something that shows how little they know me. And it's just too tiring to tell them all the reasons they're wrong, and wait, you're not supposed to swat down brainstorming ideas so you just have to politely listen, all the while boiling up inside, because they assume a lot and you don't actually need this help anymore and the whole thing was a failure...and...and...

And sometimes I just feel like it's way too much work to ask for advice.

But you know what?

It's not this whole exhausting thing. At least it doesn't have to be as long as we don't toss our pearls to swine. It's easy to let these negative interactions leave a nasty taste in our mouths. To keep us from experiencing the good parts. In our minds, we reason away the work of admitting our vulnerability because we're all flawed humans and no one has it more together than any other and anyway we know everything ourselves. But sometimes we have scraped the bottom. We are not enough, and we are being suffocated by that very 'not enoughness'. There's absolutely nowhere to go, and we've put great big walls all around us, and we are isolate because we're supposed to be able to do this on our own, but you know what?

It's still okay to ask for help. It's never too late to ask for help.

Yes, we're all flawed humans, and we don't have everything together, and some of the most respected individuals have revealed over time their sin stains to us. But being helped up by someone who stands a little taller than you, whose feet are on a more solid rock, whose love speaks loudly, is how it's meant to be. God wants us to always be growing. To be lifting our younger brothers and sisters all the while being lifted ourselves. None of us will ever fully arrive.

If you need help, ask for it because...

1. We all get worn out and tired and discouraged.

And we lose our ability to see our problems clearly. We can't get far enough away to view the big picture. We're stuck in the valley, and sometimes it's good to have a watchman up on the top telling us what is waiting on the other side or which place is easier to climb because they've already done it.

2. Nobody knows everything, even if we mostly think we do.

There's always room for learning, and every single person you meet knows something you don't. I got this pride thing. It's really hard. I'd rather exhaust every ounce of me before showing I don't have it altogether. I don't want to be viewed as stupid because I should know this and this, even though I don't. I don't want to be viewed as lazy because I could have figured this out if I'd only give it time and energy. I don't want to be a bother. Yet, on the other hand, if someone thought I could help them, I would. Without hesitation, I would give their problem, their worries, all of my attention. I'd even wonder, "Why are they asking me? Why do they think I could have this wisdom?" I am humbled by someone asking me for help. 

3. I think it's something God wants. 

There aren't a whole lot of verses exactly on the idea of having mentors or counselors, but there is a lot about us sharpening each other, encouraging each other, mourning with one another, financially helping one another. Because of the way things are structured, I believe God had that kind of thing in mind. He made families. Fathers and mothers to guide us in the way we should go, but sometimes they just can't help or are not around. He placed church elders and pastors for guiders. Sometimes even paid counselors. God can use anyone to bless us, anyone to lift us up, dust us off, and send us on our way.


Is it hard for you to ask for help or is it just me? What has been your most helpful advice? Least helpful? How do you feel about giving advice? 

Recenter

Take a breath
And let it out.
Just let me breathe
In and out.
Slow this pulse.
Slow this pace.
Pull this heaviness
From off my chest.
Stop the chase.
I can run forever
But arrive nowhere, 
If you're not there.
Force the fear 
From all my veins.
Unclench these knotted fists
And give me something to grasp,
Something like grace.
Don't gaze on imperfections.
Let me pass before you now.
Don't only see my broken.
Don't let me only see 
What I haven't got
And what I might never achieve.
Let me breathe,
Just breathe,
And try to remember.
Try to recenter myself
On something other than myself.
Slow the clock's time.
Slow the world's spinning 
So I might catch my breath
And not be left behind.
My chest is a bomb
With a fuse ever shortening.
I am only myself,
And myself is not enough.
So reach out your hand,
Uncoil these springing clock's wires.
Reach out your hand.
Maybe your touch will remember 
What peace is actually like
Because there is no peace
And no breath, no relief, 
And no curable pain
Where it's just me and myself,
And so just let me breathe.
Just lift this pain from my heart.
Remind me, after another fresh breath,
There's always a brand new start.

(My apologies for not keeping up on answering comments and reading your blogs and commenting. It's been a stressful few weeks for my family, but I hope things will start winding down a bit, and I'll get back on top of everything.)

One Thousand Gifts (Wandering Thoughts on a Book)

"Gratitude bestows reverence, allowing us to encounter everyday epiphanies, those transcendent moments of awe that change forever how we experience life and the world." - Sarah Ban Breathnach

I've seen the gratitude lists people have made - mostly blogposts, not so frequently in day-to-day life. I've skimmed through them and thought they were nice, but I never considered creating one of my own. After all, I would end up halfheartedly writing the same things as everyone else: "A roof over my head. Family. Friends. Etc." The big things in life that I know I should be thankful for but always seem to take for granted. I don't freeze midday and just thrill through with thanksgiving over these things as I wonder, "Why me? Why do I get to experience this?"
And I think that's the first problem with my mindset towards gratitude lists. I look for the big things to write down that I should write down. In my prayers, I just gather everything up, every little crumb, in a nice packaged 'Thank you for everything', and that's the end.
But it's the little things that catch my eye throughout the day. It's the little things that cause me to freeze and thrill with unspoken thanksgiving. I am delighted by bugs and flowers and my garden and the sky and nature, but I still clump them all together into one big package when it's even the smaller things that make my heart sing. I don't necessarily always smile when I think about my garden. Sometimes I think about the gopher eating all my onions. Or the back breaking work of digging out potatoes or some other hard job.
But if I concentrate on the small things, then the small things reach out to me. It's not just my garden, it's the first pumpkin growing on its vine and the first watermelon. The honeybee who gets shot by a water droplet, and as I lift it off the wet ground, it shakes its wings off, and I feel the sprinkles hit my cheek. Or the silly stuff: my fuzzy blanket that never seems to be cold. The cup of hot chocolate I drank in the morning that somehow turned my grumps away. People who make me food.
It's these little things that make up the big things, and if I can't be thankful for them, how can I be thankful for anything and everything?
I never considered how keeping a list might change me, and I never considered it could be an act of worship and an essential part of a living faith. It's not the list. It's having a list to remind you to look around, to take note of things, to be present right where God is.
In One Thousand Gifts, Ann Voskamp writes, "It's not the gifts that fulfill, but the holiness of the space. The God in it...This is supreme gift, time, God Himself framed in a moment...When I'm present, I meet I AM, the very presence of a present God. In His embrace, time loses all sense of speed and stress and space and stands so still and holy. Here is the only place I can love Him"

And Ann goes on to write achingly real and poetical about her life and her struggles. Her fight for joy and thanksgiving and a full life. I reread sentence again and again and try to carve these words into my heart so I won't forget them, but the words are so many and so penetrating, and I am so forgetful.  I wish I could share all my highlighted lines from this book with you, but there are too many, and it's too late, and my words come out more and more rough and broken.

Read this book.

What do you think of gratitude lists? Have you kept one? Have you read One Thousand Gifts? What did you think? I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments!

"The real problem of life is never a lack of time. The real problem of life - in my life - is lack of thanksgiving. Thanksgiving creates abundance; and the miracle of multiplying happens when I give thanks - take the just one loaf, say it is enough, and give thanks - and He miraculously makes it more than enough."  

Blessed as Opposed to Privileged

These days the word 'privileged' gets thrown around a lot. So much that when I hear it, I automatically grimace. In many ways it has turned into an insult. "You don't get to hold such and such an opinion because you're privileged, and if you should hold it, you better just keep your mouth shut because you don't understand because you're privileged."

And, in most eyes, I'd suspect they do see me as privileged. I was raised by two parents in a loving home surrounded with brothers and sisters and extended family who all loved Jesus. I always had clothing to wear, food to eat, some place to sleep. We lived in a safe neighborhood. I'm as white as they come (pretty much as white as a vampire) so I never had to experience racism. Or any persecution for my beliefs. I was given a good education and have had no shortage of opportunities should I wish to continue my education. People would probably think I'm some sort of privileged to still be living with my parents and not having to spend money on all those little (or not so little) expenses yet.

I'm exactly the sort of person the word 'privileged' would be used for. The two things keeping that insult from being full-blown is the fact I'm a woman and I don't live in some two-story house and have a car my parents bought me.

I don't like that word, however fitting it may seem. It's probably just because of the way people maliciously use it, but the cringe is still there and probably always will be.

Here's the thing: I know I've got it incredibly good, but I don't view myself privileged. I view myself as blessed.

Privileged is the word used for people who have been given much or seemed to have been given much in life. There's no reasoning to why they have more in life. It's just the way it is. And so you should feel guilty. You should feel guilty for having it better than other people. And that guilt drives you to do things for other people.

Viewing yourself as blessed is different because when I think of myself as blessed, I have a clear idea of who I have been blessed by.  I don't have all these things to be thankful for and no one to be thankful to. I know who the Giver of all good things (EVERY. SINGLE. THING = Friendships, family, pets, trees, houses, beds, soft blankets, hot chocolate, gardens...) is. I know everything of worth in my life has been given to me, not because I am someone wonderful or someone deserving of this 'special attention', but because He is gracious and merciful.

When we are blessed, we don't help others from guilt, we help them because we have been called to. It's part of the reason we were given what we have been given. It's not something to separate us from others who don't have everything we have. It's part of our strengths so that when we all come together, we show each other some different part of God's character and love.

Just because someone is blessed or 'privileged' in the eyes of another doesn't mean they are without understanding. Or trouble or worries or sorrows. Or compassion.

Frankly I don't understand why I have been blessed. I don't know why other people don't get these things that I have been given. These are the wonderings that only God knows the answer to, but having been blessed, I am left small and humbled and overwhelmed because 'for unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required: and to whom men have committed much, of him they will ask the more' (Luke 12:48, KJV).

What do you think?