Imagining and Knowing

Tonight my heart is light and I think it's because yesterday I talked about him and tonight I talked about him and both times I talked not about what I imagined he might be up to or how I see myself in this fraction of time, but about what I knew he had already done, and who he is, past and present and future.

In Sunday School yesterday, someone had a prayer request that mirrored a prayer request I have been keeping to myself, and I comforted her aloud with the truth I know, and in so doing received comfort. (God sends us people broken as we are so we can offer the comfort with which we have been comforted.) 

"Go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee," another girl read from Matthew 28:10 during the lesson, and a boy asked in astonishment, "Jesus had brothers?" and it swept over me that yes, Jesus has brothers, and sisters, present and ever after tense, and I am one of them and it is awe-inspiring.

How can I be a sister of Christ? Because he didn't just die on the cross (others had done that), he rose from the grave. He didn't just rise from the grave (others had done that), he rose on his own power. And because only God could do that, then Jesus is who he said he was, and spoke the truth. And because his words can be trusted, we can know that his promises are true, and he promised to reconcile those who believed to God. More than that, he made us fellow children of God, co-heirs of all the blessings and riches of God (Romans 8:15-17). And that, as I told the kids, is why it is important that Jesus rose from the dead.

Tonight I spoke with a friend of deep matters, dark things of the heart, the thoughts and beliefs that entrench themselves. We talked of him then, too, about how he is not the one fighting to increase the hold these things have on me, but the one who fought once for all to release me from the chains I keep helping that other to wrap around my neck again, shadow chains with no power when I walk in the light.

"Do you know why I can't remember very well?" a boy asked me yesterday morning. "Because I forget really easily."

So do I, my young friend. Let's keep reminding each other about the important things.

Whatever He Commands

Maybe I'm the only one who has this problem, but the most draining issues in my life come up with obnoxious regularity. I'll get past something, move on a few years, encounter a similar scenario, try to relate better in it and think of myself less and of God and others more, and eventually crash and burn. Again. I'll see positive changes, but they often seem microscopic, to the point that when I recognize a scenario I practically hear the ticking time-bomb.

What do you want me to learn from this, God? What do I have to change to move past it and deal with something else? Why does it keep happening? Why do my best efforts keep ending in failure even when it seems like I'm trusting in you?

I'm reading Job now, which is pretty appropriate in some ways. On the one hand, I haven't had that level of suffering. On the other hand, I have definitely had the "Would somebody please tell me what on earth is going on" feeling. Yesterday I came across this passage: "Also with moisture he loads the thick cloud; he disperses the cloud of his lightning. It changes direction, turning around by his guidance, that it may do whatever he commands it on the face of the inhabited earth. Whether for correction, or for his world, or for lovingkindness, he causes it to happen" (Job 37:12-13).

You know what that passage doesn't say is one of God's goals for doing what he does? "To screw with your mind. To make you feel like a total failure and a waste of space in God's kingdom." (Come to think of it, I know who does have those goals.)

Job was tormented by Satan, and so was Paul. Paul begged three times for that torment to leave (and from my own experience I wonder if it was that whatever it was flared up three different times), and received this for an answer: "My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness" (2 Corinthians 12:9a).

God, I am tired of this. I don't know what it is for, or what to do with it. This is what I know: Jesus Christ died and rose from the dead and completed his work, and because of that I will not stand ashamed before you on the last day. Keep me from stumbling today. And tomorrow. And the next time.

Help me to remember that even though it seems that life drones on repetitively, drastic change only needs to happen once.

Casting Director

When I sit in group interviews I find myself more interested in evaluating everyone else than in coming up with my own presentation. I think I would like to be an interviewer, or casting director...I'm not great on the other side of the desk. 

Today after the opening "about me" statements, I kind of wished I had been sent home. One of the three of us had a great background in and love of the sort of work in question. My casting director side said, "They'd be stupid if they didn't pick her." Hearing her and the two women who were interviewing us almost made me cry--I so long to be doing something I feel that strongly about, but have trouble believing that is possible. Or if I should be using the energy to try to believe. And then I feel stupid for being so overwrought and melodramatic. (It's complicated up in my head. Sometimes it feels way too crowded up there.)

I'm heartsick.

"Why don't you just tell me...."

In one of my favorite Seinfeld bits, Kramer has been getting calls for Moviefone and has decided to answer his phone as though he were a recorded message. Unfortunately, as he is not really a Touchtone phone system, he can't tell which three letters the person on the other end of the phone is pressing as they try to select their movie. He offers a few wild guesses and finally blurts out, "Why don't you just tell me the name of the movie you've selected?"

I kind of feel like that lately. You know, on an allegorical level. I don't know what buttons to press, I don't know what movie you want to see, but if you would just tell me what it is I would at least be able to move on from there. 

Extremes

"The Church condemns violence, but it condemns indifference more harshly. Violence can be the expression of love, indifference never. One is an imperfection of charity, the other the perfection of egoism." -- unnamed priest in Graham Greene's The Comedians

I would argue that imperfections of charity and perfections of egoism exist in both extremes, but in general I am far more likely to choose violence over indifference.  "I don't actually get upset," somebody told me once, and between the words I heard, "Deep down, I don't actually care about anything you could possibly say or do." Sometimes when I have made someone angry, there is a part of me that is happy about it because I'd rather they be angry at me than brush me off. And as I was writing that last sentence, I remembered that in a Harry Potter fanfic I once wrote I fed similar words into the mouth of Draco Malfoy. Nice.

Humans are pretty twisted up inside, aren't they?  Which extreme do you fall towards?

Oh, reality...I only ever wanted to visit you....

I just got back from a vacation with my parents and have been thrown back into real life. I am a bit tired of real life. Don't know what to do with it. On the one hand, I need a job to pay my bills. On the other hand, I have been enjoying all this time off--even on days when I've not turned my air conditioning on because I'm trying not to spend money, and I sit here feeling very frugal and rather sticky. And honestly, looking for a job at thirty was not what I thought would happen.

I wish somebody had told me as I was growing up that the odds of me being married straight after graduation or shortly into my time as a working woman were not as high as I thought they were (maybe especially confronting me on my extreme fear of failure and thus of commitment which I have often seen as a precursor to failure).  I wish somebody had urged me not to wait around for some prince to come rescue me from the tower of the corporate world (it wasn't always a conscious thought, but looking back, it was definitely in there). I wish somebody had challenged me to think about what to do with what I'd been given, to move out of my ruts, to fall on my face a few times and get back up.

This is my fear for the young girls in my church who hear a lot about being good wives and mothers and not a lot about what to do if that isn't in the plan: that they'll end up like me, unemployed and searching job boards and wondering why they spent seven years treading water and if they've doomed themselves to that for the rest of their lives.

But then, the first play I ever wrote outside of a class boiled up out of a period of intense discontentment. Maybe I'm scheduled to write a masterpiece.

A girl can still dream.

Love for me...

Friday morning the two youngest girls I was babysitting came downstairs groggy from just waking up and wanted me to read to them. "Pick some books," I told them, but by then they had climbed onto the couch next to me, or been pulled up onto my lap, and they were sleepy enough still that for the next ten or fifteen minutes I sat with two little girls cuddled up to me and dozing. And my heart was full, and the chorus of the Sara Groves song "One More Thing" was running through my mind: "Love for me is when you put down that one more thing and say 'I've got something better to do.' Love for me is when you walk out on that one more thing and say, 'Nothing will come between me and you--not even one thing.'" (I remembered this later that day as I was filling the dishwasher and heard another of the girls calling, "Are you coming yet?")

It's a chorus I remembered this thirtieth birthday month when my friends made time to be with me on my birthday, even though it was on a "work night" for most of them; or had a picnic for me ("Because she's my friend," Trudy told her grandchildren, who both insisted "She's my friend, too!"); or came along when I redeemed my free birthday meal certificates, even though in one case it might have been expensive and in another their infant son had been cranky that day; or expressed a desire to come even though they live in Austin, and Denver, and the Northwest Territories, and Newfoundland; or remembered it was Thirty Thursday even though I'm no longer a coworker. (My birthday is always a big deal to me, but this year it was an even bigger deal.)

It's a line that comes to mind when my parents ask me to come on vacation with them, or when my brother and sister-in-law ask if I'll make it out to see them soon, or when people find me in a crowded church building, or invite me over just so we can spend time together, or read what I have written on this blog and/or in my fanfiction postings.

Love is in words, yes, but Friday morning I realized that for me words follow time. Which was enlightening in a "you haven't picked up on that yet?" way, but also challenging, because I could immediately think of several definite examples of me being selfish with my time.

To all of you who have made time for me over the years, know that I've noticed and that it means a lot to me. I love you, too.

Bits & Pieces

From the opening line of an AP article on the analog/digital transition: "TV stations across the U.S. planned to cut their analog signals Friday, ending a six-decade era for the technology and likely stranding more than 1 million unprepared homes without TV service." "Stranding"? Really? I think if you've reached the point with your TV viewing that having it taken away can be described in similar terms as being stuck on a deserted island or without gas in the middle of the winter...well, that is a sad thing.

I've been babysitting for a family from church. I was there Wednesday early afternoon through Thursday late afternoon, and am going back for today (someone else is there with the kids now, no worries). I was a little nervous going in, as I have never been in charge of seven children for that long before, but it's been fun. Exhausting, but fun. Hoping for the energy to make it across state when I leave there tonight (I'm bringing Apollo with me so we can leave from there...a lot more than energy to get home without stopping at a rest stop, I'm hoping that the kids all pay strict attention to my injunction NOT TO GET THEIR FINGERS NEAR THE BIRD).

And then tomorrow at about this time I will be awake again, this time getting ready to drive out to the airport with my parents for a trip to Flagstaff. I hope they have karaoke night at this timeshare like they did last time I was out west with them. Even though I won't have my karaoke buddies Jeremiah and Michael. I love karaoke...yet another nerdiness I offer. If they don't have it, maybe I'll get my fix locally when I get back. (I found somewhere to do it a few weeks ago and have the goal of bringing a few friends along next time.)

My June has been very full.

Hello, I must be going.

Romance: Larghetto

"I bribed them. To sing us a song that would drive us insane and make our hearts swell and burst." -- Joe Versus the Volcano

Sometimes I feel this way about songs with no words. Chopin makes my heart swell...and though it doesn't burst, sometimes it gives serious thought to bursting. 

I am glad for the invention of the piano.

Thirty on Thursday!

How cool is it that I get to turn thirty on a Thursday? The answer: very. Bring on the alliteration and even approximate rhyme.

Many people in this age range say they will be staying twenty-nine for a long time, and they usually laugh like they made a really good joke. I often want to tell them what I often want to tell people who make temperature jokes when they hear that my last name is Winter: "You are not funny. And why are you not funny? Well, mostly because EVERYONE HAS ALREADY THOUGHT OF THAT. That is one of the most obvious things to say. You couldn't expend an ounce of effort towards originality?" 

And when Christians say this, well....

Here's the deal. God is sovereign. He has a plan for His people (Jeremiah 29:11), and you can't catch Him off-guard (Psalm 121:4), and He knew me before I was even born (Psalm 139:15-16). So if God knew I would be born thirty years ago, that means that if I am still alive today, this is exactly how old I am supposed to be. However old you are, that is exactly how old you are supposed to be. Trying to hide from it is trying to hide from a very basic, non-negotiable part of who God made you to be. (I am about 5'3". What if I went around telling everybody I was 5'11"? I would look ridiculous. Stop. Consider. Yes, that is in fact the comparison I am trying to make.)

And who knows? Maybe He scheduled my thirtieth birthday for a Thursday because He knew what a kick I'd get out of it. I wouldn't put it past Him.

Good Sunday

Sunday morning at about 3:00 I woke up with a head full of thoughts. I was thinking around a subject I've been on lately, that maybe the negative things in my life are consequences of poor decisions in the past, and yesterday morning the thought crystallized as "Maybe this is God's revenge for the times I've [fill in the blank]." And then, suddenly, the cross flashed into my mind, a vivid reminder that God saw a world full of people hating Him, or avoiding Him, or ignoring Him, and sent Jesus to make a way for reconciliation even though at the time nobody wanted to be reconciled. And that kind of God doesn't take revenge on the people He has reconciled to Himself. Might I experience hard times? Yes. Will they be because God is lashing out at me for past failures and sins of which I have repented? No. Consequences, maybe. Vindictive anger, no.

We talked about Ruth in the first grade class on Sunday morning. We were explaining what a famine was, how it meant your crops weren't growing and how that was a problem because you needed to eat, and one boy said, "But if you're a Christian, you will only starve, you won't die." I'm not sure exactly how he meant that, but it struck me as a good way of expressing that there are things worse than death, that the promise of life lived in the presence of God for all eternity outweighs even the most dire things earth has to offer. I may starve, but I won't die. I may lose friends, but I won't die. I may be confused, but I won't die. Someday, whatever it is I am going through will seem almost laughable by comparison to the glory of God revealed. "Remember when that was such a big deal to me? Remember how torn up I was over it, how much my heart ached? And yet I was never in any danger of dying."

Sunday evening I had nursery duty, so I decided to ride my bike to church. Technically, I could ride my bike more often, but 1) I wasn't sure how hot and sweaty I would be and 2) I am not really comfortable wearing pants in church on a regular basis. (Not that there aren't plenty of women in my church who do wear pants, I just almost always dress up more, so it feels weird for me.) Turns out it took me less than half an hour to ride over, so I arrived quite early. I spent an hour outside, walking around, sitting on the pavement, reading in 2 Chronicles, singing and talking and a little bit of dancing to God, listening, basking in the sun and the wind and the blue sky and green leaves and bird song. For me, there are few things as healing as wind--I've loved it for so long that it reminds me my problems are short-lived by comparison.

I was in nursery with pleasant people, including a woman I get along with very well but don't often connect with, and one little boy who mostly wanted to be acknowledged and snuggled for the evening, which was fine because I was in the mood for that, myself.

And then I went home and opened that book that's been sitting on my shelf for months.

Good day. Thank you, God.