friends and heaven

I’ve seen a glimpse of heaven, although I didn’t realize it at the time. It came via five women, all flesh and blood and broken like me. There were shared memories of vegan food and failed cooking experiments (my twenty-five year old self didn’t realize you couldn’t substitute balsamic vinegar for apple cider vinegar in a recipe), there was laughter and late nights, there were tears, and fears, crosswords, and online dating. There were gospel choirs and ethnically diverse churches, there were bikes on trails (and getting locked out from the house). There were even arguments over the air conditioner and if we should give each other set chores. But most of all, there was love and sharing of heart longings and passions and what-God-was-up-to in our lives. We made space and time to be with one another, and we shared guts and glory. God used each of us to shape us more into His likeness. I got to be part of a slice of heaven for three years.

I moved away to pursue professional dreams, we started getting married and moving out, and the intense shared time faded. The ties that bound us stretched as we entered new stages of life in new geographic locations. It shocks me to say that it’s been almost thirteen years since I left Baltimore. I’ve made good friends since then, but it looks different, especially in Washington. And I’ve found myself unsettled, longing for something deeper, with an intensity that I once knew. More rational people have informed me that “it’s a stage of life thing” and that with young children I can’t hope to equal that again. More patient people have informed that it just.takes.time–and that my free-wheeling days offered me freedom and time that allowed for deep relationships quickly. In my more self-aware moments, I know they are right. But I also can’t quite capitulate. I believe that God can do it, and that He is not limited by my stage of life or my relative lack of free time. It will look different, but I’m convinced it can be rich. So I’m jumping into this pool of people here, because I’ve seen heaven. And it’s glorious.

(On Valentine’s day, it seems especially appropriate for this post, and to send a shout-out to Holly, Laura, Jenna, Kim, and Rachel. Thank you, thank you, girls! Where are we meeting this year?)

contentment and gratefulness

credit

2014! 2014! January 9th, at that! Like all good folk out there, I’m laying the way for a clean slate. It can be done at any time, but the turning of the calendar pages makes it an easy one now. I’m just settling back into a routine after a wonderful time away for Christmas and New Year’s (whoever said white Christmases were the best needed some southern California sunshine!). So now, in the wake of all those resolutions which may or may not be kept, here are themes I want to explore this year:

contentment and gratefulness

What you might not know about me is that I can be critical. Normally directed at myself, I’ve found it directed in all directions over the last few years. Of course, it was couched with terms like analytical, realistic, discerning, and the like. I wasn’t attempting to tear anything down for no reason. But somewhere along the line it ceased allowing me to move forward and just became negative spewing. I can rationalize much of it away (I was hurt, it was true, I wanted to make it better), but it still wasn’t helpful. Church became a target, so even when something happened that was good, I spoke from a hurt place and negated it. When I caught myself doing that I realized that things had to change; this didn’t feel like me, or the person I wanted to become. As a result I want this year to be filled with contentment. Yes, I can hear you now, “Um, so you’re just going to be content?” Well, kind of. I’m going to choose my perspective, and I’m going to choose gratefulness.

Every night at dinner we go around the table and say our “highs”, our “lows” and any “mistakes” we want to share. We started doing this to force ourselves to reflect on the day a bit, to recognize what we can be grateful for, to know how to pray for each other, to note that all of us make mistakes. Some days it’s super insightful, other days it’s a complete bomb. But we’re in training, disciplining our minds, putting things in perspective. When it is a cruddy day, I will still look for the small thing that was my “high”. Contentment will not be a matter of circumstance for me; it will be an attitude of the mind. Will my eyes be covered with rose-colored glasses? I hope not. Somehow contentment got misconstrued as Pollyanna smiles and sunshine. Choosing contentment shouldn’t mean that we don’t acknowledge challenges, that our hearts won’t break in any number of situations. I’ve noticed one shift already: I find myself extending grace, both to myself and to others. I feel like there’s more freedom in my life now, and I like it.

The hymn “It is well with my soul” comes to mind. I’d forgotten the story behind it until now: Horatio and Anna Spafford had five children. In 1871 their son died and the great Chicago fire destroyed his fortune in real estate investments. In 1873, while crossing the Atlantic Ocean, the ship was struck and sunk, killing all four of their girls. Given these tragic circumstances one might expect the Spaffords to be bitter. I have no doubt that they mourned many times over. Yet it was when sailing near where the girls died that Horatio penned “It is well with my soul”. I am humbled; I can choose contentment.

scattered

photo by oakleyoriginals

Summer is winding down here and I find it bittersweet. R is starting full-day school in a little over a week and it feels like a huge milestone, perhaps even more than starting kindergarten did to me. My girl will be somewhere else for seven hours a day (if you include the bus ride) and I’m…gulp…a bit sad. It makes me re-think homeschooling. (In case I’m ruffling anyone’s feathers with that statement, I’m not super serious about it. I’ve toyed with it in the past, and probably will for the next fourteen years, questioning whether public school as it’s presented today is the best fit for any child, including my own. I don’t think any teacher should have to teach 25+ kids in a classroom. If someone must do that, s/he should certainly have an aide. Ahem and ahem. I’ll get off my soapbox now.)

But I find myself craving the routine the school year provides, too. This summer has felt far busier than I anticipated. I told someone recently that it has been “wonderfully chaotic”, filled with visitors almost constantly since we returned home from vacation in July. But maybe I really am an introvert. I kind of want more space alone now, and I don’t know how to make that happen. The to-do list to prepare for school is lengthening by the minute, and yet I find myself distracted. Distracted by what, you ask? Well, here are a few things taking up space in my brain:

• My dear friend is having major surgery in three weeks, and is under a mountain of stress.
• Another dear friend is separated from her husband (yes, the one from the earlier blog post)
• My sister’s FIL is gravely ill.
• I applied for a part-time job that both excites and terrifies me. I sorely miss practicing physical therapy, but the idea that I would need to find care for my kids is daunting.
• Tom is working hard. That is an understatement.
• More guests arrive this week, we go camping soon, and R starts school the day after we get back.
• My big decade turner is coming up and I move from completely nonplussed to craving big celebration and adventure.
• Didn’t I say we wanted to enter the foster care system to be respite providers? That paperwork is somewhere.
• I do want to mentor a high school student from the alternative high school at church and just need to fill.out.the.paperwork!
• Speaking of churches, we’re probably going to divide and conquer to check out churches this fall, and that feels overwhelming, too.

I want to be fully in the present, sucking the marrow out of life. (Ah, I do love “Dead Poets’ Society”.) I want my kids to see me wanting to interact, to play, to love, to laugh, to read, to pray, to be with them. But if I’m perfectly honest I kind of want to retreat and read a magazine or watch the next episode of “The Newsroom”. And I was convicted about truly being in relationship with Jesus and spending ample time in prayer. It’s not a thing to do, and I never want it to be, but I’m having a challenging time focusing when I even try.

Bother. I know I’m not alone in this being-pulled-in-many-directions. It’s true that if I slow down and listen to God I’ll have a better sense of what my priorities are. But checking email and researching anything (new foyer light, anyone?) takes way less energy. So here I pray: God, speak to me even if I feel like I have little to give. Be with me and with those around me who desperately need your touch. Guide us in the big and small decisions. Give us boldness and humility in spades. May we love as you love, may we seek you, may we leak Jesus intentionally and unintentionally all the time.

becoming a foster parent?

Life is full of decisions, but they are never made in a vacuum. Our histories, our experiences affect the present and the future. So when Tom and I say that, God willing, we’re becoming respite care foster parents, it’s part of a journey we’ve been on for some time. We debated adoption after we had one biological child. We considered foster care at one point but I worried that our kids were too young to understand the comings and goings of other kids and that they would wonder if they were going to leave too. But recently it resurfaced and I feel God giving me mixtures of excitement and terror at the idea of upsetting our equilibrium and inviting kids into our home. Our hearts might break, after all. But the excitement of attempting to love kids like God does, to be part of His helping right what is broken is super, crazy thrilling to me. I’ve struggled with finding our place and living out justice in this season of life with young kids. Fostering feels like being the hands and feet I’ve longed for.

But my reason for writing this post is less about me and how I’m feeling about it than my kids’ response. The conversation went something like this:

Me: So, Daddy and I are thinking about helping take care of kids who can’t be with their parents right now and I just wanted to make sure we’re all on the same page. What do you think about that?

Kid 1: Yes! I want another kid in this family and Mommy doesn’t want to born [sic] another baby. Can it be a girl?

Kid 2: I have an even better idea! If there’s a kid who doesn’t have a mommy or daddy we could ADOPT them to be part of our family!

Me: humbled and speechless

The compassion that oozes from them stops me in my tracks. Don’t get me wrong, we have our fair share of antagonizing and yelling from the mouth of babes here. But I see God working in them, teaching them (and through them, me) his heart for justice, his unflinching and forever love. They don’t immediately jump to the logistics, what sacrifices might be made, whether or not they’ll have to share their toys, their parents’ time, etc. Instead, they are eager to love and innocently trust it will all work out well in the end. No wonder we’re called to have the faith of a little child. Isn’t that so, Abba?

7

I mentioned before that I was reading 7  by Jen Hatmaker. Well, I’ve finished it now and would highly recommend it to everyone. It’s a quick, engaging read and I laughed out loud at various points, but that’s not why I liked it. (OK, maybe it is one reason I like it; I’m part way through Tina Fey’s Bossypants and laughed more with Jen.) What I appreciate about Jen (or at least 7) is that she is talking about real issues, the stuff of faith, as it were, but she can laugh at herself and not come across as sanctimonious when she shares the lessons she learned in the process of fasting. How do we spend our time? Our money? Have we truly thought/cared about our (abundance of ) food? Our clothing? Our possessions? Do we see ourselves as stewards of all the above, or do we consciously or subconsciously view it as ours to do with as we will? Have we taken to heart and action God’s call to love the poor, the oppressed, the outcast, the stranger? Anyone who is willing to tackle these themes head-on and still make me laugh gets a hat tip (pun intended) in my book.

I confess when I started reading it I was a bit stand-offish. She declares that she is an all or nothing type of gal, so when she decided to eat seven foods or wear seven pieces of clothing for a month I internally declared that a random bit of legalism. I might have missed the entire point if I hadn’t kept reading. What happened was that I was reminded, again and again, of her desire to fast so that God might be able to shape her more readily, that she might hear His voice more clearly. Spoiler alert: she did. And it changed her in great ways.

But it’s one thing to declare this a great book. (So great, in fact, that despite checking it out from the library, I’m probably going to buy it and add it to our collection.) It’s quite another to ask what this means to me, and what God is prompting me to do as a result.  Here are things that come to mind:

• to fast. It may extend farther, but I want to physically fast from food. I’ve had years of excuses (I’m not pleasant with low blood sugar, I’m pregnant, I’m nursing) but it’s now time.
• to eat down my kitchen cupboards/refrigerator/freezer. I know some people do this just to start afresh; I want to do it to see how long it will last, to stop and realize how.much.food I regularly store. Over the last two weeks I’ve made very conscious decisions to eat what’s in my cupboards (plus fresh produce). Give me this day my daily bread? If these last two weeks are any indication, I think I store months of “bread”.
• making sabbath more intentional. I’ve pondered this over the years after having such incredible sabbaths in grad school. But the detail that struck me was the need to plan for sabbath. (Duh, I know.) But I think I thought I would just stop working and rest, without realizing that, especially in this season of life, there is preparation and discipline that occurs beforehand to make sabbath possible. Could meal planning, cleaning, and laundry become part of my wild Friday night routine so I wouldn’t feel pressured by them being undone on Sunday?
• Tom and I decided to train to become respite care providers in the foster care system. More details to come.

I’m sure there are more things that God will show me as we take these baby steps. But it feels exciting to act again. It’s adventure time.

p.s. I’m ending with a quote that talked about her readers, which I found so accurate that it was almost a bit disturbing. If you’re anything like me, I hope you’ll be encouraged as well.

I’m guessing you’ve cried over orphans or refugees or starvation or child prostitutes, heartbroken by the depravity of this world. It’s not okay that your kids get school and birthday parties while Third World children get abandoned and trafficked, but you don’t know how to fix that. You’re wondering if your lifestyle is connected to these discrepancies, and you have a nagging suspicion that less is more but it’s a muddy concept. Everyone has ideas. It’s confusing and overwhelming. This creates a sort of war within, and it leaves you raw. Sometimes you’re a full-blown mess over it.

Hear this: I don’t think God wants you at war with yourself. He sent the prince of peace to soothe those tumultuous waters already. Self-deprecation is a cruel response to Jesus, who died and made us righteous….He is battling for global redemption right now….We’re so conditioned to being a problem that we’ve forgotten we’re actually the answer….The body of Christ is mobilizing in unprecedented numbers. Jesus is staging a massive movement to bind up the brokenhearted and proclaim freedom to the captives….Jesus is waging war on injustice and calling us to join Him. This is way more fun than self-condemnation, no?

i (sorta) wanna be a pharisee

When I was in junior high, my lifeline was my church youth group. You see, I was nothing if not a quintessential nerd. (Not much has changed, but my skin feels a lot more comfortable now.) Anyhow, we used to sing a song, the chorus of which I sadly can’t remember. Any junior high staff able to help me? Anyhow, one of the verses went like this:

I don’t wanna be a pharisee

I don’t wanna be a pharisee

‘Cuz a pharisee ain’t fair, ya see

I don’t wanna be a pharisee.

There was also a verse about not wanting to be sadducee (a sadducee is sad-you-see), etc. Ah, the memories I maintain as my gray matter shrinks.

Anyhow, I’ve come to the conclusion recently that there’s a part of me that totally wants to be a pharisee. I’ve often never rarely somewhat regularly desired a very specific list of rules to follow with exact percentages of giving required, specifically the best way to do x, y, or z, what the “right” way to do something is. Yes, astute friends, I’ve wanted the Law. Because somehow in my limited brain I think it’s going to make being faithful easier, that I will always know if I’m doing everything I should to obey, etc. Oh, you say, it’s about my heart? About my character? Even if there are rules? Well, phooey.

A good friend of mine went on a one-month spending fast (which she has now extended to two). I heard about it and was intrigued. Wouldn’t that be a great way to go? Sure, it would be hard, but I sometimes like black and white, so I just wouldn’t have to think about my purchases. I could go hard core, and I’d learn a lot, right? And there’s no doubt I would learn a ton. I’m sure I’d realize where I needlessly spend money, and about the places that I crave control and am selfish. But as I was about to sign myself up I paused. I know myself. I know that the lessons I mentioned above would at least be somewhat negated by the pride I would feel that I was doing it “right”. My bigger struggle, and the one I need to wrestle with, is the willingness to humbly submit myself, and everything I own, to God. To talk with God about my priorities, both spending and otherwise. To ask what He has for me today. To trust that He is faithful to guide, even in finances and other choices.

There are big thoughts afoot in my heart these days. Don’t you have them sometimes, too? They smack of craziness, of surrender…of freedom. When I compare those thoughts to my longings for ritual and rules I am thrilled to say that freedom wins. So I won’t be doing a spending fast in the near future (although I’ve learned to never say never–and I’ll cheer on those doing them!) but I am going to lay the pharisee at the altar and see what’s ahead.

mourning

Tom took the kids out this morning. I almost didn’t let him go. I wanted him here. My kids here. In my arms. But in the end I needed alone time, and R. had choir rehearsal.

Like a moth to flame

I was drawn to read the interwebs

Over and over and over again.

Because surely, surely by reading

Some sense would come out of tragedy.

But it didn’t, and it won’t.

So hot tears flowed while reading

while showering

while washing dishes

while praying.

What do I pray? How?

Pray with heart cries

Pray with aching insides

Pray that somehow God would be in the darkness

Of despair, of pain, of lives and innocence lost.

Pray that although some answers will never be

That somehow, some way, Hope will.

Not today, not tomorrow. Not for some hellish period of time.

But some day.

Today we will mourn.

Praying for all those affected by the Sandy Hook Elementary massacre. Reminded by a friend to “look for the helpers”, and thankful for the principal, the custodian, the psychologist, the teachers, the police, and everyone else who desperately tried to help reign in horror.

 

 

esau

I’ve never really resonated with the Esau in Genesis. As a quick recap, he’s the firstborn of twins but ultimately gives up his birthright (very big deal) for a meal. He comes back from hunting, he’s hungry, and his brother Jacob says he’ll feed him if he gives up his birthright. Can’t you imagine it? The sibling rivalry that began in the womb continues as Jacob lets the aroma of food waft under his brother’s nose. Taunting at its finest, no? And Esau declares “What good is a birthright if I starve?”. So they swap.

With the benefit of the whole story I’ve always thought Esau silly. Really, I mean really, how could you throw the important away for a bowl of stew? How immature, Esau. But today, as I read this story, I was shocked to realize that I am exactly like Esau way more often than I care to admit. I trade what is good, what is valuable for the quick, easy “fix”. It’s a temporary gain; it sacrifices the important for the immediate.

• I want to take care of my body, but I trade muscle strength for time in bed.
• I want community, but I don’t want to work at it, to struggle for it, to be patient and trust that God will provide. So I consider switching churches.
• Gratitude is a priority to me. But I write the thank you cards and then never mail them.
• I long for intimacy with God, but my prayer life never seems to percolate to the top of my priority list–at least for any longer than five or ten minutes at a time. Instead I check Facebook for the quick high of “being with friends”. (No, the irony is not lost on me.)
• I want my life to be radical for God’s glory, to be willing to be counter-cultural, to be sacrificial in giving, to look beyond myself. And yet I am quickly overwhelmed by the need, and choose to turn away instead of wading in to see where I am called. I give, but on my terms. (More about this in another post.)

Some years ago, I read about the “tyranny of the urgent”. I’m sorry to say I can’t remember who penned it to give him/her credit. But that notion resonates with how I live much of the time. I think it did with Esau, too. The urgent need was hunger, so he fed it instead of looking at the big picture. I can focus on a miniscule part of something huge and get fully distracted by it.

My kids are learning about delayed gratification these days. If you eat the gum now, you can’t have dessert later. It’s a choice. Whaddya want to do? They often choose the immediate and then are sad they did later, when that chocolate chip cookie looks terribly good. But I’m glad we all have opportunities to practice looking at the present and then considering the future, and choosing what is best. May we see the big picture more often.

putting on love

from capl@washjeff.edu

It’s the phrase that sticks with me these days: Clothe yourself with love.

I’m attempting to read my bible in the morning, attempting to saturate my soul in the messages therein. Sometimes it works, sometimes I fail. But there are bits that stick there, asking for more thought, more action, more change. That’s what this one is, and I begin to pray, to ponder, to ask what it means for today.

I’m struck with clothing oneself. No, I’m not a nudist at heart, so bear with me. The act of getting dressed is a choice. What I put on is what I pull out of my closet or dresser. I get to decide what that is. And I am asked to clothe myself in love.

With what characteristics do I usually clothe myself? When I’m running late and desperately trying to get the kids out the door (although that never happens in my house…maybe yours?) I wouldn’t say it’s love. Sadly, it’s usually impatience tinged with frustration: really, you want to change NOW?????? Where ARE your shoes? Or, my favorite: WE ARE GOING TO BE LATE. I have moments of calm, tender hugs and chances to enjoy breakfast together, but there are other times when I don’t see the moment at all. I’m distracted, engaged by other thoughts or the to-do list before me.

Then I think about the times when I do put on love, in the form of dropping whatever I deem urgent to sit and read with the kids, and how different that feels. Having a kid snuggle on your lap, another at your side reading over your arm is amazing. And, spoiler alert, it’s not just love for them, it’s love for me, too. But lest you think that this love is just full of sappy sentimentality, let me remind you and me what love is:

• Love is patient (when we’re hunting for the homework that should have been put away yesterday)
• Love is kind (when we’re listening to “Music Machine” for the umpteenth time)
• Love does not envy (when other moms seem to have more free time)
• Love does not boast (‘nuf said)
• Love is not proud (when my kids ask for Daddy and not me)
• Love is not rude (even when I want to make it a character flaw that someone is late)
• Love is not self-seeking (I will not need affirmation for my cooking, I will not!)
• Love keeps no records of wrongs (even when somebody hurts my feelings)
• Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth (Just amen!)
• Love always protects, always trusts, always perseveres (even when I sometimes want to hole up in my room and be.by.myself)
• Love never fails

The best part about all this is that it isn’t just up to my strength. Because heaven knows, it’s an unattainable act for me to love all the time. But God is transforming me to love more like He does. By His grace I can clothe myself in love. Today, I will. It’s mahvelous, dahling, just mahvelous.

 

learning to wait

I don’t enjoy waiting. Really, who does? But as an off-the-charts “J” on the Myers-Briggs personality test I claim my “need” for closure. It sounds nice to be someone who lives in the present and can claim the ambiguity of the future, but it certainly doesn’t come naturally. Yet I wonder if it needs to become more of me.

You see, if I say that I believe that I am ultimately not in control of my life (and I do) then waiting is part of that. It’s part of that trust that God is good, that He is good all the time, that His timing is better than my own. When I (attempt to) wrest control back into my domain, into my timing, things go afoul. I might not notice it immediately, but somehow the pressure to do the right thing in the right time at the right place for or with the right people always seems to creep in. It ultimately becomes about me. And I believe that we are created more than just for ourselves.

Practically, it means that I don’t have answers about houses, what to do with my new car that causes me pain, or how to maintain some of the friendships I’ve made with parents at R’s school now that school is over. I’m not even sure where I/we should be volunteering at church and/or in our community. But I’m taking those baby steps to trust, to listen.

• I’m (trying to) pray more. And yes, ahem, that means I need to get up earlier than I do. (Which, in turn, means I need to go to bed earlier than I have been.)
• I’m trying to journal more. This fits in with prayer, as I tend to focus more when I write than when I sit and pray.
• I’m trying to not “solve” my problems and embrace how uncomfortable this waiting is for me. I find it stressful and energy and emotionally taxing. But when I pray (it circles back, doesn’t it?) it doesn’t feel so overwhelming.
• I’m listening to my gut/intuition more, recognizing that it’s part of my emotional growth process. (It’s not just emotions, clearly, but there’s more to it than my logical brain wants to admit.)
• And, forgive me if this sounds esoteric, I’m trying create more. Something about letting those juices flow engages me in a different way and pulls me out of my head. Freedom!

And so, I wait. Deep breath, and wait.