Darkness and the Mid-Lent Slump.

I had an hour to spare today, and I decided to spend it wandering around the bookstore. I tend to gravitate toward the display tables because they contain either sale books or the "best of the best" books--new paperbacks, staff picks, etc. In the process of picking up books and reading the first few pages of each, I stumbled upon a book that caught my attention for a whole chapter (I'm a picky book-browser). I can't remember the name of the book... something about being angry with God. It caught my eye because the author billed herself as snarky, which is among my favorite words. The premise of the book turned out to be a little hokey, in my opinion. The author went through a rough patch, got angry with God, and decided that she and God needed to go to couple's counseling. She actually found a therapist who was willing to conduct these, um, counseling sessions. That's where I stopped reading. But she touched on something that was very familiar to me, and I'm sure to many Christians--the rough patch.

This author referred to the rough patch as the Dark Hour of the Soul. I thought this was a perfect name for the low places Christians sometimes find themselves in. I've been there. (It was last year and it lasted for quite a long time.) The author's response to the Dark Hour was anger. She blamed God for her hard times (I don't know what she went through that was so hard; I didn't read that far), and she started imagining that he was the "bad guy," that he was angry with her as well. My reaction to my Dark Hour wasn't anger. I think I felt despair. I felt myself pulling away from God. I worried, I stressed, I doubted God. There was a lot of doubt. I didn't pray, at least, not sincerely, and I didn't turn to the Bible for answers. It's hard to think back to how I felt during that dark time because as I'm writing this I'm in a place of contentment. "It is well with my soul," as the hymn goes.

The Dark Hour of the Soul... it sounds like a Harry Potter book. My point in bringing this up, and I think the point that author was trying to make, is that sometimes it's the dark times in our life that bring us closer to God. I may have read something about this in The Irresistible Revolution last week; I feel like this topic has been on my mind for a while, and it's probably because I've read about it in a few places lately. I keep a sticky note on my computer that says the following verses:

"My brethren, count it all joy when you fall into various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience. But let patience have its perfect work, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking nothing." -James 1:2-4

This passage spoke to me first of all because I need all the help I can get when it comes to producing patience. But it also serves as a reminder that the trials we are given are being overseen by God. Everything may not happen for a reason, but God has a hand in what is going on, and he will put our faith to the test if that's what it takes to wake us up.

I am thankful that I am out of my Dark Hour. And I can see how that time, those months of feeling worried and alone and so doubtful, has really made me appreciate being in the light. I feel now like I am in an hour of clarity (well... semi-clarity) and closeness with God. I can see Him working in my life; I can see Him in those around me, working in their lives. I can see how He gives us to each other, Christian friends to serve as our support and our family, to share in each others' joy and pain. I can tell within myself that He has strengthened my soul. What I struggle with is the fact that, when compared to the dark hours of other Christians, my dark hour wasn't all that dark. The author of that book kept saying that she was a middle-class white girl with middle-class white girl problems. In the grand scheme of things, her issues probably weren't earth-shattering. But they were her problems, she kept saying, so they meant something to her. I have friends, other middle-class white girl friends, who have had much darker hours than me. I cannot begin to imagine the pain and loss and loneliness and anger they have dealt with. And then there are countless others, people whose paths don't cross with mine, whose hours are still darker. How can these people rejoice? How can they be thankful for the pain they have experienced? I don't have an answer for this. I just know that my Dark Hour is over, and I can look back and see what I learned, and I am thankful for that time because it helped me grow. And I pray for strength and comfort for those who are in their Dark Hour now, and clarity for those who have yet to learn how their dark times are leading them to God.

On another note, I have been fixated lately on the idea of nourishing my soul. It first came up in a sermon last month, when our new minister emphasized the importance of setting aside time each day to nourish our souls. I am the product of a society where we nourish our bodies. I love to treat my muscles to Pilates every week. I nourish my feet with pedicures. I nourish my sweet tooth with mint chocolate chip ice cream... of course, that's only at the end of a long day filled with healthy, nourishing foods. I nourish my brain with books, crossword puzzles, conversations, professional development. I spend the majority of my time strengthening the part of me that I can't take to heaven. And my poor soul is crying out for some TLC. My Lenten observation this year involves taking time every day to be with God. It sounded easy when I committed to it--easier than, say, giving up chocolate-- but it's a few weeks into Lent now, and feeding my soul is harder than I thought it would be! My devotional time often gets pushed to the end of the day. I constantly find that I can't slow my mind down enough to focus on my prayers. I desire to be in the presence of God, yet I'm not allowing myself to be still and acknowledge His presence. I rejoice that my Dark Hour of the Soul is in the past. But I am learning that even the joyful, contented times have their own struggles. This week I am re-committing to Lent. I am going to try harder than ever to be intentional about how I spend my time. In the spirit of rejoicing during times of trial, I am sure that these bumps in the road are a blessing. Perhaps my struggles are keeping me on my toes, keeping me actively involved in seeking God and seeking his help as I nourish my soul. My prayer this week is that God will breathe new life into my commitment to spend time in His presence, and that he will do the same for my friends who are experiencing a mid-Lent slump like I am.

Not until we sing Kumbaya.

My spring break is coming to an end. I am sitting on the couch soaking up the last minutes of vacation before heading to bed, and I have to offer up a big thank you to God for such a wonderful, restful week. I have mentioned many times before that I feel incredibly blessed to be a part of the school community where I work. Even on spring break, on our week of rest and renewal, we teachers wanted to spend time together! And we did just that, on a three day "camping" adventure. I feel like the quotes are necessary--it wasn't actual camping, since we stayed in cabins. However, in our defense, the cabins were billed as "rustic," and my friends know that I basically grew up as a member of Troop Beverly Hills, so "rustic" is not a word typically found in my vocabulary. Don't get me wrong; I love nature. God created it, so what's not to love? I just also love things like sleeping on a soft surface, and being clean. And being away from spiders. I'm a suburban-raised girl, what do you expect?

Anyway, my friends and I spent three wonderful days up in the hills/mountains of Van Buren, Missouri. We stayed in charming cabins that were built in the 1930s by the Civilian Conservation Corps; we cooked and ate all of our meals outside; we basically did whatever we wanted and it was incredibly restful. I loved waking up and not having any set plans for the day. At home, I feel so rushed all of the time. I feel like I'm constantly anticipating the next activity, thinking about my next steps, to the point that I don't take the time to really be in the moment. I am so thankful for those three days in the Ozarks, and I'm thankful that I was able to intentionally be in every moment there. Because there were some pretty great moments!

One thing I experienced there that is sort of a metaphor for my need to slow down is the joy of being in nature with children. I love and envy the wonder with which they live their lives! On Thursday afternoon, I took a walk by the river with my friend's two-and-a-half year old son E. I worried the whole time about where the path was leading us, whether we needed to turn around and wait for E's mom at the picnic table where she left us, etc. I should have taken a page out of E's book; he was happily experiencing nature at his own pace. When was the last time that we were perfectly content just throwing rocks into a river? Or listening to the rhythm of a woodpecker, or the drops of water falling on rocks? Or poking the green, carpety moss that lined the rocky path? Such things, such little pleasures, just seem too unimportant to be included in my busy day.

Later that day, I ended up on another walk of sorts with a group of kids. We had discovered a beautiful natural spring while goofing off at a nearby playground, and it was just so fun to watch the kids explore this space. They excitedly crawled to the back of a damp cave in the rocks. They ran fearlessly along the mossy trail. They eagerly climbed every stone staircase that led down to the water, and they didn't care when their shoes got a little wet. When one staircase led the kids to a small, grassy riverbank, they were overjoyed to discover a new place to play!

Friday morning, my friend J and I decided to adopt that child-like fearlessness. On our way to the playground with our group, we noticed a stone staircase cut into the side of a hill, and we didn't think twice about finding out where it led. That burst of curiosity led to an hour of purely uphill climbing that I'm not sure I would have agreed to had I known what I was getting myself into! J and I kept saying to each other, "let's just go around that corner over there and then decide if we should turn around," and "surely the hill will peak any minute!" Well, basically I've decided that I'm going to tell people we climbed a mountain when I recount this tale later on. It got to the point where we just had to laugh at ourselves. What had our boldness gotten us into? I'm pretty sure my ears were popping by the time we reached the peak. My calves were so happy when we began our descent.

I think J and I were both happy to spend an hour out in nature, just the two of us and our Creator. The ground was covered in a blanket of brown leaves, and the trees were still bare from winter, but there was something so beautiful about the bareness of the forest and the solitude we found at the top of that mountain. We hiked at a pretty steady clip, but we were child-like in our tendency to stop and examine sparkly rocks.

That evening, it started to rain, and we found ourselves with nothing to do except stay in our seats around the campfire and work together to toast the perfect marshmallow. There we were, commiserating together about the off-and-on showers and the cold snap that had set in around lunchtime, and experiencing yet another lesson in slowing down as we struggled to toast our marshmallows instead of lighting them on fire (particularly hard for me, as I love a charred s'more!) What a truly perfect night.

As I return to work and to my hectic schedule, I hope that I can find the time every day to slow down and to experience each moment with the child-like wonder I experienced in the woods. I think it is especially meaningful that I had these slowing-down experiences during Lent, when I am trying to be more intentional about my slowing-down, being-still time with God. I pray that He will open my eyes to times in each day when I can let go of my distractions and just be in His presence.

A string of unconnected thoughts.

I am proud and thankful to report, first of all, that I have been faithfully spending time with God each day, as I promised I would during Lent. The practice of daily quiet time is new to me, and I am really looking forward to seeing where God leads me as I get more used to taking time out of my day for Him. I've said before that I'm not a morning person, which means that morning devotionals probably won't happen any time soon; however, it seems to work well for me to end my day with some slow, quiet reflection and prayer. I have been following a daily devotional guide online, and I have been reading the daily devotionals that our new minister is sending via email, but when I don't have access to a computer, or when I feel that turning on the computer will be a distraction, I have been journaling and reading scripture. My Sunday school class has been studying the book of Revelation, and it is really interesting to read about the end of times and the return of Jesus during this period leading up to Jesus' death and resurrection. I can't explain it, but it feels almost intentional (on God's part, not ours) that we would enter into this study during Lent.
I love when I read something, scripture or otherwise, and notice that it relates to something else I recently read or heard. For example, a friend and I talked briefly this afternoon about the "backwards way of Jesus," and then the devotional I read tonight addressed the same thing, talking about how Jesus often faced hostility because of the message of love and hope and forgiveness that he preached. I know that those relationships among messages are not coincidences, and I am thankful that God is opening my heart and mind to noticing such things.
On another note, I am getting ready to spend the rest of my spring break on a pseudo-camping adventure with some coworkers. I have spent the majority of the day getting ready for the trip--baking green cookies for St. Patrick's Day, digging through my parents' garage in search of lawn games and a fire pit, fretting that the clothes I've packed won't be warm enough. Why is packing always so stressful? I really just want to pack a hammock and my copy of The Irresistible Revolution and be done with it, but I can never just let things be that easy (also, I don't have a hammock). I am looking forward to spending a few days out in nature, though, seeking the presence of God among the beautiful early-spring surroundings and fellowshipping with some great friends (even if it comes at the cost of missing some crucial March Madness games). I hope to come back from my encounter with nature feeling refreshed and renewed, ready to continue on my Lenten journey and ready to return to work with my heart in a good place.

Preparing for Lent.

I’m trying to spend some time thinking about and preparing for Lent, so that it doesn’t catch me off guard on Wednesday like it does every year. Thanks to the guidance of a good friend, I am entering this season with a different perspective than usual, and I’m really excited about that. Maybe it’s strange to say I’m entering the forty days leading up to the death of Jesus with excitement; so I’ll just clarify that I’m excited to see how the Lord will work in my life and in my heart during this period as I make an effort to make more time to be with Him.

I feel like many of my stories start off, “the other night at youth group…” and I have to laugh at myself a little for that. I have joked with friends that I feel like I’m going through the youth program for the second time because I learn so much when I’m there as a volunteer!

So… the other night at youth group, my abovementioned good friend really drove home the point that Lent should not just be about giving something up. It’s not a time for us to test our willpower. That really struck me; I realized that, even when I don’t mean to, I usually end up turning Lent into a test of willpower. In college, my friends and I used to like to outdo each other by seeing who could give up the most extreme things. I remember sitting in the dining hall with my best friend one year, agreeing to give up sweets and then making guidelines about what we would consider “sweets.” (For example, a muffin was a sweet unless it was eaten for breakfast. And oh my goodness, the time we spent debating sweet tea!)

My point here is that I really want this Lenten season to be one of reflection and of nearness to God. I am not giving anything up; I am not testing my willpower or trying to out-Lent anyone. I don’t have a fully fleshed-out plan. I just know that I want to take time out of my busy day, every day, to be with God. I really commend and admire my friends who are committing to morning devotionals. Considering that I can barely make it to work on time most mornings, I feel like I would be setting myself up to fail with that one. My goal during Lent is going to be to find time every day—time that I waste on useless or frivolous things—and give that time to God. Maybe that means less time Facebooking; maybe it means less TV. I’m just going to pray for guidance as I seek to spend meaningful time with God. I pray that He will give me the strength to resist the temptations that draw me away from His presence, and I pray that he will open my eyes to opportunities to be with Him.

“Create in us clean hearts O God; and sustain us with your Holy Spirit.” –Suffrages A, The Book of Common Prayer

Don't leave me alone at this time; for I'm afraid of what I will discover inside (M&S)

As the season of Lent approaches, I have found myself sort of slipping out of the mindset I want to be in when preparing for the death and resurrection of Christ. I’ve been on such a “God high” for the past few months, thanks to some incredible spiritual retreats and thanks to God working through certain people in my life. I know from experience that those highs don’t last long (not for me, anyway). I eventually find myself settling into a routine, spending less and less time seeking God’s presence. It hit me toward the end of this week that I am coming down off of my high, and that realization resulted in sort of a blah week. I can feel myself aching for the nearness of God. But my crying out for him has been halfhearted, at best. This is where that whole “not at peace” thing comes into play. I have a hard time setting aside time to be with God when I know there are other things that need to be done—more accurately, other things I want to do, and other things to distract me.

But God created me; he created all of my attention-deficit, fast-talking, multitasking ways, and he loves me. He knows that I have a hard time being solitary or focusing for a long period of time, and he is helping me find a way to just be still. To just be, in his presence, in conversation with Him; step by step I can see myself moving toward that kind of relationship. As I reflect on the week, I can tell that this is starting to happen.

Last Sunday, I planned to spend an hour in prayer for a friend. I sat down to pray, and when no more words would come to me I began to get restless. Honestly, it was not an ideal environment for an hour of solitude; I typically spend Sunday afternoons at my parents’ house, where there are three other people and two puppies constantly causing some sort of commotion. (On a side note, I had to laugh at the absolutely baffled expression on my dad’s face when he walked into the room and saw me praying.) So I did what any normal, distracted person would do; I baked cookies. I just felt like if I wasn’t going to sit still then I might as well be productive. There was something so calming about going through the steps in a process I have done a hundred times. I measured, I stirred, I rolled the dough. And with every step, I prayed for my friend. I can’t really explain it, but there was a rhythm, a balance between what I was doing and the prayers I was repeating. Being in motion made it easier to keep up a conversation with God.

As the cookies baked and cooled, I washed all the dishes (my family had dirtied the majority of the dishes in the cabinets making pancakes earlier) while enjoying the breeze from the open window above the sink. Again, I can’t explain it, but there was something about going through the familiar motions, with the sound of the faucet drowning out everything else, that made it easier to focus on my thoughts and prayers. 

So maybe the first step in learning how to be alone with God, for me anyway, is learning to use those solitary routine-ish times as an opportunity for reflection. 

There were other times during the week when I felt God calling me to spend time with him. As I said, it was not a great week, for no particular reason, and I was getting frustrated with myself for not being the joyful, cheery person I usually am. I guess everyone is entitled to be a grouch every now and then, but I think part of my frustration stemmed from the fact that I knew I needed to take time for spiritual renewal and I just wasn’t doing it. Just being stubborn, I kept thinking, “I can snap out of this on my own.” By Thursday, I acknowledged that that wasn’t going to happen. I was to the point where I was getting angry with people for stupid reasons, for things that weren’t their fault, and I finally conceded that it was time to work on getting to a better place. So Thursday after work, I took a walk. No music, no headphones; just me and the sidewalk and God, and I told myself that I wasn’t going to head for home until I had worked out exactly why I was in a funk. Four miles later, I had come to terms with what I was doing wrong, and I felt like I was starting make things right. I returned home and finished my reflection time with a bit of prayer doodling around James 1:19-20, which says, “Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry, because human anger does not produce the righteousness that God desires.” I just kind of stumbled upon this verse, and it was one of those moments where I read exactly what I needed to read, exactly when I needed to read it (God’s just amazing like that).

Saturday morning, I felt myself sort of slipping back into that angry, grouchy state of mind. I knew a little more solitude was in order, so I spent the early part of the day cleaning. Like, serious elbow-grease cleaning. I scrubbed my shower until it gleamed, even using a toothbrush to clean the grout, and that inspired me to just go ahead and give my whole bathroom a good deep clean. I even scrubbed the bathroom and kitchen floors, which I hardly ever do (thanks to the invention of the Swiffer). And as a result, I’m a little sore today. 

My mom loves cleaning because she says it is one of the few things we do that produce instant results. Cleaning and cooking—you see the fruits of your labor right away. I like it because it is a reminder that I am part of something bigger than me. How many mothers have taught their daughters how to bake cookies? How many people before me have labored over the grout in their showers or a sink full of dishes? How many times in my own life have I gone through those motions?

As much as I whine about being sore, those achy muscles are a blessing because they are a reminder of the time I spent in conversation with God this week; of the time I spent baking and washing and scrubbing, repeating routines that have been done for generations; and of the thankfulness I feel now, knowing that I have identified an aching for God’s presence in my life and have begun to find new ways to draw myself closer to Him.