Trench warfare

I spent most of today praying against various personal demons and besetting sins that are besetting something fierce this week—things like discontentment, and irritation, and selfishness, and cowardice. And then...well....

Sometimes it seems I live my life on such a small level. For instance, I got my hair cut tonight and am unpleased with the result, and do not want to go back to have more taken off, and regret soliciting opinions and listening to them instead of going with what I wanted, and regret backing down so easily, and...and it's a HAIRCUT. And I'm going a little nuts about it.

So often the big things show up in how I deal with the small things. And even the big things, like the personal demons and besetting sins, seem bigger than they used to. Really? A haircut I don't like? I'm THAT vain? THAT insecure? THAT clueless about my actual place in God's world?

I'm tired of fighting off who I am and striving for what's ahead. Not that I want to stop striving, but it's disheartening to think of how much longer I'll have to do this. On the one hand, I can't wait until I'm not so confused and so disoriented on such a regular basis. On the other hand, there's nothing I can do but wait.

All of this digging in for the long haul is wearing on me. As is the sense that I'm having such a rough time, and I'm not even doing anything important.

Or maybe that's the Enemy talking...and maybe it's the Enemy trying to trick me into thinking I'm fighting off who I am. Because maybe who I am now, through grace, is just the person who's doing the fighting off. And maybe the reason these "little" sins seem so much bigger is not that they're looming larger in my life, but that my eyesight (and my aim) is getting that much better.

Constant vigilance (1 Peter 5:8). Even in these deep-down, day-in-and-day-out trenches.

Hovering

Today I have that annoying sense that there is another, better way to do things than the way I am doing them now. I've had that at work (has to be a way to catalogue these tasks coherently), and I had it at church tonight on two levels (has to be a way for teachers to focus on Jesus and Scripture over points and stickers; has to be a way to encourage young boys to calm and stillness without forcing them to look just like young girls).

I'm very much a "right answer" sort of person, but the answers aren't in a key at the back of some book. I have to puzzle them out myself, reason from Word and Spirit, live them until I fall naturally into the answers.

Which notion was never as strangely exciting as it is tonight. And I do mean "strangely." I didn't even feel it until I started writing this. But I realized that I know something about the way God works. And that tonight the following verses resonate in a way they never have before:

"The earth was without form and void, and darkness was over the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters. And God said, 'Let there be light,' and there was light. And God saw that the light was good. And God separated the light from the darkness." (Genesis 1:2-4)

Maybe that hovering at the edge of my consciousness is something more vital than I thought it was.

Okay, here's what I want:

• I want to clarify and communicate in my business writing, not create more confusion or tension. Wait, why settle? Let's make that ALL my writing.
• I want to speak of Christ to and with children, not just check things off a to-do list.
• I want to encourage brothers (and I do mean males specifically) of all ages out of love for them and faith in what God is doing in them, not harangue them out of frustration that they aren't what I think they should be yet.

And now I can sleep in peace. God will work out the details.

Laughter

They called him laughter

for he came after

the Father had made an 

impossible promise come true

~~ Michael Card

Tonight I am grateful:

• for a year and a half of depression, of anxious not-knowing, of mortally wounded self-certainty.
• for the countless times I have clung to the past and He has pulled me unwillingly into the future.
• for the relationships I sabotaged repeatedly and He preserved over and beyond my expectations.
• for that day in England last year when just about every one of my plans went wrong.
• for a work environment that's still up in the air, over a month after we've moved.
• for a brother who is getting married this November, and for his as-yet-mostly-unknown fiancee.
• for so much more that I wouldn't be fully grateful for if left to myself.
• for not being left to myself.

Tonight I am laughing at the impossible absolute truths of love, grace, and a God who is nearer and more essential than my next breath.

Grace has brought me safe thus far, and grace will lead me...wherever it will. 

I rest in and because of thee, Beloved.

Forget Rats and Dragons.

For me, this year is the Year of the Wedding.

For the past several months, I have been thinking about and planning for my friend Abby’s wedding. She and her fiancé (now husband) Ryan were married Saturday in a fairly simple and very warm ceremony in a beautiful yet non-air-conditioned church, and I was blessed with the honor of being one of her bridesmaids.

Later that afternoon, in the surreal blur that comes after a long-anticipated event has come to pass: "Do weddings still make you want to get married, or are you immune to that now?"

For the next several months, I will be thinking about and planning for my brother Jeremiah's wedding. He and his fiancée, Dorothy, will be getting married at the end of November. I will be standing up for them, too. It will be cooler then. 

Today, at work, from the woman who sits next to me: "Your brother's getting married? He beat you?"

Tonight, at dinner, from my slightly older and still unmarried cousin: "Have you been getting set up on blind dates yet?"

God's coming in under my guard something fierce this year. I don't know why I bother keeping it up.

And now for something completely different....

You're Short Round!

Hey, Shorty! You're Indy's street-smart little buddy. You're always watching out for your friends, and if necessary, you'll put yourself in danger to keep them safe. You treat the people you care about with a tremendous amount of respect, but you also have a silly, casual way of speaking, like "Hold on to your potato!" As sidekicks go, you're a really cute, helpful one to have around... and if anyone gets brainwashed, you'll find a way to snap them back to reality. 

When I vowed

practiced denial of fear

openness to whatever came

He sent change

several orders of magnitude greater

than I had imagined

 

When I wondered

if I would really be willing to give

sacrificially

He sent added financial obligations

 

When I confessed

unwillingness to serve unacknowledged

and desire to serve as Christ

He sent more needs, more requests

 

When I asked

for grace to love

those I wouldn’t on my own

He sent people

 

When I prayed

Thy will be done

my plans began to shift

 

I am feeling the danger

of a God who takes me seriously

(Sort of) About a Dress

Tonight after the women's Bible study I asked for prayer that somehow, somewhere I would find someone to hem my bridesmaid dress for less than $40, and in less than two weeks. 

No big deal, right? Just a little extra pressure?

Except that tonight it turned out I was hiding an awful lot of other things behind the fact of my three-inches-too-long bridesmaid dress, and suddenly as I was making the request I was crying harder than I ever remember crying in public anywhere other than a funeral.

Pathetic and funny at the same time, what with me gulping back tears that must have seemed ridiculous considering my stated request was something like "I need my dress hemmed," and a dozen suddenly solicitous women offering suggestions and assistance. (I do have an alteration appointment now.)

"I'm not trying to be manipulative," I kept saying, especially to the woman who had previously refused my request on the (truthful) grounds that she is so busy just now. 

And maybe partly I meant "I'm not trying to be vulnerable."

Trying or not trying, I suppose I never have been and never will be really able to change that.

Waiting for an open door

This morning I took my car in for repairs and was driven to work by someone who works for the dealership. He opened the door for me when I was getting into the car, and when we arrived at my office he asked me to stay seated until he could get around and open the car door for me. This is what made me sure that I had been driven by this particular man before. I vaguely remember the conversation from the first time he drove me to work—not the exact words, but something along the lines of him asking me to do him the honor of letting him open the door for me.

You would think it would be easy, sitting there while he went around to open the door, but it wasn't. It never is, for me. Because it's not just about how the door gets opened, it's about a whole whirlwind of swirling thoughts in my head. As this gentleman looks more than old enough to be my father and speaks of his wife often, I had no complicating "is he hitting on me" mental chatter. (Funny how I tend to assume that people are nice because of what they think they'll get out of it. Or not so funny.)

This morning I experienced on a heightened level the sort of back-and-forth I have over anybody trying to help me with anything:

• I can do it myself
• But I don't have to
• But I can
• But he wants to help
• I don't need help
• Can you let somebody help anyway
• I don't like people helping me
• Yes you do
• I don't know when I cross the line to manipulating someone
• He offered 

Kindness—especially of the sort that seems to ask nothing in return—throws me off, breaks me out of my "self-sufficiency" a bit, makes me remember God.

God helped before I asked, and He asks me to wait while He opens all of the doors for me, asks me not to open them with my strength and in my impatience. Which is difficult when part of me is screaming to fling open every door on my own.

So thank you, Bob from the shuttle service. I need waiting practice.

Hey, now....

"[My brother] was definitely into comic books, so I was exposed to it, although, you know, I'm a girl, let's face it, so...." -- Gwyneth Paltrow

Things To Do

Maybe non-list people don't understand this, but writing a list can be, on some level, dangerous.

Best example: I have a giant list in my head of things I want to do with my life, but I've been too afraid to write this list down anywhere. To write it on a list is to admit that I need it, or want it, which is to admit that I am not okay as I am, which is...what? Expected?

If I write it down, it means I want to try. 

If I try, I risk failure. Or success. Which could lead to a whole new list.

Then I remember that I told God that this year, this year in particular, I was going to make a sacrifice to God of my fear, to do things that I had always wanted to do, to attempt what I've been putting off, to try without worrying so much about whether or not the trying would work out as I imagined it would.

The list is rising to the surface of my mind. Sooner or later, it will either have to be written or smothered back down.

I want to write it.

Post-study thoughts on 1 Peter 3:1-6

The Christian wife is to be submissive and glad of it, glad to bend her will to her husband's for the sake of Christ. Again I vow I will not bow to anyone who doesn't look like Him.

Submission is a sacred thing. It is holy. It is a spiritual act of worship.

It is hard for me remember that when guys make jokes about how it means I have to do what they say because I'm a woman. Even if I know the guys don't mean it. (Shouldn't we mean what we say?)

________________________________________________________

"Isn't it comforting," I say, "that true beauty isn't primarily external? Otherwise it would peak and then be gone."

"When you find a man who thinks that way," says Jennifer, "marry him."

Holly says not many guys do think like that. She says she sees lots of women with gentle and quiet spirits, but that there aren't many men around who are interested.

________________________________________________________

Eventually, as in all church people conversations about modesty in dress, somebody brings up the inevitable hackneyed phrase: "Men are visual." It is said as though there is nothing to do about it, as though that is how it is and we can't expect any more than that.

I wonder how easy it is for most women to develop a gentle and quiet spirit. I know it isn't easy for me. It isn't easy to live like Christ, or even (some days) to want to live like Christ. But I'm pressing on.

Are we, women of the faith, pressing on alone?

________________________________________________________

This is what I despise about talk of "hotness": that fire consumes with nothing left. A few years, and it is gone. Small comfort being "hot" would be, knowing that it always, always cools. Small respect for guys who emphasize spark over substance...my spark is sputtery and my substance is more me and my skin is thin.

I am in the refiner's fire, which will burn for my whole life and render me more and more beautiful in the eyes of God with each passing year, through wrinkles and creaky joints and greying hair and all. I am a woman blazing and have no time to waste on mere heat.

________________________________________________________

The conference leader all those months ago made a list of qualities women looked for in their "fantasy men," and then a corresponding list of things men looked for in their "fantasy women," and the lists showed totally opposite ideals. How is it even possible to bridge such a gap?

We need Someone who has experience with bridges.

Sometimes I miss physical contact....

I come from what my great-aunt Irene has called "the huggingest family." When I was growing up, I could count on (and take for granted) having a plethora of hugs a day. And I know what it means to have a plethora. College, not so many hugs. But I'm a female, so we do a lot of the casual hand-on-arm stuff in conversations. And I was a theatre major, which ramps up physical contact by a factor of eleventy (that's an approximation).

Now, living on my own after college, I pretty much depend on church functions and hang-out times with select people for hugs. This is usually enough to keep me from feeling contact-starved.

This past month, though...wow. I haven't felt like I needed this many hugs in a long time. A lot of it is connected to the stress at work, I'm sure.

Anyway, it's nice to have Sundays. Because Sundays are when I get most of my physical contact for the whole week. I can usually count on the following: 

• A hug from Rosemary
• A hug from Lisa or Abby or Trudy or Janessa or all of the above
• Several pokes on the head from Brenna and Braelynn
• A couple of hugs from Braelynn
• The female-conversation-style arm touching thing I mentioned

Also maybe a few high fives in there from some of my guy friends. That sort of thing.

Today I got a chance to hold a baby for a while, and one of the pre-K girls was playing with my hair when I got down to help her with her project, and tonight I get to see my little buddy Lucas, who is always good for a few hugs.

So it'll be a good day for getting hugs. Which is good because I had kind of a rough week. Which was just capped off by a phone call from my dad to tell me that my brother's bird died. 

Now I'm extra glad I got to go to Pennsylvania last weekend, so I could see Claude, too. We liked each other a lot. I'm going to miss him...but not as much as Jeremiah will miss him.

Now I'm sad about Claude and sad for Jeremiah and sad for Dorothy, who also liked Claude a lot....

Yeah. This is definitely the sort of day when I miss being a daily part of the huggingest family.

Setting in

I worked 39.5 hours in four days this week, largely due to the fact that I was on vacation on Monday. I have a few more to go tomorrow, but not nearly as many as I anticipated.

Today was good. It started off with a clearing of the air between a coworker and myself, which was an answer to prayer as well as a positive reinforcement from God on my 1 Peter pop quiz at work yesterday. (The women's Bible study I am part of is currently studying this epistle about Christians living under pressure, and last Wednesday's lesson touched on living under work pressure, especially people who are behaving unreasonably. God has good timing.) 

It wasn't the only answered prayer today. Here are a few others:

• I had a positive outlook on the day
• I was able to delegate jobs
• It wasn't raining when I moved my computer
• We packaged up far more than expected

We still have a lot of stuff over at the old building, but everything we really need in order to work is at the new building, and we have until about June 20 to clear out the old place. That gives us almost two months to make little trips out for a day or an afternoon of cleaning and boxing at a much more leisurely pace than we've had this week.

So it was good.

Now that most of the intense bits are over, it's starting to hit me....

I'm not going to work at the old building anymore. Sure, I'll be over for some of those cleaning and boxing trips, but it won't ever be home base again. And I've worked there since July of 2001. I've spent more days in that building than I spent at college. I've "lived" there about as long as I lived at the home where I spent my high school and college years. And there is a growing list of things I will miss:

• The quiet lunch room in which I ate on just about every work day for the last seven years, and was able to read in peace for most of those days
  
• The one-stall bathroom
• The "nap room" I made in an unoccupied office, which consisted of three chairs set next to each other
• Bantering and exchanging stories with our regular UPS driver
• The "cage bars" on our cubes and the way Amanda would hold onto them sometimes when she was telling me a story through the mesh
• All the surfaces for displaying trinkets; comic strips; pictures of Apollo, other birds, and all the kids I've tutored over the past years (Jephri, Daijah, Marshelle, Hassan); etc.
• The smallness of the place...only the five of us there, and all of us within easy shouting range of each other, not that we ever had to shout that loudly to be heard
  

That place saw the two hardest years of my life and heard the worst phone call I've ever received. It was also the site of hours and hours of laughter, and myriads of scrapes and bruises and muscle strains (many of which sparked some of that laughter). Apollo came and visited several times, when I was going to leave straight from work for some time out of town. My parents have been there, and my brother, and my cousin, and even some people from my church, who came by for a pop can drive.

The new place is...well, new. While I have no real resentment of it, I have no affection for it, either. There are high cubicle walls that make me feel like a rat in a maze, and keep me from easily seeing everyone I can hear. There are dozens of people in one large space broken up only by these cubicles. I share a cubicle quad space with two other coworkers and can see four more from where I sit. There are three stalls in the bathroom. All the product swatching I used to handle is now part of somebody else's space and will soon be somebody else's job. It's all so different....

Now, after years of having it on the horizon, and months of work, and one crazy busy week, it seems the mental dust from all the moving is clearing away enough for me to start mourning the familiar spaces.

This Week in My World

I spent last weekend in Pennsylvania with my parents and my brother. It was good to be able to be there, especially as I had thought we would be moving offices that weekend and that I would be unable to join them.

Instead, we are moving offices this weekend. For real. I've been boxing and trashing and organizing for at least a month now, but this week has been high-gear. I was at work for over 10 hours on Tuesday and Wednesday. My muscles are aching, my left hamstring is mad at me (a slight twinge last Sunday has not been helped by all the rushing around and such I've been doing), my forearms are nicked up, and it still doesn't look like all that much has been accomplished.

Today I woke up at about 3:40 and couldn't really get back to sleep, because I was thinking about move stuff and stuff I should have done already that isn't related to the move.  So I'm heading in even earlier than originally planned. (Maybe I can put 12 hours in and still be home before 7.)

I've been getting some help at work, but as far as my division is concerned I've been doing most of the packing, because most of our stuff is "mine," by which I mean product literature, etc. that I've been responsible for almost since I started working at this place. And I have a hard time delegating because I have difficulty believing that anybody else can do things "right" (meaning just like I do them). So that's been tough, too. I could probably have had more help if I asked for it. Probably still can.

I'm working a long day today, a long day tomorrow, a long day Saturday. I don't think I've ever looked forward to Sunday this much.

Please pray that I do my job well, that I behave as a servant of God, and that I stop feeling so sorry for myself over this. Thanks.

Tagged by Sabrina

My good friend Sabrina blog-tagged me with the following.

Six words that sum me up today:

1. Child
2. Saint
3. Pressed
4. Scruffy-looking
5. Excited
6. Uncertain

I would generally tag Sabrina and Kerri for this sort of thing, but they've both done it already. (I think you both took a longer view than I did....)

If anybody else is interested, here are the rules (and no, I didn't follow all of them):

1. Write your own six word Memoir.
2. Post it on your blog.
3. Link to the person who tagged you.
4. Tag 5 more blogs with links (leave a comment on their blog with an invitation to play).

Sunday School musings

I helped out with a Sunday School class today. This is the first time I've done this in years. It's also the first time in years I've been in a room with that many kids under the age of 6. (Hats off to full-time lower elementary and preschool teachers.)

I like little kids. I like the requests for help because they haven't learned how to do it themselves yet, and the stories they tell, and the casual unconcern with which they admit you into their lives (sometimes Chloe's parents stand on her bed to change lightbulbs).

I wish time with these kids wasn't a trade-off situation, but it is. I love adult Sunday School classes. I love the participation and the intellectual stimulation. I still miss college classes, and the adult Sunday School classes are the closest I come to that. As I can't be two places at once, I am only in the children's class now. (I wish Sunday School followed the Harvest Time model of having a leaders' class at a separate time. To work with kids AND to have a forum to keep interacting with the adults...that would be ideal. Sandra, are you reading this?)

Being a Sunday School teacher also means markedly less time socializing in the hallways. I'm okay with the part where I am there to help guide the kids to their classroom. The part where I wait at the classroom for twenty minutes after class...that's the part where I need to watch my attitude. 

I'm a punctual person, as a rule, although Harvest's disregard for clocks has sort of beaten me down a bit. But I still believe in respecting other people by respecting their time, and it can be hard for me to cultivate kind feelings towards my brothers and sisters in Christ who don't come to pick up their kids after their class is over, instead of using the Sunday School classroom for all the free babysitting potential it holds. I have trouble not thinking, "You go home and sit with family. I go home and sit alone. Can you please let me talk to a few people in the hallway for five minutes?" 

Then again, I guess maybe sometimes the parents with so many kids wish they could go home and sit alone, too. 

In my time with the children's Sunday School ministry, I am going to focus on what it means to serve for the sake of Christ. I am going to practice putting these children (and yes, their social butterfly parents, too) before myself. On simultaneously disappearing so that Christ appears, and on revealing myself in some of those vulnerable places I try to pretend don't exist. (Like the place that really liked having people stop by to say hello to me as I stood in the doorway waiting for parents to show up today. I appreciated that a lot.) I'm giving thanks for people who have done this sort of work for years, even though their efforts were often taken for granted. And that's just for starters.

It's going to be good.

EARTHQUAKE!

This morning I was lying in bed, trying to get back to sleep, and then my bed was moving and my dresser was making creaky noises. VERY weird. My first thought was of the relative structural integrity of the building, but then I listened hard and it wasn't windy outside. Then I thought I was imagining things, but I remembered the creaking dresser and the fluttering from Apollo that had followed it.

I went to the local news website this morning to see if maybe it was an earthquake, even though that seemed kind of ridiculous because I live in West Michigan. But it WAS an earthquake! Bizarre! And kind of cool now that the scariness is over.

Anybody else feel that?

Mourning to Dancing

God is gracious, and things are looking up, and today was a humbling set of reminders of how inadequate I am and how much God knows what He's doing.

For now, I am content. (I still covet your prayers on the move, as only God can keep me in this contentment and I feel myself prone to wander.)

Sitting sad and lonely....

Tonight I hung out with the oldest child-teenager-type I know, and we went to this park and ran around in the the dark a lot and scared some creature that scared me back by jumping into the water as I ran past it, and went on swings and flipped playground tiles to read "HI!" and stuff like that. It was nice. Kind of like a dose of antidote to my life for the next few weeks.

Because tomorrow I will go back to work and prep for the big moving weekend that's looming overhead, and I sort of want to cry because I hate moving and I hate change and at the same time I hate how stagnant I am and how my stomach twists into knots over things like not having enough boxes at hand, because how ridiculous is that?

I'm having trouble remembering that I'm not alone, and that I am not the only person pulling her weight, and that this will pass, and fairly soon. I'm having trouble seeing much meaning in the unglamorous drudgery of the next few weeks. I'm having trouble not feeling sorry for myself over working next weekend when my parents will be visiting my brother.

You can pray for me, if you think of it. That helps. I certainly need help. And maybe a hug....

Help Wanted

Last Monday morning Meghan was in a lot of pain, and needed prayer, and so I fasted for her by not slacking off via the internet at work—no checking email or surfing during non-lunch hours, even for one minute segments when I thought I had "deserved" it because of either really boring or really strenuous work I was doing. It was perhaps an unusual sort of fast, but for me it meant more than fasting from food (ironically, I usually see eating as a waste of time). Monday night the news was good, and God had answered the prayers of many, mine included.

So I've kept this up, and every day when I'm tempted to check my email "just once" I have been praying instead. I say all of this not because I am a stellar Christian but because I am a weak one. I know that all it takes is one day to derail all my fine attempts. I also know that I need accountability, which is one reason I'm bothering to write about this at all. 

Another reason is that it helps me to have a main focus for a fasting prayer. Last Monday, for instance, I prayed for Meghan. Today I will be praying for my Uncle Dick, who will be at the Cleveland Clinic undergoing a procedure called deep brain stimulation that will, please God, help calm the tremors in his body for an extended period of time. (If you would join me in this prayer, I know my entire family would be grateful.) 

If you have any specific requests, let me know. Because I need a focus that seems to bring the reality of God nearer, and because I think that's part of the reason He gave us community, after all.

"And He will yet deliver us, you also joining in helping us through your prayers, so that thanks may be given by many persons on our behalf for the favor bestowed on us through the prayers of many." (2 Corinthians 1:10b-11)

"If you don't know, I'm not going to tell you."

That is perhaps the most stereotypically female thing I think on a regular basis. And not that I always listen to that impulse, but it is almost always there. Because if you don't know, you haven't tried to know. You don't want to know. You don't care to know, which means you don't care about me, and so if you don't care, then neither do I. (On the other hand, if I don't know, I probably won't ask. Because if you haven't told me, you don't care if I know.)

The above is a good illustration of the meaning of the phrase "a vicious cycle." And is also a nice defensive way of masking the pain that follows barking your shins against the unknown.

This morning I listened to a teacher speak of the inherently unfathomable nature of the infinite (meaning God), and I recoiled inwardly. Even when we continued to elaborate in the class discussion that the fact that God is unknowable means that we will never lose the joy of discovery when it comes to our ever-growing knowledge of God...even when the teacher pointed out that finding out new things about people we know and love can often be enjoyable...even when I thought about how a repetitive task with nothing new to learn begins to wear on your energy reserves.... All of those examples helped, but....

Tonight my pastor spent the first 30 minutes or so of his sermon talking about how the OPC has left "wiggle room" when it comes to origins, so that people can believe in various origins models as long as they believe God created everything out of nothing, and the historicity of Adam and Eve, and some other points that he didn't get into but are in a big report the OPC did in 2004.

And I went home and I cried.

Because THEY CAN'T ALL BE RIGHT. God only created ONE way. And so, whatever you believe about origins, that means that there are a lot of people wandering around wrong. And that extends to other areas of faith and practice, like what you believe about Sabbath observance, or the end times, or the role of women anywhere.

Doesn't God understand that some of us want to know how far we can walk on what days, and whether or not it's okay to lead an animal to water as long as we don't make it drink, and how long our hair should be, and how short is too short for clothing, and what sort of people it's not healthy to talk to and for how long we maintain that sort of distance, if we maintain it, and, and, and.... (Sometimes, many times,  I want the comfort of restrictions instead of this bewilderingly confusing freedom.)

So tonight I cried because I don't know much of anything, and because I have equated knowledge with love. Then came the voice (and I think it must be of the Spirit) that told me I don't have to worry about knowing so much, because I myself am fully known (1 Cor. 13:12b), and because I am meant to know a love that surpasses knowledge (Eph. 3:19).

Someday I will know everything I am meant to know about God and how He has worked in the world. 

Meanwhile, I know everything I need to know, and probably everything I am able to handle so far.

Meanwhile, "if you don't know," I will fight to tell you. Because that's what love takes in this world, and I want to love beyond knowing. And because you might care, after all. You might just be human, like me. 

Fallen. 

Flawed. 

And constantly progressing on our way to greater things (Phil. 3:12).

Holy Dissatisfaction

We are all very good at fixing lives. Even when our own lives are in chaos, it's inspiring to see how ready we are to help others by telling them what is wrong in what they are doing/saying/thinking.

Christians are perhaps better at this than others, because we know Who to talk about. Your problems? No worries! I have an answer for you, and you've known it since Sunday School: God.

My first impulse on hearing a fellow Christian (or myself) express dissatisfaction with their life has long been to rush in and fix it for them. Why should they be sad? They have a Savior. And besides, lots of people have it worse. Cast all your cares, and all that. Buck up.

I don't know about you, but nothing hit my fix-it attitude harder than a bout with depression. A year and a half or so of nothing seeming certain except for God. Yeah, sometimes it seemed He was certain in the death and taxes sort of way, but He was there, there, beautifully and terrifyingly and inescapably THERE. 

Now, on the other side of that experience, I hesitate a lot more to jump in and fix things. Part of this is because I take the cautions of the book of Job much more seriously (the friends who kept attacking windy words and the God who rebuked them for assuming too much). Part of this is because I know how much God did for me in that time. I can look back and see relationships I thought I had destroyed, and I wasn't strong enough to destroy them because God wanted them around and I can't outwit God. Further back, the horrible relationship I had with a college friend who suffered from depression becomes a gift, as I knew He had brought her safe through it and I clung to that promise for myself. I see all I had been repressing, denying, that finally came to a head and exploded because I wasn't being honest with myself or with Him. I see my (still present) desire for control and see the pain that comes from chasing after that desire and the freedom that comes from giving up if you're giving it up into the hands of God.

We don't want to suffer. Speaking for me if nobody else: I don't want to suffer. And nothing makes me suffer quite like uncertainty (uncertainty, which starves my idol of control and makes it vicious).

But at the same time, in the crazy simultaneous way that life works for those of us on the conviction side of the cross, I relish my current uncertainty, and all of the emotions it's pulling out of me (REpression didn't end with the breaking of DEpression). 

I don't want to rush out of it. I don't want to push it under the rug. I don't want to pretend that it's all okay, when it will never be all okay. Not here, not yet.

I want to sit here, wondering where my life is going and what I am to do with it (keeping in mind I am investing it for a Master Who expects returns on His investment), and I want to wait for God to answer. And I want to listen to what He tells me to do. And I don't want to be afraid. He has brought me through worse...and Jesus brought me through the worst of all long before I was even born.

Speak, Lord. Your servant is listening.

"My life is a furious ball of nothing." -- Dilbert

In recent news, someone (or some people) I know:

* Entered into a serious relationship.

* Got engaged.

* Got married.

* Are expecting their first child.

[DISCLAIMER: Each of the above happened to different sets of people. This is not all just the same couple over, say, the past two years.]

* Appeared on the front cover of our alumni magazine.

In personal news:

* I bought a Mac.

* Sims Castaway Stories will run on it.

* ...um....

I am a master at creating hierarchies. This is more important than that which is more important than these things, usually but not always adding up to "Their problems/joys are more important than mine." It's a lousy excuse for actual selflessness, but at least I catch myself at it now. And it isn't always exactly jealously, it's just feeling...like maybe I'm doing something wrong. Or maybe I'm missing something. Maybe I'm too easily satisfied, or too good at repressing what I really want out of life.

But then there's the part of me that says that really, past all the drama I add to my life, I'm sincerely happy for everybody with BIG news.

I think that's the part of me that is also geeked about that computer game. The part that reminds me that I may be a nerd queen with no actual life, but I'm (mostly) happy with that.

Then there's my dad's voice speaking from about 11 years ago, before I went off to college: "If you want something and don't go after it, it's your fault if you don't get it."

I guess he's still right, too.

Buying stuff is hard....

I hate buying...well, I hate buying pretty much anything, if it comes down to it, but I especially hate buying big ticket items. The unknown potential consequences of the decision coupled with the known expenditure are a bit too much for the tight-fisted control freak in me.

I want to buy a new computer. My current model is about four years old, which sounds young to me because I had my previous computer for almost ten years. Of course, I was mostly using that for writing papers in college. The digital revolution passed my current desktop's 40 GB hard drive and 256 MB of RAM a while back. Also, my monitor is even older than four years and has begun flickering in the lower left corner. Also, I've been getting the Blue Screens of Death that I was ignoring all too often on my old computer, right up until it melted down and forgot where to look for its hard drive. So as far as new computers go, maybe it's about time.

I was pretty much sold on a Mac, thanks to both of my major computer geek friends being hardcore Mac devotees, and then today I talked to some friends who were bringing up objections that had been lurking in the back of my mind, too. Things like price, and compatibility, and familiarity, and ease of use due to said compatibility and familiarity. So now I'm all thrown off again. Maybe I could win a computer somehow. That would solve my dilemma. I wonder if somebody would give me a Mac in exchange for writing fanfiction...that's how I got my iPod....

Anyway, as I was saying, I have difficulty with making luxury purchases. The perfect example of how ingrained this is dates back to when I was around 8 years old, and was ogling dollhouses everywhere. I loved the little furniture and other miniatures involved in dollhouse decorating, and I wanted to try my hand at it. My dad made a deal with me. If I would save a certain amount of money, he would match it, and then we could go buy that dollhouse.

At the time, I was pulling in a small allowance from my parents. This, plus birthday and Christmas money, was the total of my income. But I squirreled that money away diligently and made it up to the established savings mark.

We went to The Doll Hospital & Toy Soldier Shop, an excellent toy store on the east side of the state. With my money figuratively grasped in my hot little hands and probably literally in my dad's pocket, I began hunting for the perfect dollhouse.

There were a lot of dollhouses.

A lot.

And the more I looked at them, the more I realized that even if I could come to a decision, I would still have to make similar decisions later, and spend even more money, because the dollhouse would need to be furnished.

I left with double the savings I had when my dad first made the deal with me.

(A few years later, my poor mom would stand in an aisle at Toys 'R Us for approximately an hour while I vacillated amongst three different Barbie dolls that each had a distinctly different hair and swimsuit color.)

I love it when a plan comes together

Apparently this costume was exactly right for the role. I walked onstage and the audience erupted...which was definitely a lot of fun. Somebody told me this morning that I was an "eerily accurate Alice." Sweet.

Barring a few things like microphone problems, the show went quite well last night. The teens did a great job with waiting tables and with their performances, and the audience was rewarding them with lots of justly deserved laughter and applause. I was proud of "my" kids. My main regret is that video can't ever capture the fun of a live performance. But then, I guess that's the beauty of the live performance....

Many people came up to me today to say they had a great time. One of them said she couldn't remember the last time she laughed so hard. She proceeded to tell a friend standing nearby about the evening's final skit (American Idol, featuring myself, two youth group leaders, and three really good sports we called out of the audience to be our contestants, and who all jumped right in to the improvised bit), and then she put her hand on my shoulder and said "Paula did most of the organizing."

And I took that confusion of names as a compliment.

When it comes down to it

The weekend of the banquet arrives.

There have been months of planning, and of telling my friends sorry but I'm busy that night, and of rehearsals that don't happen in the right space, and of staying up late planning or thinking about planning, and of performers who haven't started practicing just yet two weeks before the performance date, and of actors who don't know their lines the night before said date, and of people not understanding what this all means to me....

And then acts start clicking, and I'm laughing out loud and bouncing on my toes, and two people are asked to repeat their thanks because I didn't hear them the first time (always a little awkward), and one says I seem stressed and I reply that most of my seeming stressed at this point is really just shifting into high-intensity performance mode (on the jazz as the plan comes together), and Janessa says "You get more patient with us every year." And I say "That's God."

Sometimes the things I get the craziest about are also the things I love the most.

Fighting a Winning Battle

"When you live alone, you become more and more like yourself," Pastor Dale said, several years ago. My brother was with me, and we exchanged amused glances, as I had only within the past year or two embarked on my solo living experience.

It's not as funny anymore now that I know what it means.

It isn't just becoming more set in little preferences: more sure that the toilet paper should come over the TOP and the toothpaste tube should be squeezed from the BOTTOM and the bath mat should be laid pattern side UP and why aren't all of those things obvious?

It isn't really about becoming more set in my beliefs and opinions. I sometimes feel as though they've become more unsettled in the past few years than anything else, which is probably good because before I probably clung too tightly to too many opinions just because they were the ones I was used to having.

I think the worst part about living alone is that you have a lot of time to notice yourself, and to see yourself as you see you. It's also the best part, because as much as I'd rather not see my own failings, I am confident that the ability to see them comes from the Spirit. And if the Spirit is poking around down there in the dusty darkness of my inner self, it's bound to get cleaner.

Sometimes I feel as though that the Spirit is working on an especially dirty room, one that I've been shoving more and more things into and trying to ignore. A few years ago there was a cleaning out of the room that was chock full of knowing-it-all.

This year, I think the Spirit's working on a few rooms at once. The one getting the most focus tonight seems to be the distrustful control freak room. The one that holds all my long beloved and nurtured beliefs that nobody looks out for me except for me, that nobody wants to help me, that nobody can help me, and that everybody, everytime, everywhere, will always let me down.

This year's broom so far: the Harvest Youth Group Spring Banquet.

You know how sometimes God lets you do things the way you think they should be done as a discipline tool? Letting you try things your way so you can see how your way is wrong? Well, this year I launched into the banquet with my usual preconceived notions that I must do everything myself. I delegated nothing. I said, "Don't worry, I'll do that." I sighed melodramatically to myself when somebody forgot what I had told him or her at least fifteen times already.

Tonight, after telling a large number of teenagers to meet me at church to practice at 8:30, I arrived and found that there was a prayer shower going on in the gym, where I had planned to rehearse. About 20 women were sitting around eating cookies and cooing over four new babies, and I almost cried. And then I almost exploded because that's less embarrassing than crying. And I was rude to several sympathetic women and also to some who sort of laughed off my distress.

Strangely, I haven't been really worried about the banquet this year. I'm still not, deep down. I know it will all come together. And on some ego-crushing level, I don't think anybody really cares how much effort we put into it, anyway. It's a church fundraiser, not Broadway.

But it could have been better if I had gotten over myself and asked for help back in the beginning. That's what's really killing me. Or, hopefully, just the part of me that wants to hang on to control with both fists even if it comes with a semi-annual nervous breakdown.

Every time something goes wrong, I hear a voice saying, "See? This is what you knew would happen. You can't rely on anybody!"

This year, God has given me grace to counter that voice with specifics. Janessa. Andrew, David, and Emily. Chelsea. Matthew. Michele. (That's for starters.) Every friend who has said "It will be okay," or hugged me just a little bit longer, or asked if she could do anything for me. And then there's the grace I've been given in that I've not been angry at the kids this year. For as much as this has been the worst year for rehearsal, and for my organization, I have loved the kids more this year than any other, and that's from God, too, because my frustration with the situation hasn't spilled over onto them as often as it has in previous years.

The Father loves me.

Christ lived, died, and rose for me.

The Spirit is at work in me to make me more and more like Christ, not more and more like myself. And the Spirit (praise God) is far, far stronger than I am.

This kingdom's coming.

And it's okay if I cry while I wait.

Family Time

Tonight I went to the home of my pastor and his family for choir practice. I ended up staying around for at least a half hour afterwards, just sitting with the family and holding one of the infant daughters of my associate pastor and his wife (they're neighbors and the VanDykes babysit a lot).

Usually infants make me a little nervous, but tonight that closeness and warmth was just what I needed. Actually, I was physically close to people all evening (crowding into a living room with the whole choir, squishing on a love seat between Sandra and Bethany, holding Emma) . This might not seem like a big deal to a lot of people, but it was a big deal for me. It's been a confusing life on a lot of levels lately, and I've been aching for family, and for people just to be close to me. It's nice to be tangibly reminded that I'm not alone.

I went to the VanDykes for choir practice, and I got family thrown in.

Thank you, God.

A Very Short Post

One visit down, one banquet to go.
The momentous insanity of March lumbers on.
Someday I will learn how
to ask for the help I want.
For now, to bed (hopefully
to sleep without needing NyQuil).
Longer post to come...
in about 10 days.
It
will be
all
right.

Owww...it's beautiful....

I know I'm not the only person who feels like this, that beauty hurts at the same time as it invites you. It always has to, doesn't it, down here post-Fall? But in my head most people who ache at the beautiful are watching sunsets or spotting rainbows or running across hilly meadows in full song.

It's not that I don't feel the pain of beauty at the sight of nature. It's just that sometimes I wonder how many people would laugh at me for saying I used to spend a fair bit of time wandering my backyard under the full moon (singing to myself) versus the number of people who would laugh because I was so filled with the beautiful aching by someone else's creativity that I felt I had to be creative myself or risk bursting. Or the number of people who would laugh because the specific inspiration was an episode of Lost.

But then, to paraphrase the poet: Is there in laughter no beauty?

I’m so old…unless it’s just that I’m a bit of a snob. Which it probably is.

For a while there after college, I felt young and small and scared. Then I joined Harvest and started hanging out with people in the pre-college age range like Abby and Brittany, partly because the people my age were all married, sometimes even with children, and I was atrocious at relating in a natural manner to people who had significant others, let alone significant family units. (I’m improving on this, which is good because so many important people in my life have gotten married or engaged within the years that I’ve been at Harvest.)

Anyway, when I first started spending time with people about two-thirds of my age, I felt very old, albeit still small and scared. And now I don’t.

Maybe it’s because I’m good friends with Trudy, with whom I can spend a lot of time and never think about the fact that technically she’s old enough to be my mom…that is, until she starts talking about some nice young man or other. ;)

Maybe it’s because my “young” friends are embarking on their post-college careers and it’s sort of leveling us out.

Maybe it’s because one time I said I was too old to be a college student now and Micah said, “You’re not too old, you just feel too superior,” and that suddenly sounded like a more accurate description.

And/or maybe it’s because I’m finally owning my age. Next year I’ll be thirty. It seems as though I’ve been old enough to be thirty for some time now, and I’m ready for it. I’ve already started thinking of my age as twenty-nine, and when people ask my age lately I’ve had to stop and remind myself that my twenty-ninth birthday isn’t until June.

I’m not as mature as I’m going to be, and I’m younger than a lot of people. But, yeah. I’m older than a lot of people, too.

I have a feeling that being the crazy adult is going to be a lot of fun.

Conversations with Myself

Because I live alone, and because I am my father and my mother combined and beyond, and because I have had bad experiences with talking to other people and I have pulled an illegitimate "lesson" from them, and because of (doubtless) an array of other reasons, I talk to myself.

Who else is there? Besides God, and sometimes He doesn't seem so quick to answer.

This is a good illustration of what I mean. Because as I typed that last sentence, this popped into my head: "What if you really already know what His answer is?"

Recently I've been talking to myself more frequently. I talk out loud, because, as a friend said tonight, something that sounds great in your head can sound suddenly stupid when you say it out loud. I know I've had a lot of stupid thoughts turn into even stupider thoughts and spiral down into self-destructive patterns before too long, and if I can stop them by verbalizing them, I would like to try that for a change. (Also, I'd rather sound suddenly stupid when only I'm around to hear it.)

The whiny or confused voice usually leads off these conversations, to be fended off by the decisive and rational voice that reminds me of who I am, and Whose I am, and how common these fears and failings are, and how faithful my Father is. I hope the latter voice keeps gaining ground. I like it better, and I think it is more dangerous on an ultimate level. Sometimes, it even sounds like a quick answer from God.

Funny how often it tells me I can't really live this life effectively inside a series of self-referential conversations.

"I was born for this."

I hear a lot of people are upset about the weather in Michigan these days. They say it's cold and snowy and gloomy.

Yes, it's cold. That is what happens in the winter. Snow happens, too. And although if given a choice between snowy and dry roads I would choose dry roads, I don't find driving in the snow all that challenging, at least not since the time I drove across the state in the Thanksgiving blizzard...I just can't see any future winter driving experience topping that. So I'm not afraid of snowy roads. I don't like the delays, since I don't like driving all that much and would rather just be at my destination. But it's only weather.

As for gloomy...well, gloomy is a state of mind, not a weather forecast. I expect it to be cloudy all winter long. It's Michigan. I've lived here my whole life. Cloudiness is to be expected as much as snow and cold. And since my eyes tend to be quite light-sensitive sometimes, I actually don't mind not living in direct sunlight. Cloudy days don't make me sneeze.

It's not that I don't like the sun, or blue sky, or warm weather. In fact, part of what I like about winter in Michigan is that it makes the arrival of spring such a euphoria-inducing event. It's forty degrees out! Take off your coats!

Someday, we won't have times when we prefer the darkness. Someday, the winter of this often discontented life will be over and the spring of heaven will be upon us, all the more glorious and beautiful because we've been cold and gloomy and snowed-in so often in the past.

"Weeping may last for the night,
But a shout of joy comes in the morning."
~~ Psalm 30:5b

Weeping may last for the winter...but joy is certain, certain, certain as if it has already come.

Hasn't He?

Are all African-Americans famous, or just Jessica Simpson?

Every available Tuesday during the school year, I go to an elementary school near my office and read with a young child. I've been doing this for five years and have worked with four girls: Jephri, who was all attitude and closeness and too sassy for her own good; Daijah, who spelled my name "Suqanne" and who hugged me after the last of two years' worth of mentoring sessions; Marshelle, who was a little bit shy but smiled a lot; and Consuelo, with whom I'm working this year, and who is the first girl I've worked with under third grade (she's in second).

It's amazing to me how much children learn in short spaces of time. It's also a good exercise to remember that I didn't always know everything I know now.

Concepts, for example.

Last Tuesday, the kids had a little project to work on in the room to celebrate Black History Month. I told Consuelo that she was supposed to write down the name of a famous living African-American. She stared at me, clearly wondering what I was talking about. Famous like somebody on TV or in movies, we told her.

She shifted around in her chair. Nobody likes being wrong, and she seemed unwilling to hazard a guess without understanding what we were asking her.

"Do you like the Cheetah Girls?" I asked, familiar with the band from the past several years of working with third-graders and thinking of the equally popular Raven-Symone.

Her eyes lit up. "Yes!"

After more prompting, she came up with a name, Sabrina. She said Sabrina was a singer. None of the rest of us in the room had heard of this person, so we let it go. We wrote it on the main list and on the little piece of construction paper that Consuelo decorated.

As it turns out, Sabrina is in the Cheetah Girls. But she is as white as one of the other people whose name appeared before hers on the list: Jessica Simpson.

The other girl in the room looked confused about the assignment, too. Her mentor stood up and came over to the room coordinator.

"See how Miss Nancy's hand is darker than mine?" the mentor asked. "But they're still hands. We're really the same."

"Not all the same," I interjected. "That would be boring."

Consuelo stuck out her hand. "My hand is darker than yours..." she said.

So I think I spent most of the half hour last Tuesday helping to impart the impression that African-American is a synonym for famous and/or that anybody with skin darker than mine could be called African-American.

But then, it's good that those girls didn't seem to know why we were making such a fuss over skin color, anyway.

Skimming from the Top

Tonight I went to my church congregational meeting. (It was a bit boring in places, but it was never uncomfortably tense. This was an answer to prayer, so praise God for that!)

As each person signed in, he or she received a dollar bill. Then, about two hours later, an elder speaking for the Building Oversight Team stood up and asked us to show off the dollars.

"Now say 'Mine!'" he said. "Say it like a two-year-old!"

A chorus of "Mines" came obediently back at him, and then he asked for the dollars to be passed up to the front. Amidst some good-natured muttering, they started moving.

And then he told us about a remarkable opportunity.

My church has voted to break ground on a building in April of this year. For the past 10 years or so, we've been meeting in an elementary school. Well, we've outgrown it. Navigating the halls in winter is not pleasant, to pick out a point that is mostly comfort-related. We also look forward to having a building of our own to grow our ministry opportunities. What new Bible studies will take place there? What services can we provide for members of the community in which we have been placed?

When we approved the motion to break ground this year, it was with the knowledge that at the time of the vote we didn't have enough money to build the building we had in the plans. Unless more money came in, we would have to put a few stages of the building on hold.

And now, the U.S. government is quite possibly going to vote for an extra $600 in tax returns for every person who pays income tax.

And maybe even $300 extra per child.

My church has a LOT of children.

This measure seems made for us, the elder pointed out, and the numbers went up on the screen: If everybody in my church donates this extra portion of their tax return, money that wasn't even a glimmer in their eyes a few weeks ago, then we could add $200,000 to the building fund.

Wow! Exciting stuff! I hope everybody does this.

But it got me thinking....

Wasn't the rich man who Jesus saw putting so much into the treasury donating the ancient Israel equivalent of an unexpected tax break?

I didn't join in the chorus of "Mine's" in the gym tonight, because when I was sitting there with that dollar I knew it wasn't mine, and that I was probably going to be called to give it back at any second. So why claim what clearly wasn't mine?

I want that attitude to grow in my life. Because in the ultimate sense, it's not my money. It's not my stuff. It's not my time. It's not even my life. My life is in Christ, and I want that to be increasingly obvious.

I don't want to just give him the extra bits that I won't miss.

Today's Surprising Thought

This morning I logged into my Facebook account and saw that one of the new Super Poke options is "Boycott Valentine's Day with." (For those who don't know what "Super Poke" is, just imagine sending a note to your friend saying you are doing that selected action with them. But online, not for real.)

My first thought was, "I could boycott Valentine's Day with [insert name here]." My second thought was, "But why? That seems kind of bitter, and it's not like I'm dreading Valentine's Day this year."

This was the surprising thought of the day, as usually I am bitterly dreading Valentine's Day for a variety of reasons. As I thought more about it, I realized:

1) I'm too old to waste any more time being bitter on purpose. I have enough bitterness that I'm afraid to dig out without making special efforts at new or accentuated bitterness.

2) I have a lot of people in my life who are getting married this year, or exploring new relationships, or even just celebrating yet another year as a spouse. But I am not crying my eyes out over it and wondering what is wrong with me and where have all the cowboys gone.

3) I kind of like the idea of being "the okay single woman." Maybe my mission is to be single for the rest of my life, partly so that young girls who are wondering why they aren't dating and are either wondering if something is wrong with them or feeling pressure from friends/family/etc. can think, "Well, there was Suzanne. She was a pretty cool single person, and she wasn't completely useless or anything. I will be okay, too." I never had an "okay single woman" in my life. It might have been nice to have.

It's not like I'm hugely fond of Valentine's Day all of a sudden. (Hey. I don't even really like Christmas. Of course I could give you a list of reasons not to celebrate Valentine's Day.) But I'm not dreading it. Which is actually a very significant difference.

Some parts of growing up do make life easier.

How do they do it?

I am home sick today. Not sure what it is, but I had a fever last night and I am just feeling very weak still. As I was thinking last night about how pathetic I was feeling, two subjects of the "how do they do it" question kept coming up.

Moms

Moms take care of their kids even when they, the moms, are feeling awful. This just grows more amazing to me every year. Moms in general grow more amazing every year.

When I was a kid, I never thought much about my mom being a separate entity with a separate life and a separate set of needs and wants. She was just always there, ready and willing to do anything for me. There weren't a lot of times when I said, "Hey, Mom...how can I help you out today?" Especially not when I was sick...but then, most times I do think my mom would rather have gotten juice for me than have me get up and get it myself. Because on top of her already outstanding Empathy Powers, she has amazing Mom Powers. Just having her around to be concerned made me feel better. And it still does...I call her even more when I'm sick than I usually do. It reminds me that I'm sick, but I'm loved. And if I'm loved, I can get through it.


Meghan

As I was shivering and aching on my couch last night, I tried to imagine what it would be like to be an 11-year-old in a hospital bed, having a severe reaction to chemotherapy meds.

And I could not imagine it. But that's what was going on with Meghan as I had my fever. In a way (and maybe this sounds weird), I've sort of dedicated this illness to Meghan. By which I mean that every time I start feeling sorry for myself, I remember her. I pray for her, and I pray that in my little lightweight illness I will be able to look to God in the same way she has been under a much greater trial.

I wish me being sick could take some pain away from her.


So, yeah. Moms and Meghan amaze me. I want to be as selfless and courageous as they are at their best. I'm glad the God who gives them grace for their needs is working in me, too...and providing me the grace I need in my own meager trials.

If I die before I wake....

In a recent discussion with a friend, we were talking about who would tell people if we died. Morbid? Not necessarily. You can think about such things without dwelling on them in an unhealthy way.

As I've thought about who would know first if I had died, and how the details afterwards would proceed, one thing keeps nagging at me: I need a will. Or maybe a living trust. Just a trust?

First of all, I need a basic understanding of post-death legal documents. And then I need one of those documents.

My step-aunt Susan died at about the age of 40. My cousin Bridgette died at about half that age. I'm not guaranteed tomorrow. Isn't it selfish, then, for me to live as though death won't happen eventually?

Someday, anywhere from tonight to decades from now, I will die. Then what? Who notifies people? Who gets my DVDs, which may by then be hopelessly out of date? Who gets to sort through all my old college paperwork and decide what to sell on EBay to my legions of adoring fans?

Hence the need for the legal document. Save whoever is left from probate.

I know somebody who has a CD made up that he wants played at his funeral. It contains songs directing focus to God, songs that strongly hint that physical death is only another stage and that what really matters is what comes afterwards.

This part makes me more nervous. Lately, when I've been casually thinking about my eventual death, I've been imagining something like this....

Upon arriving in heaven, Suzanne is shown a long line of people.

"Who are these?" Suzanne asks.

Her guide says, "These are people who never heard the Gospel."

"I couldn't speak to everyone," Suzanne says. "That would have been impossible."

"Look closer."

She looks closer and is horrified to see how many faces she recognizes.

"These aren't the people of Pakistan or Ecuador or Greece," her guide says. "They aren't the people you sent money to help. They are the people who sat next to you at work. They are the people you chatted with in long lines. They are the friends who stopped coming to church."

"But," Suzanne protests, "I've prayed that God would send strong Christians into their lives."

The guide looks at her. "Why did you think you were there?"

I know God is gracious and merciful. I know He won't hold my failures to speak against me. But I want Him to see less of them every year.

So this year, I want to get one of those legal documents.

And I want to start taking better care of my greater inheritance, too. Please pray that this may be the case. I'm so afraid to speak, but I'm growing more afraid not to speak. Pray that keeps up, and that God's words flow through me.

Because I want to wake before I die.

Yesterday

The title of this post isn't a reference to the much-loved Beatles song, but rather to the literal yesterday, January 11.

What excitement there was, folks! In my little office of five people, my boss was out of town on business; then one co-worker called in sick; then another co-worker coughed for about the 50 billionth time in the past two weeks and ended up hurting a rib so bad she was afraid she broke it, so she left, too.

Only two of us in my office all day yesterday. It was crazy busy sometimes, but all the customers who called in were nice and nobody was getting angry at us. We didn't get many sample requests, so I was free to sit and answer phones for most of the day. There were a few times I almost said "Look how awesome we are!" but then every time I remembered that bit in Acts 12 about Herod..."And immediately an angel of the Lord struck him because he did not give God the glory, and he was eaten by worms and died."

Because, really, God gave us a great day yesterday. And I had tons to do, and a lot of variety, and there is a large part of me that wishes more of my days could be like that (but without the part where co-workers are feeling miserable, because I don't wish that on them).

Usually if there is something going on socially on a Friday evening, I hear about it before I start my drive home. Last night, nothing was happening. (A quick look at Lisa's blog this morning revealed that this was because last night she and I were of the same mind as to socializing.)

I love my friends, but I have also re-discovered that I love to spend time alone. Not the time sitting in front of the TV or surfing aimlessly on the internet so much as time spent reading, or organizing, or something else that requires a bit more effort. When my apartment chores are done, I feel better about the world. And if the faithful completion of such tasks puts my attitude in the proper place outside these walls, it is worth it to set aside a night or two each week for them.

Last night I cooked. I actually cooked. I steamed some vegetables and heated up some pasta and made pesto to go with the pasta and sliced open chicken breasts and put sour cream in them, with garlic in one and onion in the other. But I remembered why I don't cook much, and especially during the week, because this project took about an hour and a half (or two hours?) and the meat ended up looking a little raw because I don't really cook chicken enough to know what it is supposed to look like when it is safe to eat. Still, it felt more like time well spent than sitting down to watch "just one episode" of some TV show on DVD that turns into me watching the whole disc.

Today I will continue my trend from last night by organizing my VHS collection (yes, I still have one) and going to the gym and running various errands. And maybe I'll even see about social events tonight.

Because I feel good about things here.

Meghan Haan

This is Meghan Haan, an 11-year-old girl who goes to my church. Many of you know her already, and so little of what I'm about to say will be new for you.

I had the privilege of having Meghan in my class for a few years when I taught the 3rd-4th grade group during our Wednesday night Bible study. She impressed me with her interest in and engagement with the material. She asked good questions and provided thoughtful answers to questions I asked. I gave thanks to God for her and for granting the prayers of believing parents seeking to raise their children to be strong in the Lord.

Just now, everyone in the Haan family has special need of the strength only the Holy Spirit can give. Meghan was recently diagnosed with osteosarcoma (bone cancer). It has been literally awe-inspiring to see God work in this family. In the midst of a dark and frightening time, they are looking to him as their only possible source of light.

I have been encouraged by this family in the past--especially by Meghan and her big sister Lauren--and they continue as a source of encouragement. Please pray for drastic healing for Meghan and torrents of peace, comfort, and strength for her, her family, and all those affected by this. Please pray that lives may be changed for the better as they hear this beautiful young girl sing praise to God in a cancer ward. And please pray that those of us who aren't family may know how best to encourage the Haans.

If you would like to stay updated on Meghan, you can visit the website her mother set up: http://greenchairstudio.typepad.com/vibrantlife.

God hears the prayers of his people. Let's take advantage of it!

A Promise

I've been reading through Isaiah, and this morning I came across this passage:

"In that day there will be a highway from Egypt to Assyria, and Assyria will come into Egypt, and Egypt into Assyria, and the Egyptians will worship with the Assyrians. In that day Israel will be the third with Egypt and Assyria, a blessing in the midst of the earth, whom the LORD of hosts has blessed, saying, 'Blessed be Egypt my people, and Assyria the work of my hands, and Israel my inheritance.'"
~~ Isaiah 19:23-25

It sent shivers down my spine and I laughed out loud for the sheer joy of it.

I tried to imagine what it would be like to hear that prophecy in the time it was given. Assyria had been invading and oppressing Israel for years and years. Egypt kept them as slaves for centuries and Israel remembered it like it was yesterday. So I'd imagine some people would have gotten pretty angry when they heard this. Egypt and Assyria worshiping together, maybe. But both of those nations together with Israel?

Then I tried to imagine some countries and groups that might stand in for Egypt and Assyria today in modern minds. Maybe Iraq, or North Korea, or China, or even France. Maybe Democrats or Republicans, Presbyterians or Catholics...let's face it, we don't need people to enslave us or torment us before we decide to cut them out of the reach of God's grace. If we were in charge of who got into heaven, there would be a lot more empty rooms in the Father's house.

But most of us are Egypt, about as far as it gets from the originally chosen people.

We are Assyria, taking whatever we can get and depending thoroughly on our own power.

And we are Israel, possessing great gifts upon which we routinely turn our backs.

"Blessed be Egypt my people, and Assyria the work of my hands, and Israel my inheritance."

God's worst enemies will become your brothers and sisters in Christ. It's a promise so sure it may as well have already happened, and in fact it has...I was once one of those very enemies.

Anybody can befriend someone who is just like them (Luke 6:32-34). But when antagonists turn allies, that's a matter for laughter in the Isaac sense: the "impossible" promise made true, and to God alone the glory.

May God's highway connect ever more and more of His people. Especially the ones we can't stand just now.

Beatles Wisdom

I heard "I'm Looking Through You" on the radio this morning, and the thought came to me that this is the hardest kind of relational divide to deal with...or it is for me, anyway. I'll let the Fab Four explain it with the two verses that struck me most:

I'm looking through you, where did you go

I thought I knew you, what did I know

You don't look different, but you have changed

I'm looking through you, you're not the same

You're thinking of me, the same old way

You were above me, but not today

The only difference is you're down there

I'm looking through you, and you're nowhere

Words in—or outside of—a vacuum

Tonight I had a conversation with a few friends about blogs, and I realized again something that I already knew: I would write even if nobody ever read what I wrote.

True, since last January I have written approximately two poems.

True, I have gone for longer stretches than usual this year without posting on the blog.

True, I have not even posted a new fanfiction story in a while.

True, my original ideas often simmer so long on the back burner that the bottom of the pot is almost burnt out.

But when I don't write for a while, I feel it. Or the lack of it. And then I know that writing something—anything—will lift my spirits.

I've written myself further into corners at times. I've written my share of Mary Sues, stories starring a type of myself in which the character standing in for me gets everything I want. I've written more than a few things that should never have seen the light of day (let alone been seen by a fellow human being). I've written out of anger and self-pity. I've written words that were intended to hurt, intended to sever relationships.

But I've also written comfort and truth. I've written clever phrases and dead-on character voices. I've written whimsical stories for children and I've written thoughtful poems about the world as I see it. I've spent a pain-stakingly long amount of time on writing communications in which I try my hardest to temper the truth with love and respect.

My words—on paper or online—are an integral part of who I am. I love writing, and I have learned so much in the process of it. Thank God that He shares creativity with us!

And I do think that creativity is usually best when it is shared. It provides more enjoyment to both parties that way, as well as more growth. Feedback challenges a writer to think about her audience, to realize that she is not writing in a vacuum. It pulls her out of herself and leads her into service of the work.

But if I were writing in a vacuum, I would still do it.

Home from the Holidays

I am sitting at home (where I live) after being home (with my parents and often my brother) for the holidays, with a whole year stretching out before me. Here are some of my thoughts tonight.

• My computer is mind-numbingly slow. I have probably loaded way too many songs and way too many pictures onto a hard drive unequipped to handle the pressure. Perhaps I should invest in a portable hard drive just so I could keep the pictures accessible, but not have them cluttering up my working hard drive.

• I’ve graduated from college, supported myself for 6 years, and now, as I enter the last full year of my twenties (I’ll be 30 on June 2009, God willing—plan your parties now!), I still don’t like the thought of “growing up.” (Anybody who thinks I am in any way too serious or too regimented to be considered anything but thoroughly grown up already did not know me when I was a child. I have always been like that.) I don’t like how you get older and things change, and people change, and how you can’t ever really go back. I appreciate growth. Within reason. But there is definitely a part of me that always wants to be a little girl and have fun. I guess I can look around at family members like my parents and realize that these are not mutually incompatible goals....

• I have way more stuff than I need. I like most of it, but sometimes I fantasize about burglars or tornadoes or fires, and about “starting over” and not accumulating so much. I would miss some things, but if I can lose two grandfathers and a cousin to death, and if I can lose friends and family to distance and time, I can lose (for instance) my notes from my college Playwriting class. (Downside of any of the above scenarios, of course: I do not want to lose my bird. He is a living creature who loves me and for whom I am responsible.)

• As I was thinking earlier about how the idea of a fire cleaning out my garbage is appealing, an association sprang to mind: the Holy Spirit is called a fire. I have a lot of spiritual and emotional garbage that I would miss a lot less than those Playwriting notes. I'm sure I would miss a fair amount of it, but I am willing to try it. Terrified, but willing. Bring on the holy fire, Lord.

• I have a lot of baggage around here (physically) that I could take care of in about half an hour if I would just get off the computer and focus on unpacking....

There's a lot more rattling around up there, but I need blog fodder for later, right? Right.

Happy New Year, everyone. May you not make hasty resolutions today or any other day this year, and may God grant you the power to follow through on every promise to make to yourself and to others.

From darkness to light

The people who walk in darkness
Will see a great light;
Those who live in a dark land,
The light will shine on them.
~~ Isaiah 9:2


The night before the birth that changed the world, there was no hum of anticipation. The people whose families hailed from Bethlehem were gathering there again in droves, no doubt grumbling over Roman tax laws and the difficulty of finding rooms. The shepherds were spending another dirty, smelly night with the sheep, those stupidest of animals. Astronomers from miles and miles away were watching the skies, as usual. Pharisees and other religious leaders were offering up prayers for a Messiah of their own imagining, someone to kill the Roman invaders and restore Israel to all its Davidic glory. Perhaps a man named Simeon--closing his eyes after another long day, feeling his age--would have felt one day closer to the consolation he'd been yearning for, but perhaps he was one of few.

When Matthew references the prophet Isaiah, he does it like this:

"The people who were sitting in darkness saw a great light,
And to those who were sitting in the land and shadow of death,
Upon them a light dawned."
~~ Matthew 4:16

Not physical darkness, but the darkness of a land ruled by death. Not just walking, but sitting. Waiting for the inevitability of the shadow.

And then one new baby cries.

Elsewhere, in the fields with the watching shepherds, the night explodes in light and in song--the first sign that the child who has left glory pulls glory in after him. But most of Israel is sleeping. Nobody told them that everything would change that night.

Long ago, when the church scheduled a commemoration of this unremarkable yet miraculous night, they chose a time of year that coincided with pagan festivals celebrating the winter solstice, the longest night that (finally) gave way to the returning sun. Now, on Christmas, we celebrate the turning from a deeper darkness than the dead of winter, and a light that both preceded and will outlast the sun. Now, every day, in the midst of whatever darkness threatens to overwhelm us, we remember the Incarnation.

Because the glory of God breaks forth when we least expect it.

Deflection

Tonight I had a serious conversation about origins, specifically from the viewpoints of young earth six day and old earth framework. It was the sort of discussion I have experienced all too rarely since graduating from college: voices were raised infrequently and lowered quickly, opinions were stated calmly, and in general the participants seemed more concerned for each other than for the outcome of the discussion.

I am not saying that doctrinal stances are unimportant, or that there aren't times when you need to take a firm stand against a position that is leading somebody into sin, or that the Word can mean two contradictory things at the same time. But as we were talking about Genesis, and then beginning to touch on Revelation, it occurred to me that I can't remember the last time I had a conversation that was nearly this in-depth about how I am living.

Or as I said to my friend on the other side of the coversation, maybe we talk so much about the beginning of things and the end of things so we don't have to talk about things here in the middle.

It's easy for me to list off reasons why I believe that God created the world in six 24 hour days. It's easy for me to argue over end times scenarios. But please don't let's talk about how we're doing here in the present moment, because I so much want and don't want all that to be known.

What do you think of women as elders?

Christmas time is here. Cue Vince Guaraldi.

When I was about seven or eight years old, my parents sat my brother and I down and told us that we would not be celebrating Christmas that year. They were tired of the commercialization, they weren't sure the holiday as celebrated was honoring to God, and so they took a break. I respect them for that.

I missed Christmas. I don't remember missing the presents much. We got presents at birthdays, after all. I did miss the family gatherings. And maybe even more, I missed the time my immediate family used to spend decorating the tree together: my mom and dad getting all of the old ornaments out; my brother and I arguing a bit over who got to put up which ornament; my dad picking us kids up so we could hang things on higher branches.

I don't know that my parents ever intended to resume celebrating Christmas, but about five years later we did. Sort of. We started exchanging gifts again (I remember my dad taking us to the mall on Christmas Eve to shop for mom). We started going to family functions. I have especially fond memories of the kids' table at the Fleagle gatherings, none of us knowing how few years we'd really have left when we were all really still kids, young and ignorant and invulnerable.

But even as that five year hiatus becomes a smaller and smaller percentage of my life, I still have ambivalent feelings towards the holiday. I would imagine living outside of the country for five years as a child would have a similar effect in certain ways.

I don't feel like I get Christmas. I don't understand it on a procedural level. What if somebody gets you a gift and you don't have a gift for them? What if you get cards from everybody and you never send cards back? In either of these cases, might the people in question simply write you off as a sorry excuse for a friend?

Christmas cards are harder than gifts. I like getting them, especially the newsy cards or the photo cards. The photo cards always go on my fridge, and they make me happy all year. But I don't think I've ever yet sent a Christmas card. Whenever I think of doing it, a voice in the back of my head starts whining about landfills, or about how I haven't had an interesting enough year to write a newsy update, or how I have enough for a newsy update but I've procrastinated too long, or...etc., etc.,etc. Lots of excuses. So to everyone who sends me a card every year and receives nothing in return...thanks, and I don't deserve you.

I haven't decorated a Christmas tree in 20 years. I have ornaments from various friends (somewhere), but no tree. Where would I put one? And would it even be anywhere near as enjoyable of an experience to decorate a tree without my family? My only real "Christmas decorations" (really sort of winter decorations, in that I put them away by spring) are two stuffed bears: one from Grandma Crowe, who gave me a Winnie-the-Pooh in winter garb; one from Grandma Winter, who gave me a bear dressed in green and red, a bear that has been a Winter Christmas decoration for years and years.

Both of these bears make me feel close to family, make me feel loved, and make me feel like a small girl who isn't all that big and grown-up after all.

Tangible love meets a need for something bigger than self....

And that's what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.