As a daughter of the fringes I see others on the fringe and I long to bring them in; all I want to do is have them nestle in the bosom of the mother church.
It is His vehicle to bring the Light, but more over it is His Bride in which He reveals Himself like none other.
I desire to gather the fringes in, to be hidden in Her wings; wrapped in the warmth of her candlelight.
I remember entering her doorways, laying down the garments of the past. Taking off the coat of isolation, it's ragged sleeves with worn out holes would no longer allow the brutal winter wind to penetrate in to my very skin. Instead I would be offered a cloak of fellowship, of diversity, of hope - though it's shape would often be strange, and it's material not always comfortable, the warmth was unlike any other.
See I long to raise my kin in this place.
It is under the rafters of that cathedral,
In the pews of this steeple,
At the altar of the temple
that I long to bring the lost sons and daughter; for it is a safe and sacred place.
Please know my beloveds it is not always beautiful.
Community is messy, and sometimes downright hard.
You don't think like me, and I don't talk like you.
But we share a bond higher than our skin and bones,
and yet is in these broken bodies Christ finds His home.
So walk with me a while,
dredge through these muggy waters,
fight for understanding, and hold-fast to hope.
We may sing different harmonies,
but we are joining the same song.
A daughter of the fringes I may be,
But is in this place, this Church, that I am me.
Saturday, January 25, 2014
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
Hearing Rightly
Five minutes into Dr. Chris Green's sermon about Becoming Christ's
Body and I am convicted. While the sermon is focused on the community, I heard
it yelling to me about hearing God -
"Just because we heard God, doesn't
mean we hear rightly."
Dr. Green uses the example of Peter
telling Jesus that 'God forbid the Messiah should be crucified'. While Peter
was right since Jesus was the Messiah, he had his own imaginations interpreting
the truth being spoken.
A couple months ago I heard the word "pastor"
rolling around in my heart. Before I heard that word I was at a crossroads, an
impasse in my call - I was finishing my first masters (in business of all
things) and I didn't know where to go next. I was afraid of the darkness, the
ambiguity of the spring - I needed hope, a purpose, a call.
I sought direction from my friends; they
said wait. I went to lunches with elders; they said wait. But I knew I couldn't
wait, especially being wasn't
in my vocabulary. I am a doer; worth, reality and purpose are
defined by what I accomplish. I couldn't simply live for the sake of
living - I needed a step, a "to-do" list, I needed something more. In
my desperation I attempted to put my purposes in "church" work,
finding myself depressed after church on Sunday, and upset with the leadership
because of how I felt. In response, I went to my
pastor's office (which I talk more about in last month's reflection) and ended
up crying in my desperation to be used, to give all I had to a mission, a
purpose. Rather than taking advantage of my desire to do, or giving a quick fix
- he asked me to meet with him and seek the Lord's will in my life.
It was shortly thereafter the word pastor
began to roll around. When I confessed that desire, I was reaffirmed -
beautifully so, my husband and by my pastor (even eventually by my Covenant
Life Group). I felt I had found my purpose, my goal; my reason for living was
on track again. You see, since I was 7 or 8 I've defined my entire being by the call. God's hand on my life, His mission
purposed in my being was all I lived for, it was my entirety. But as time went
on - marriage, birth, debt, school, and work - I lost that, my planned purpose
of missionary had evolved to the point of not being there anymore. Stuck, but
seeing the evidence of the Lord's work in maturing me, I wanted to find purpose
again - preferably in a ministry label.
I don't think I can describe what it is
like when you feel made for something. You can be born for it, formed for it,
but the undertow of being made for a singular purpose is wrecking. Reading
about a famous musician the other day they were told to not pursue music "because they wanted
to, but because they had to". As an infant I was dedicated to the church
and as the heavens opened my grandfather had a prophetic word saying I was
being called to the Church of England - my parents stood in agreement. I
wouldn't personally hear the call till I was 8, but even before then I remember
intimately being aware of our Creator. He was there in the trees as I played with
bugs; He was there in the dances of hallelujahs with my sisters. His hand held
us as our car would teeter over the mountain's edge; He was there when my life
would be opened to sin and stayed with me even in my darkest nights. It was in
a church service where I felt called to be a missionary, and my mom would
encourage me that I could be bi-vocational: a vet and a missionary. I bought
books about Kenya, attempted to learn Swahili; history was my addiction,
stories of missionaries and culture was my dream. Even in my playing pretend,
my heart knew I had a purpose. In the nights that my sin would corrupt my soul,
I would desire for my life to be gone but I knew God would restore me someday
because I was called. A child not even yet a teen, I would hope I'd be
preserved to live out this call.
Some of my happiest and most devastating
moments have happened within the four walls of a local congregation. Moments of
deep satisfaction and painful back-stabs have happened in the community of
Christ. My husband is similar in his sentiment towards the Church - being born
the son of a pastor he was always held within the arms of the Mother that is
the Church. If the Old Testament Levitical order was still in existence today,
my in-laws would have a quiverful of priests - as each of their sons are
pursuing ministry. They are sons of the priesthood, and you can feel that
radiating from my husband. He bears the burden of any congregation he attends, feels
the spiritual journey as he looks around to the people. As a child he would
feel that church was home, using the building for his own fun, and always being
"in the know" about all of its activities. He was special, because he
was the pastor's son - he was watched over, included, and church was a part of
him. Then in the decision to marry me, move away, and pursue a different
tradition, the local church no longer felt like home but a place of seclusion,
and misunderstanding.
See I pursued the church, and my husband
was often pursued by the church. I worked to earn my place in the Temple of God;
my husband was born into the right.
Oh God has a sense of humor, if in no
other way than our strange combination! To some it may not seem like a big
deal, but over 60% of our disagreements, 70% of our tears have been over this difference
between us. But yet it is also our common bond - the Church, the ministry, the
advancing of Christ's Kingdom is what has held us together, thrusting us
forward towards the Spirit's call.
So "pastor" rolled around in my
heart, and I assumed its meaning. I heard truth, and interpreted its meaning
through my own imaginations. Thank you Dr. Green, for pointing that out - my
husband had been trying for weeks to tell me that same thing, but I needed to
hear it again for it to stick. I am called; I know that, I feel that; in some immature
way I desperately need that feeling of calling. Till now my life has in so many
ways depended on the way I heard and interpreted truth -
but I want to hear the truth God spoke, interpreting through His imaginations,
through His purposes. I believe this is done in community; it is accomplished
in relationship with Yahweh, and with all the sons and daughters of God. My
call cannot be separated from the Body, and I trust that the Spirit will guide
me, speak to me and to those around me as we move forward into understanding
the Person of Truth.
Thus this is my prayer: to trust
in the Spirit to speak this call, rather than assume its form.
Monday, January 13, 2014
Love - A moment of discipleship
As a twenty-something I often reflect back on the past, wondering what brought me here, peering back to understand the present. In a cliche, millennial way I have found myself a bit disillusioned, feeling betrayed by the promise of grandeur in my youth. I don't understand things as well as I thought, and the decisions of a child still affect this adult daily - which is something I never expected.
Yesterday we had the opportunity to teach our K-5th graders about Love, as the beginning of our study about the Fruit of the Spirit. As our lesson wound down, and we gave them a heart to write in what way they would "choose to love" this week. Then we wrote a Bible verse on the front, "Little children, let us love in truth and action" 1 John 3:18. In this process one of the young ladies asked her peers to help her spell children. The response by the 7-9 year old girls was lacking love.
"Seriously? You don't know how to spell 'children'?"
"You mean you really don't know how to spell 'children'?"
I was assisting the boys when my husband pointed out to me that this young lady was sitting away from everyone else looking on the verge of tears. I went over and talked to her - where she relayed the above story. I comforted her, apologizing that they had hurt her feelings. I encouraged her, telling her what she did was brave and that she shouldn't be discouraged to ask for help again and that she should keep having courage to ask. I then decided to take all the other girls out of the room (even ones who I knew were not part of the discussion) and talk to them about practicing love.
I asked them if they have seen teenage girls be mean to each other - all of them had stories of being mean.
I told them that right now is the time they have to have each other's backs. They need each other.
I told them that the world is hard, there are people who will try to be mean to them.
I reminded them of the unique opportunity they have to love each other. They are the light to the Lord, and they can't love the people outside if they can't love each other here.
I asked if they loved God, which they each said yes. I reminded them that if they love God they are His daughter's, which means they are sisters and they need to treat each other that way.
I then shared what happened to the girl, carefully not calling out those I knew that had hurt her feelings. Rather I asked what they should do when someone asks for help. One girl said if shed didn't know how to spell the words she would say so that way others would make fun of her instead (she's the youngest in the group). The eldest and "cool" girl in the group said she'd be honest as to whether she could spell, but would make sure no one would be made fun of. The two girls who had made fun didn't voice anything. I then asked all of them to think and ask God to help them see if they treated her unkindly, and if so to apologize.
These young ladies are all raised in Christian homes, experiencing many of the same things I did as a child. I want them to own their faith, like I was encouraged to. They need to hear the whisper of the Spirit now in order to cultivate that throughout their lives. They don't need another person "telling" them what to do, but rather guiding them into making the right decisions. You see this 8-12 time framed my faith, my habits, my sins, my love, my image of God, my purpose, my call in significant ways I am still unfolding.
I let the girls go back in the room and hang out with everyone else. Two of the girls asked me if what they did was right. Rather than giving them a simply yes or no, I asked them how it would feel if someone treated them that same way. One girl went and apologized after this. The other girl, who struggles with authority and empathy thought my point was silly and couldn't see through the eyes of the other young lady.
In our attempt to learn about the Fruit of the Spirit, we were given the opportunity to practice love. It was a choice, not a feeling and that hopefully planted a seed. My little kids, and us adults - We are the Body of Christ, we need to desperately choose to love each other - not yelling at our differing opinions, attire, politics, gender, leadership or race. If we can't practice love here, when I am tied to you and you are tied to me, how can we ever love a world that hates us? Love as a fruit of the Spirit is a gift, and it is a choice - it is not first a feeling but it is lived out through supernatural obedience.
Love doesn't blindly agree; love certainly calls us out on our crap.
Love knows that we are a family, and no matter what we are in this together so I will work towards reconciliation, I will move towards friendship, I will lay my life down for you for this is the way the world will see our Savior.
I look forward to learning more with my kids as we attempt to live out this Christian life together.
Sunday, December 22, 2013
The Burden of the Exception
It was a few weeks ago as I sat in my pastor's office, on the verge tears, as I wrestled to speak what I felt God had put in my heart.
It was a whisper.....Pastor.
It was a rolling thunder bursting forth.....Pastor.
A small word, with so much weight and it had rolled around in my heart for several weeks. While weeks are certainly not a lengthy amount of time, they had seemed like eternity as my heart grew restless and my spirit began to long. Yet I kept it in, hiding the words the Spirit had put on my heart - fear ruling rather than love reigning. Then in a prayer service, where my heart wasn't there and everything was distracting me, I opened my Bible, like I had as a child seeking God's words to me. I sought something to ease the angst, as my eyes fell upon the Psalms, the words leaping on the page speaking what I had yet to say. In the Psalm called "Triumphant Song of Confidence" I read "One thing I asked of the Lord, that will I seek after: to live in the house of the Lord" and I was uplifted. Then as my eyes swept over "If my father and mother forsake me, the Lord will take me up", I began to weep. All the fears came out, with sobs that threw my whole body. My inability to stand in the midst of this call, the fear of never being accepted, the words of two decades defining my identity, everything knocked at my heart burying me and telling me I could never be what the Spirit spoke.
It took two hours that night for my husband to pull out of me the Spirit's whisper. Yet the relief I felt in the sharing of this new "call", was unbelievable and with his encouragement I met with my pastor (which had been happening semi-regularly). Though it was with a lot of apprehension & anticipation with this new agenda. It was during this visit, the words pastor rolled in my heart and poured them out to my pastor. Being the first real pastor I could claim in my life, I doubted myself, wondered what he would say, fearful that every affirmation of my administrative skill would manifest and he'd encourage that but detour any other pastoral role.
Being a feminist, I knew my pastor supported women ministers - but I figured I'd be an exception. That he'd see the traits everyone else saw, but not look beyond them - assuming my role instead of speaking something that only God could fulfill. I was blessed when he said that he'd probably have his own agenda to nurture a Pentecostal women minister, and that I'd need to discern my call so I wouldn't be swayed by his agenda. Such a better response that I supposed! Then he asked about my family, would they support me? I doubted it, but I said, "In every area my parents and sisters have placed me in an exception - in leadership, in marriage; they respect my difference. So if they were to approve of anyone, it'd probably be me. But I don't know if they will."
I left that meeting encouraged, but assumed it'd be years for that to manifest with my parents. But God always meets us where we are! It was two days later, that my dad would have the Spirit press upon him to apologize for a hurt towards me, and release me to ministry (all without me saying anything!). Then my mom told me that her heart would be saddened if I wasn't involved in ministry and she was glad I'd be pursuing it more. After I expressed my fear of rejection, by those I value most - the Spirit honored me, and the values God put in me, by allowing my parents to express affirmation of my call and my identity in the church.
____________________________________________________________
I am reminded today about the burden of being the exception to the rule. Once again a family situation came up, where disagreements were likely but the various members deferred to me, and I was reminded me they wouldn't do that except for me. Being the exception sounds amazing, it seems like it would be an elitist role, a place of pride and honor. While it contains within it the possibility for such things, the daily living is one more of responsibility, of weightiness, of potential isolation, and the knowledge that you bear other's because of your exception. It is a role that can't be carried alone, it is not for one pair of shoulders to bear. A partner to my right, and the Spirit living inside is the only way to move forward.
Today I was so sharply reminded of my inability to do this - to live this exception - on my own. Being in a job that I am affirmed constantly, situations where I am often the "smartest in the room" and where my wit and naturally gifting can often lead difficult situations - I'm pretty resourceful. I really can do it on my own a lot of the time.
It was the third or fourth meeting with my pastor when my calling seemed to change, but the process really began in the first time. When he looked at me, and echoed the same wonders my husband had said days before, "You will learn your value before God. He will let you decide how." I can't weigh my value in how well I do things, as I always have but rather I need to know my value by the fact that He loves me and that is value enough. My pastor saw that I had never failed, and that was almost preventing me from seeing my value in God - because I was able to do it on my own. But as my beloved husband pointed out again today, my best self is void of the Spirit and tries to do it alone, which leaves everything unsatisfactory.
So I write today to say,
I am an exception.
Not compared to you, not to my parents or to my church - I am an exception by the grace of God to myself. He has formed me to be sufficient but horribly insufficient, to be competent and yet desperately in need. In living this life, I can fulfill enough on my own to be considered satisfactory or even good but yet I can't be great, or actually change the world for the Kingdom of God on my own. My heart is void of good when I am separate from God - for He gives me the ability to empathize, to care, to love.
I may be called to be a pastor, but I am first called to follow the Shepherd, joining in this dance with the Spirit, moving towards my Father's home. He is my standard, and I fail miserably, But God.....
It was a whisper.....Pastor.
It was a rolling thunder bursting forth.....Pastor.
A small word, with so much weight and it had rolled around in my heart for several weeks. While weeks are certainly not a lengthy amount of time, they had seemed like eternity as my heart grew restless and my spirit began to long. Yet I kept it in, hiding the words the Spirit had put on my heart - fear ruling rather than love reigning. Then in a prayer service, where my heart wasn't there and everything was distracting me, I opened my Bible, like I had as a child seeking God's words to me. I sought something to ease the angst, as my eyes fell upon the Psalms, the words leaping on the page speaking what I had yet to say. In the Psalm called "Triumphant Song of Confidence" I read "One thing I asked of the Lord, that will I seek after: to live in the house of the Lord" and I was uplifted. Then as my eyes swept over "If my father and mother forsake me, the Lord will take me up", I began to weep. All the fears came out, with sobs that threw my whole body. My inability to stand in the midst of this call, the fear of never being accepted, the words of two decades defining my identity, everything knocked at my heart burying me and telling me I could never be what the Spirit spoke.
It took two hours that night for my husband to pull out of me the Spirit's whisper. Yet the relief I felt in the sharing of this new "call", was unbelievable and with his encouragement I met with my pastor (which had been happening semi-regularly). Though it was with a lot of apprehension & anticipation with this new agenda. It was during this visit, the words pastor rolled in my heart and poured them out to my pastor. Being the first real pastor I could claim in my life, I doubted myself, wondered what he would say, fearful that every affirmation of my administrative skill would manifest and he'd encourage that but detour any other pastoral role.
Being a feminist, I knew my pastor supported women ministers - but I figured I'd be an exception. That he'd see the traits everyone else saw, but not look beyond them - assuming my role instead of speaking something that only God could fulfill. I was blessed when he said that he'd probably have his own agenda to nurture a Pentecostal women minister, and that I'd need to discern my call so I wouldn't be swayed by his agenda. Such a better response that I supposed! Then he asked about my family, would they support me? I doubted it, but I said, "In every area my parents and sisters have placed me in an exception - in leadership, in marriage; they respect my difference. So if they were to approve of anyone, it'd probably be me. But I don't know if they will."
I left that meeting encouraged, but assumed it'd be years for that to manifest with my parents. But God always meets us where we are! It was two days later, that my dad would have the Spirit press upon him to apologize for a hurt towards me, and release me to ministry (all without me saying anything!). Then my mom told me that her heart would be saddened if I wasn't involved in ministry and she was glad I'd be pursuing it more. After I expressed my fear of rejection, by those I value most - the Spirit honored me, and the values God put in me, by allowing my parents to express affirmation of my call and my identity in the church.
____________________________________________________________
I am reminded today about the burden of being the exception to the rule. Once again a family situation came up, where disagreements were likely but the various members deferred to me, and I was reminded me they wouldn't do that except for me. Being the exception sounds amazing, it seems like it would be an elitist role, a place of pride and honor. While it contains within it the possibility for such things, the daily living is one more of responsibility, of weightiness, of potential isolation, and the knowledge that you bear other's because of your exception. It is a role that can't be carried alone, it is not for one pair of shoulders to bear. A partner to my right, and the Spirit living inside is the only way to move forward.
Today I was so sharply reminded of my inability to do this - to live this exception - on my own. Being in a job that I am affirmed constantly, situations where I am often the "smartest in the room" and where my wit and naturally gifting can often lead difficult situations - I'm pretty resourceful. I really can do it on my own a lot of the time.
It was the third or fourth meeting with my pastor when my calling seemed to change, but the process really began in the first time. When he looked at me, and echoed the same wonders my husband had said days before, "You will learn your value before God. He will let you decide how." I can't weigh my value in how well I do things, as I always have but rather I need to know my value by the fact that He loves me and that is value enough. My pastor saw that I had never failed, and that was almost preventing me from seeing my value in God - because I was able to do it on my own. But as my beloved husband pointed out again today, my best self is void of the Spirit and tries to do it alone, which leaves everything unsatisfactory.
So I write today to say,
I am an exception.
Not compared to you, not to my parents or to my church - I am an exception by the grace of God to myself. He has formed me to be sufficient but horribly insufficient, to be competent and yet desperately in need. In living this life, I can fulfill enough on my own to be considered satisfactory or even good but yet I can't be great, or actually change the world for the Kingdom of God on my own. My heart is void of good when I am separate from God - for He gives me the ability to empathize, to care, to love.
I may be called to be a pastor, but I am first called to follow the Shepherd, joining in this dance with the Spirit, moving towards my Father's home. He is my standard, and I fail miserably, But God.....
Saturday, November 16, 2013
Falling Deep - A poem of letting go
The current breaks under the line of sight
The undertow pulling us left and right
As the waves crash on to the shore
Our laboring breaths are almost no more
So I stop
Stand up and walk away
I will not drown
But neither will I swim
Instead I will just say, "No, wait!"
Not moving forward, nor falling back
Neither growing, nor withering cold
These waters are too deep for me
So I sail to a more shallow end
I put a cap on all these fears
To prevent the sinking of this ship
I burn the flags of yesteryear
No identity can yet be found
Yet the waters call, like sirens of old
A beckoning too deep to be ignored
To dive may mean my death
But was this living a life anymore?
So I stop
Stand up and jump in
I will not drown
But neither will I swim
Instead I will just stay, in this waters and wait
Wading in this deep
Knowing the ground's beyond my reach
Stead-fasting in the cold
My King calls me to let go of it all
Falling into the waters below
It's darkness is light
The depth's weight like air
As breathe fills my lungs I know
You're breaking me apart
The waters pull away my scales
Filling up the aches, the caverns of pain
Each crevasse of my soul is satisfied
For only You could make me, "me"
Moments or millenias I will never know
The waters depth was untold
Living, breathing Spirit overtaking it all
This was the deep the ancients all told
As the waves break against the shore
My body laid bare in the sand
I arise a new soul, a new man
As one who has been made whole
The waters flow in my veins
No longer the fears, the lies, the pains
Instead Truth is a person, holding my hand
And I can live again
The undertow pulling us left and right
As the waves crash on to the shore
Our laboring breaths are almost no more
So I stop
Stand up and walk away
I will not drown
But neither will I swim
Instead I will just say, "No, wait!"
Not moving forward, nor falling back
Neither growing, nor withering cold
These waters are too deep for me
So I sail to a more shallow end
I put a cap on all these fears
To prevent the sinking of this ship
I burn the flags of yesteryear
No identity can yet be found
Yet the waters call, like sirens of old
A beckoning too deep to be ignored
To dive may mean my death
But was this living a life anymore?
So I stop
Stand up and jump in
I will not drown
But neither will I swim
Instead I will just stay, in this waters and wait
Wading in this deep
Knowing the ground's beyond my reach
Stead-fasting in the cold
My King calls me to let go of it all
Falling into the waters below
It's darkness is light
The depth's weight like air
As breathe fills my lungs I know
You're breaking me apart
The waters pull away my scales
Filling up the aches, the caverns of pain
Each crevasse of my soul is satisfied
For only You could make me, "me"
Moments or millenias I will never know
The waters depth was untold
Living, breathing Spirit overtaking it all
This was the deep the ancients all told
As the waves break against the shore
My body laid bare in the sand
I arise a new soul, a new man
As one who has been made whole
The waters flow in my veins
No longer the fears, the lies, the pains
Instead Truth is a person, holding my hand
And I can live again
Saturday, November 9, 2013
Disappointed
I think I blinked a bit too long, as this fall has flown by. Days melt into weeks before I can even realize I am behind in life. There have been breakdowns, tears, screams, laughter, successes, progress, and realizations - all of which have beckoned me to move forward.
To do that, I have a few confessions to make.
I am disappointed
I don't know about you, but as a child I constantly played pretend to be older. Whether it be "house", "college" or "work" my sister Lizy, and I (along with a few playmates) would be rock stars, popular college students, successful housewives, disobedient runaways, or adventurous orphans. I often dreamt of growing up, but in a fantastical way. Much like I dreamt about being in the Lord of the Rings, or a strong warrior out of the 15th century, I dreamt of being an adult going to the mission field living among the people of Kenya never to see the paved streets of America again. But I never thought I'd actually grow up. It was a dream, a fantasy - not a reality. Being raised in the 90's Christian sub-culture of Jesus' soon return, combined with fictional tales of being Left Behind, I was well aware that any moment everything could change and I'd be in heaven. As a tween college seemed ridiculous, why would I postpone my calling for a futile education? Then as I grew up I knew I'd have to make decisions, start putting one foot in front of the other to actually be anything.
I remember the first time I did something. I was all talk, until I chose to pursue my call. I had found out about a youth leadership conference up in Denver (a 8 hour drive) and asked my parents if I could go. My grandparents had family near there so we drove up and stayed with my Grandmother's sister for two days. I remember driving through the bustling streets of Denver going to the northern part of the city, my music playing - realizing I was going forward in my call. I had always been told I was a leader, and I wanted to get my feet wet. I was full of butterflies as I pulled into the parking lot of an unfamiliar church, seeing peers (my least favorite age group) and knowing I knew no one. But I went, and while I don't remember a lot of that weekend - it was that moment that defined every other moment for me, I could go and be what I wanted to be.
Fast forward a year, and I'm heavily involved with church - the church mouse actually. When the doors were open, I was there. I was working at a local coffee shop, graduating from highschool, and had traveled internationally the year before - I was a pretty confident 16/17 year old. My family had gone to the International House of Prayer Conference in Kansas City over the new year, and I had felt a strong desire to participate in their Fire in the Night internship. I talked with the directors while being there, and they said that 17 would be fine, as long as I had a note from my parents and had graduated. So I did what any responsible ministry member would do - I began to prepare others to take my place. There was a young lady who had wanted to sing on Sunday's and I spent time with her and encouraged her to join, soon I wouldn't be singing on Sunday mornings. My involvement in tech, sound, kids ministry, and janitorial work was soon covered. I was ready to go to IHOP. Then came my first rejection - they had changed the policy shortly after the new year and I would have to wait till I was 18. I had finally made another step forward, pursuing all I thought I was to be, and yet a door was shut, slammed firmly in my face. In the pain I quickly picked myself up, and tried to go back to where I was.
I don't know how to articulate the weight of what happened next, because I know it sounds petty on paper - but the gut punch I still feel reminds me it wasn't petty. I had stepped down from the worship team for a month or so (maybe a bit longer) and our church was in a lot of transition - moving towards the arts, and musical excellence. After the plan changed, I approached my dear friend and co-worship leader, she and the pastor said I would have to audition if I wanted to rejoin the worship team. In that simple sentence, to which I know they had no idea the weight of, the wind was gone from my sails and I stood lost in the seas of pain. All the questions of self worth, all the doubts of my abilities, all my anger towards the church was now validated. See I had had a painful cut in another church a few yyears prior as a 13 year old, and it caused me to doubt the Holy Spirit's participation in our lives. Now the church that had given me my counselor, my first voice, the prayer partners, the mentors, my first boyfriend, my ability to be me - had kicked me out without a second thought.
It was here I met and fell in love with my now husband of almost six years. In the midst of the church's rejection I gave morality a middle finger, and said "I will be who I am, regardless of what you say". I told my now father-in-law (a pastor nonetheless) that I had no intention of marrying his son, and that we were just going to date for fun and they'd have to be okay with that. I was tired of being told who I was, so I formed who I wanted to be. I was strong, spiritually on fire (though certainly broken) and horribly emotionally vulnerable. The non-marrying thing only last a few weeks, before I looked at Phil in the fall and gave him my heart in a bracelet.
It was my World Vision bracelet that I had had since the IHOP conference back in January, it signified my calling to missions and my relentless commitment to it. I had been dating someone else a year ago, but because of their lack of similar calling, our relationship ended. I knew that if I was to be with someone, they had to be sold out to the same vision of missions as I, or no amount of love would be worth the heartache. Phil took that bracelet, and wore it for another two years - even in our "I do's" he wore it. It stayed on until it broke off his wrist while living in Israel for a few months together.
In the moment of pain, in the crushing weight of questioning everything I made an impulsive decision to marry, to grow up, to stop waiting for the world to happen. Wow, how did life happen! Within a 18 months of getting married we had live in two countries, two states, four cities, moved three times, had all our possessions stolen while living overseas, moved hundred of miles away from our family, finished our first semester of college, and had our daughter. I think we calculated that that first year almost 25% of our nights were spent in a hotel, with another 35% being spent in homes other than our own. At 19 and a few months, I was a mom, a student, a wife, an employee and completely lost. The plans I had, that pushed me forward for over a decade had not shaped out and in the midst of postpartum, I doubted I could even love the child of my womb.
Fast forward a few years, and I am here about to graduate with my Masters in Business Administration, my husband half way through his masters in Christian Discipleship, our daughter about to turn five and still living in the same town as five years ago. At the beginning of this year we started to get involved with a new church, and I fell instantly in love. During the season of Lent, I literally fell head over heels in love with the pastors, the people, the building, the sermons, and even with God, at least a bit. These last ten months have been a whirlwind, God breathing His life back into these dry bones, the Spirit challenging me to live again.
After one of my many recent breakdowns of tears, and anger, I fell into a passive and hurt silence. It was then my beloved husband began to chip away at it, and saw the cause - I felt wholly, entirely disappointed by God. The King of the Universe, the Spirit of Life, the Prince of Peace had let me down and I sat there with anger in my heart towards Him. I had put my value, my worth in all that I did. Now after 15 years of working hard, moving forward, pushing to be more, dying to myself, trying to grow up before my time - I had my list of accomplishments, my certificate of worth and God was silent.
How dare He not speak?!
How after all these years of striving, of proving my best, of never settling, would He not speak?
While the story of Martha is lined throughout this story, best not belittle someone's pain through pointing out its cliche. I always wanted to be Mary, but God never set the place for me to be. As a teen I looked longingly at those who 'sat' at the feet of Jesus. But someone had to feed the disciples, someone had to care for families, work to provide a shelter - someone had to be the Martha and so I took up my cross and did. All the while looking longingly at the Marys all around me - a bit jealous and mostly hurt that that was not what I was meant to be. Thus in my first confessions of these changing seasons I need to say I have felt desperately disappointed by God, and I have found my value, my worth in all that I have done.
Selah.
To do that, I have a few confessions to make.
I am disappointed
I don't know about you, but as a child I constantly played pretend to be older. Whether it be "house", "college" or "work" my sister Lizy, and I (along with a few playmates) would be rock stars, popular college students, successful housewives, disobedient runaways, or adventurous orphans. I often dreamt of growing up, but in a fantastical way. Much like I dreamt about being in the Lord of the Rings, or a strong warrior out of the 15th century, I dreamt of being an adult going to the mission field living among the people of Kenya never to see the paved streets of America again. But I never thought I'd actually grow up. It was a dream, a fantasy - not a reality. Being raised in the 90's Christian sub-culture of Jesus' soon return, combined with fictional tales of being Left Behind, I was well aware that any moment everything could change and I'd be in heaven. As a tween college seemed ridiculous, why would I postpone my calling for a futile education? Then as I grew up I knew I'd have to make decisions, start putting one foot in front of the other to actually be anything.
I remember the first time I did something. I was all talk, until I chose to pursue my call. I had found out about a youth leadership conference up in Denver (a 8 hour drive) and asked my parents if I could go. My grandparents had family near there so we drove up and stayed with my Grandmother's sister for two days. I remember driving through the bustling streets of Denver going to the northern part of the city, my music playing - realizing I was going forward in my call. I had always been told I was a leader, and I wanted to get my feet wet. I was full of butterflies as I pulled into the parking lot of an unfamiliar church, seeing peers (my least favorite age group) and knowing I knew no one. But I went, and while I don't remember a lot of that weekend - it was that moment that defined every other moment for me, I could go and be what I wanted to be.
Fast forward a year, and I'm heavily involved with church - the church mouse actually. When the doors were open, I was there. I was working at a local coffee shop, graduating from highschool, and had traveled internationally the year before - I was a pretty confident 16/17 year old. My family had gone to the International House of Prayer Conference in Kansas City over the new year, and I had felt a strong desire to participate in their Fire in the Night internship. I talked with the directors while being there, and they said that 17 would be fine, as long as I had a note from my parents and had graduated. So I did what any responsible ministry member would do - I began to prepare others to take my place. There was a young lady who had wanted to sing on Sunday's and I spent time with her and encouraged her to join, soon I wouldn't be singing on Sunday mornings. My involvement in tech, sound, kids ministry, and janitorial work was soon covered. I was ready to go to IHOP. Then came my first rejection - they had changed the policy shortly after the new year and I would have to wait till I was 18. I had finally made another step forward, pursuing all I thought I was to be, and yet a door was shut, slammed firmly in my face. In the pain I quickly picked myself up, and tried to go back to where I was.
I don't know how to articulate the weight of what happened next, because I know it sounds petty on paper - but the gut punch I still feel reminds me it wasn't petty. I had stepped down from the worship team for a month or so (maybe a bit longer) and our church was in a lot of transition - moving towards the arts, and musical excellence. After the plan changed, I approached my dear friend and co-worship leader, she and the pastor said I would have to audition if I wanted to rejoin the worship team. In that simple sentence, to which I know they had no idea the weight of, the wind was gone from my sails and I stood lost in the seas of pain. All the questions of self worth, all the doubts of my abilities, all my anger towards the church was now validated. See I had had a painful cut in another church a few yyears prior as a 13 year old, and it caused me to doubt the Holy Spirit's participation in our lives. Now the church that had given me my counselor, my first voice, the prayer partners, the mentors, my first boyfriend, my ability to be me - had kicked me out without a second thought.
It was here I met and fell in love with my now husband of almost six years. In the midst of the church's rejection I gave morality a middle finger, and said "I will be who I am, regardless of what you say". I told my now father-in-law (a pastor nonetheless) that I had no intention of marrying his son, and that we were just going to date for fun and they'd have to be okay with that. I was tired of being told who I was, so I formed who I wanted to be. I was strong, spiritually on fire (though certainly broken) and horribly emotionally vulnerable. The non-marrying thing only last a few weeks, before I looked at Phil in the fall and gave him my heart in a bracelet.
It was my World Vision bracelet that I had had since the IHOP conference back in January, it signified my calling to missions and my relentless commitment to it. I had been dating someone else a year ago, but because of their lack of similar calling, our relationship ended. I knew that if I was to be with someone, they had to be sold out to the same vision of missions as I, or no amount of love would be worth the heartache. Phil took that bracelet, and wore it for another two years - even in our "I do's" he wore it. It stayed on until it broke off his wrist while living in Israel for a few months together.
In the moment of pain, in the crushing weight of questioning everything I made an impulsive decision to marry, to grow up, to stop waiting for the world to happen. Wow, how did life happen! Within a 18 months of getting married we had live in two countries, two states, four cities, moved three times, had all our possessions stolen while living overseas, moved hundred of miles away from our family, finished our first semester of college, and had our daughter. I think we calculated that that first year almost 25% of our nights were spent in a hotel, with another 35% being spent in homes other than our own. At 19 and a few months, I was a mom, a student, a wife, an employee and completely lost. The plans I had, that pushed me forward for over a decade had not shaped out and in the midst of postpartum, I doubted I could even love the child of my womb.
Fast forward a few years, and I am here about to graduate with my Masters in Business Administration, my husband half way through his masters in Christian Discipleship, our daughter about to turn five and still living in the same town as five years ago. At the beginning of this year we started to get involved with a new church, and I fell instantly in love. During the season of Lent, I literally fell head over heels in love with the pastors, the people, the building, the sermons, and even with God, at least a bit. These last ten months have been a whirlwind, God breathing His life back into these dry bones, the Spirit challenging me to live again.
After one of my many recent breakdowns of tears, and anger, I fell into a passive and hurt silence. It was then my beloved husband began to chip away at it, and saw the cause - I felt wholly, entirely disappointed by God. The King of the Universe, the Spirit of Life, the Prince of Peace had let me down and I sat there with anger in my heart towards Him. I had put my value, my worth in all that I did. Now after 15 years of working hard, moving forward, pushing to be more, dying to myself, trying to grow up before my time - I had my list of accomplishments, my certificate of worth and God was silent.
How dare He not speak?!
How after all these years of striving, of proving my best, of never settling, would He not speak?
While the story of Martha is lined throughout this story, best not belittle someone's pain through pointing out its cliche. I always wanted to be Mary, but God never set the place for me to be. As a teen I looked longingly at those who 'sat' at the feet of Jesus. But someone had to feed the disciples, someone had to care for families, work to provide a shelter - someone had to be the Martha and so I took up my cross and did. All the while looking longingly at the Marys all around me - a bit jealous and mostly hurt that that was not what I was meant to be. Thus in my first confessions of these changing seasons I need to say I have felt desperately disappointed by God, and I have found my value, my worth in all that I have done.
Selah.
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
A Skeptic's Prayer
Tonight I attended a night of renewal at my local church. After a week where I became lethargic and complacent, I doubted God's attendance in my heart this evening. While I struggled to engage in worship, I decided to engage in a lost love, reading the Bible and journaling while soaking in worship. This is the order of events for my evening, and at the end reflection it seemed the God brought me on a journey that I wasn't aware of in the moment.
_________________________________
Prayer
I the Skeptic, doubts
I the Romantic, hopes
I breathe in with anticipation
I wince in my hesitation
Silence
Is not Your absence loud?
Noise
Is not Your whisper seen?
So I relieve my heart
Letting go of my agenda
Cautious but with faith
Baggage at the door
Let me hear You more
_______________________________
Lessons from 2 Peter 3 - an emotional reflection with little context.
Remember
With sincerity and weight remember the Words from long ago
Oh God, time is not of Your concern
Yet within time You act
Your patience is our salvation
Though often the source of our frustration
And so we wait
proactively acting towards You
____________________________________
Longing and Doubt
Our mouths dry, longing for Your water
Full and ready to burst we long
Will our hopes be dashed upon the rocks of derision?
Yet...
Yet...
And yet.....
______________________________________
Confession
Am I the fool, the arrogant minion acting against their Lord, perhaps unwittingly?
Consumed in the world of myself?!
So Speak!
Do we hear You?
Or are our thoughts too loud?
Prayers for the other causing Selah.
____________________________________
Trepidation and Celebration
Let Your love rush into this room
Flooding this home like a mighty wind
COME
And she came, and heaven broke forth speaking
"We now rejoice!"
The Father's voice of love echoing through the celebration,
"Welcome home my little one. You truly are home."
"To you my laborer, let your heart rest. For I have met you, and I do not fail, nor do I leave you unsatisfied.
I have made the difference."
__________________________________
Reflection
Remember the height from which you have fallen. Oh Ephesus you have been running in your busy, and in your hard work. Remember! The early days, your first love! Repent! Return to the things you first did, when you first drew near to Me. Work out with Me your salvation. How did you engage with Me long ago? What captivated you? Go back, and do those things.
_________________________________
Prayer
I the Skeptic, doubts
I the Romantic, hopes
I breathe in with anticipation
I wince in my hesitation
Silence
Is not Your absence loud?
Noise
Is not Your whisper seen?
So I relieve my heart
Letting go of my agenda
Cautious but with faith
Baggage at the door
Let me hear You more
_______________________________
Lessons from 2 Peter 3 - an emotional reflection with little context.
Remember
With sincerity and weight remember the Words from long ago
Oh God, time is not of Your concern
Yet within time You act
Your patience is our salvation
Though often the source of our frustration
And so we wait
proactively acting towards You
____________________________________
Longing and Doubt
Our mouths dry, longing for Your water
Full and ready to burst we long
Will our hopes be dashed upon the rocks of derision?
Yet...
Yet...
And yet.....
______________________________________
Confession
Am I the fool, the arrogant minion acting against their Lord, perhaps unwittingly?
Consumed in the world of myself?!
So Speak!
Do we hear You?
Or are our thoughts too loud?
Prayers for the other causing Selah.
____________________________________
Trepidation and Celebration
Let Your love rush into this room
Flooding this home like a mighty wind
COME
And she came, and heaven broke forth speaking
"We now rejoice!"
The Father's voice of love echoing through the celebration,
"Welcome home my little one. You truly are home."
"To you my laborer, let your heart rest. For I have met you, and I do not fail, nor do I leave you unsatisfied.
I have made the difference."
__________________________________
Reflection
Remember the height from which you have fallen. Oh Ephesus you have been running in your busy, and in your hard work. Remember! The early days, your first love! Repent! Return to the things you first did, when you first drew near to Me. Work out with Me your salvation. How did you engage with Me long ago? What captivated you? Go back, and do those things.
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