I'm praising God that the bad weather has moved out of Memphis for the time being, and I'm saying a prayer for those who are in its path. There is a lot of destruction in the south right now.
My overprotective mother, whom I love dearly, has finally deemed it safe for me to sleep in my second-floor apartment. I wonder if her tendency to, um, overreact when bad weather strikes has something to do with my general feeling of nervousness over the past couple of days. It's nice to be watching basketball instead of scary weather maps for a change. I felt like I was starting to develop a friendship with the local meteorologist. (Although watching the Grizzlies play is currently making me very nervous. I can't get a break.)
I don't have a good segue for this... I have never given much thought to the concept of angels. I know they appear in the Bible, and I know many people believe in guardian angels, but it's just not something I have studied much about. Nor do I place much stock in the idea that our ancestors watch over us or interact with what goes on here on earth. But I have had moments, and I know my mom has too, because we've talked about it, where I can feel the presence of my late grandpa. My mom's parents were always around when I was growing up. They lived around the corner, and we saw them pretty much every day. They both passed away when I was in college.
Grandpa was, simply put, a really cool guy. He used to have a British sports car, and he would let my brother and me ride in it every year in the town Christmas parade. We were lucky if the engine held out until the end of the parade route, but we loved it. Grandpa could make anything, I was convinced. He made all of my doll furniture, which I still have, and a little wooden pontoon boat that had my name carved on it (pretty sure I still have that too). He is responsible for my love of Tervis tumblers. And my love of gadgets. He used to "trick out" his car by velcro-ing things inside it, like a trash can in the back seat. He even had a piece of velcro on the dash board to hold his money clip. I joke that my inheritance from him was a box of velcro. Actually, I'm only half joking. I really do have his old velcro box! And I've used it many times!
My grandpa was not very tech savvy. For a man who loved gadgety things, he certainly could not handle high-tech gadgets. He carried an old Nokia cell phone, and he taped a list of frequently dialed numbers to the outside of it. No point explaining that he could actually save the numbers inside the phone! But I loved that about him. This long story does have a point, which is that one day, years ago, I found him painstakingly creating a map of Shelby County and the surrounding counties. I'm pretty sure I had to type the county names for him (he and the computer were never friends). Then he glued them all into place, made copies, and began distributing these Mid-South maps to everyone he knew. He said they were for weather warnings--so that when the meteorologist reported weather conditions in a nearby county, he could easily locate the area they were talking about. I laughed it off. What a silly idea! (Just google it, right?)
Yesterday evening, as my family and I were preparing for more bad weather, I walked into the kitchen and found my mom in there... She was listening to the weatherman (who was reporting storms in some unheard-of counties) and studying that county map, which has been taped to the inside of a cabinet door for years. I cracked up. Who knew that old, low-tech, cut-and-paste map would actually come in handy?! There was something really comforting about seeing and using that old map. It really was one of those moments where I felt like Grandpa was looking down on us, possibly saying "I told you so," and reassuring us that we would be safe. I can't explain it any more than that. Those moments occur at the strangest times. But the thought that he was there with us calmed my fears and made me a lot less nervous than I had been the night before. Maybe I should go make myself a copy of that map...
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Storing up treasures in heaven... except for shoes. I love my shoes.
I was laughing earlier with a friend about how my last blog post probably didn't make any sense. (She inspired the title of this post--I told her I spent time saying goodbye to my apartment during a tornado warning yesterday, and that while I know I should store up treasures in heaven, I will really miss my shoes if they blow away in a storm!) I wrote the last post during a tornado warning, sitting in a pile of laundry at the bottom of my closet, listening to live feed of the local weatherman, and trying really hard to concentrate on God instead of on my mounting panic. I just went back and read it, and I was surprised to discover that I didn't sound nearly as scattered as I felt. I made it safely out of the storm and I still have all those same questions about discernment... and now there's yet another night of bad weather heading our way, so really this week has come full circle. I'm back where I started.
When did I become so afraid of storms? I used to love them. I loved listening to the rain and counting the seconds between the lightning and the claps of thunder. I loved a power outage, as long as it didn't last too long. Growing up in Tornado Alley, I have many fond memories of reading by flashlight as we hunkered down in the back stairway or the downstairs bathroom. Maybe it's because I live by myself... or because I live on the second floor... or because I can't tear myself away from the TV and those scary weather maps... whatever it is, I have become extremely nervous about bad weather.
I think we're suffering from bad weather information overload. A few weeks ago, we had a tornado warning during the school day, and we had to evacuate all the children into the halls. It looked downright terrifying outside--there had to be something out there. But I stayed calm. I encouraged kids who looked scared, I explained the difference between tornado watches and warnings to some inquisitive third grade girls, I chatted with coworkers. I'd like to think I did all of this because I understood the importance of remaining calm and looking unworried in front of the children, but I don't think that was it. I really think it was just because I had no idea what was going on outside. Did you know that meteorologists can track a storm's location to the exact street? That's crazy! I found my exact location on Google Maps yesterday, compared it with the weather map on TV, and decided I wasn't moving to my safe spot until my exact street was under attack. The weather people are making me neurotic. The tornado sirens went off yesterday not because a tornado had actually been spotted, but because the weather radar indicated that conditions may in the future produce something resembling a tornado. What...? Today, the national weather service has basically created a new color on the map to emphasize how much danger we are all in. In case you're wondering what's worse than red, it's white. What on earth is coming our way?! We have about four hours until this tornadopocalypse happens, and I don't know what to do with myself. I'm a nervous wreck. If only I didn't know what was coming!
And, funny, the one thing I never remember to do when I get in storm panic mode is take it to God. I get too worked up to ask Him to calm me down. It makes me think of that song-"No storm can shake my inmost calm, while to this Rock I'm clinging..." I'm praying today for safety for the Mid-South, and I'm praying that I will spend tonight remembering to cling to my Rock, instead of worrying about weather events that are entirely out of my control.
When did I become so afraid of storms? I used to love them. I loved listening to the rain and counting the seconds between the lightning and the claps of thunder. I loved a power outage, as long as it didn't last too long. Growing up in Tornado Alley, I have many fond memories of reading by flashlight as we hunkered down in the back stairway or the downstairs bathroom. Maybe it's because I live by myself... or because I live on the second floor... or because I can't tear myself away from the TV and those scary weather maps... whatever it is, I have become extremely nervous about bad weather.
I think we're suffering from bad weather information overload. A few weeks ago, we had a tornado warning during the school day, and we had to evacuate all the children into the halls. It looked downright terrifying outside--there had to be something out there. But I stayed calm. I encouraged kids who looked scared, I explained the difference between tornado watches and warnings to some inquisitive third grade girls, I chatted with coworkers. I'd like to think I did all of this because I understood the importance of remaining calm and looking unworried in front of the children, but I don't think that was it. I really think it was just because I had no idea what was going on outside. Did you know that meteorologists can track a storm's location to the exact street? That's crazy! I found my exact location on Google Maps yesterday, compared it with the weather map on TV, and decided I wasn't moving to my safe spot until my exact street was under attack. The weather people are making me neurotic. The tornado sirens went off yesterday not because a tornado had actually been spotted, but because the weather radar indicated that conditions may in the future produce something resembling a tornado. What...? Today, the national weather service has basically created a new color on the map to emphasize how much danger we are all in. In case you're wondering what's worse than red, it's white. What on earth is coming our way?! We have about four hours until this tornadopocalypse happens, and I don't know what to do with myself. I'm a nervous wreck. If only I didn't know what was coming!
And, funny, the one thing I never remember to do when I get in storm panic mode is take it to God. I get too worked up to ask Him to calm me down. It makes me think of that song-"No storm can shake my inmost calm, while to this Rock I'm clinging..." I'm praying today for safety for the Mid-South, and I'm praying that I will spend tonight remembering to cling to my Rock, instead of worrying about weather events that are entirely out of my control.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Confusion and discernment... but mostly just confusion.
I'm sitting in my closet right now, waiting out a tornado warning... what better time to type some thoughts about God than when I'm surrounded by his terrifying, awesome storm? And funny that as I sit here waiting, the subject of waiting, and of listening to God, has been heavy on my heart.
I think that even early on in my life, God was amused by my attempt to make my own plans. When I was in grade school and people asked me what I wanted to be when I grow up, my answer was always, "Anything but a teacher!" He's really laughing it up now, I bet.
But what do you know... I'm in my fifth year of being an educator, and I can't imagine that God would have made me anything else. I fought him for a long time--all the way to grad school, in fact--but looking back, I sure am glad I finally put my own plans aside and listened to what He wanted.
One of the hardest things for me to do is to surrender my plans and rely fully on God. In every situation. I just have a hard time with the idea that I should pray boldly for what I want, yet still pray for His plans to be made known to me. How do those two things go together? I feel sometimes like I am in a period of waiting. I'm praying for things, waiting patiently for answers (well... as patiently as I can), and trying to be obedient while I discern his answers.
And discernment... that's a discipline--a gift, even--that I'm not sure I have. I'm so full of doubt and worry and second-guessing. How do I know if I'm hearing His answers? How do I know that I'm asking the right questions? And, oh my goodness, I'm so worried about what will happen if he tells me no!
I don't have any answers here (surprised?) I'm just sitting in a closet, worried about things that I need to surrender to God, and listening for His voice among the howling winds outside. Hopefully the wind will die down soon and I'll hear His voice in the silence...
I think that even early on in my life, God was amused by my attempt to make my own plans. When I was in grade school and people asked me what I wanted to be when I grow up, my answer was always, "Anything but a teacher!" He's really laughing it up now, I bet.
But what do you know... I'm in my fifth year of being an educator, and I can't imagine that God would have made me anything else. I fought him for a long time--all the way to grad school, in fact--but looking back, I sure am glad I finally put my own plans aside and listened to what He wanted.
One of the hardest things for me to do is to surrender my plans and rely fully on God. In every situation. I just have a hard time with the idea that I should pray boldly for what I want, yet still pray for His plans to be made known to me. How do those two things go together? I feel sometimes like I am in a period of waiting. I'm praying for things, waiting patiently for answers (well... as patiently as I can), and trying to be obedient while I discern his answers.
And discernment... that's a discipline--a gift, even--that I'm not sure I have. I'm so full of doubt and worry and second-guessing. How do I know if I'm hearing His answers? How do I know that I'm asking the right questions? And, oh my goodness, I'm so worried about what will happen if he tells me no!
I don't have any answers here (surprised?) I'm just sitting in a closet, worried about things that I need to surrender to God, and listening for His voice among the howling winds outside. Hopefully the wind will die down soon and I'll hear His voice in the silence...
Sunday, April 17, 2011
The blessing and burden of prayer
I was fortunate last weekend to spend some quality time with a great group of teenage girls. Over dinner, they shared with me their belief that having Christian friends doesn't mean that their conversations and their times spent together always have to be focused on God. Perhaps this comment was made to justify the random ramblings they find themselves in during their small group Bible study. (On a side note, those rambling conversations are always the best, aren't they?) I think it is wonderful that these girls want to spend time together in and outside of church. I think it's great that they have a group of Christian friends with whom they prefer to spend their time. It seems awfully mature for teenagers to come to the realization that fellowship with other believers can be casual and fun.
In the past, I have been guilty of compartmentalizing my friends. In college, I had party friends, church friends, psychology major friends, music department friends, and dorm friends. Those groups didn't really overlap, except for those random times when someone from my abnormal psych class would show up at my friends' Halloween party. Even in high school I had separate church friends and school friends. As I've grown older and settled into my post-college life, I have come to know the joy of having meaningful, Christ-centered friendships. I have close friends at work with whom I can discuss matters of faith. I have close friends at church with whom I can have a good time. And I love when my worlds collide and new friendships are formed.
I agree with the girls I mentioned before--not all time spent with Christian friends has to be spent studying the Bible. But you miss out on some wonderful opportunities for growth if you don't open yourself up to some Christ-centered discussion and reflection. One of the greatest joys of Christian friendship is prayer, and this is not something I've always been comfortable with. As I hinted in the title of this post, I see prayer as a blessing but sometimes a burden as well. I have mentioned before that it has been difficult in the past for me to share my prayer requests with others. That's the "burden" part. I often feel like I am imposing, like I'm asking too much of my friends when I pile my personal prayer requests on top of them. Are my problems too insignificant to warrant asking for prayers? What if my friends are dealing with more serious issues than I am? I don't want to burden them with my problems.
On the other hand, being connected to others through shared prayer is such a blessing. I love praying intentionally, and I like having specific causes and people to lift up. I am so thankful for the opportunity to show my love for my friends by taking on their burdens, by praying for them and their struggles. The truly beautiful moments in Christian friendship occur when we allow ourselves to be vulnerable in front of our friends. God gave us to each other to make the journey... well, I was going to say easier, but I don't think that's the right word. More interesting, maybe. More meaningful. Proverbs 27:17 says, "As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another." And in Ecclesiastes 4:12: "A cord of three strands is not easily broken." God clearly has plans in mind for us when he gives us to each other in friendship. I'm so thankful for the ways my friends have sharpened me and strengthened me. I'm thankful for the friends who allow me to be raw and broken and vulnerable, and who trust and love me enough to be vulnerable in front of me.
Winnie the Pooh always sums friendship up perfectly. Here are a few gems to wrap this up, because honestly, that bear always says exactly what I'm thinking.
"You can't stay in your corner of the Forest waiting for others to come to you. You have to go to them sometimes."
"If there ever comes a day when we can't be together, keep me in your heart, I'll stay there forever."
And, of course, the best for last:
"It is more fun to talk with someone who doesn't use long, difficult words but rather short, easy words like 'What about lunch?'"
In the past, I have been guilty of compartmentalizing my friends. In college, I had party friends, church friends, psychology major friends, music department friends, and dorm friends. Those groups didn't really overlap, except for those random times when someone from my abnormal psych class would show up at my friends' Halloween party. Even in high school I had separate church friends and school friends. As I've grown older and settled into my post-college life, I have come to know the joy of having meaningful, Christ-centered friendships. I have close friends at work with whom I can discuss matters of faith. I have close friends at church with whom I can have a good time. And I love when my worlds collide and new friendships are formed.
I agree with the girls I mentioned before--not all time spent with Christian friends has to be spent studying the Bible. But you miss out on some wonderful opportunities for growth if you don't open yourself up to some Christ-centered discussion and reflection. One of the greatest joys of Christian friendship is prayer, and this is not something I've always been comfortable with. As I hinted in the title of this post, I see prayer as a blessing but sometimes a burden as well. I have mentioned before that it has been difficult in the past for me to share my prayer requests with others. That's the "burden" part. I often feel like I am imposing, like I'm asking too much of my friends when I pile my personal prayer requests on top of them. Are my problems too insignificant to warrant asking for prayers? What if my friends are dealing with more serious issues than I am? I don't want to burden them with my problems.
On the other hand, being connected to others through shared prayer is such a blessing. I love praying intentionally, and I like having specific causes and people to lift up. I am so thankful for the opportunity to show my love for my friends by taking on their burdens, by praying for them and their struggles. The truly beautiful moments in Christian friendship occur when we allow ourselves to be vulnerable in front of our friends. God gave us to each other to make the journey... well, I was going to say easier, but I don't think that's the right word. More interesting, maybe. More meaningful. Proverbs 27:17 says, "As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another." And in Ecclesiastes 4:12: "A cord of three strands is not easily broken." God clearly has plans in mind for us when he gives us to each other in friendship. I'm so thankful for the ways my friends have sharpened me and strengthened me. I'm thankful for the friends who allow me to be raw and broken and vulnerable, and who trust and love me enough to be vulnerable in front of me.
Winnie the Pooh always sums friendship up perfectly. Here are a few gems to wrap this up, because honestly, that bear always says exactly what I'm thinking.
"You can't stay in your corner of the Forest waiting for others to come to you. You have to go to them sometimes."
"If there ever comes a day when we can't be together, keep me in your heart, I'll stay there forever."
And, of course, the best for last:
"It is more fun to talk with someone who doesn't use long, difficult words but rather short, easy words like 'What about lunch?'"
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Sandpaper.
I shared this story with some youth on Sunday night, and I decided to share it here too, just so I can talk more about how God is amazing!
As I've mentioned a zillion times, this past year has been one of incredible growth for me. One pivotal moment during this time was the Sunday that our minister preached about Sandpaper People. I wish I had the transcript of this sermon to share, because he said it a lot better than I ever could. Basically, as followers of Christ, we are called to love, but there are inevitably some people who are just hard to love. For whatever reason, we all know people who are tiring, trying, who rub us the wrong way--they are our "sandpaper people." I know these people. They are my neighbors, my coworkers, sometimes even my friends. I'm impatient and I struggle with extending grace to those who frustrate me or who don't make my life easier; therefore, I have lots of sandpaper people. I'm not proud of that. My way of dealing with these people, should I get to the point where I want to do something about it, is to pray something like, "Dear God, please don't let so-and-so get on my nerves today." Surprisingly (ha), that doesn't work.
Our minister offered a solution in his sermon: we are called to pray for our sandpaper people. Not the selfish prayer I was offering up, but an honest, heartfelt prayer about each person. I was resistant to this at first. I didn't want to spend my time praying for people I don't like! But I got to a point where I really didn't have another choice. So I chose a couple of sandpaper people to start with, and every night before I went to bed, I would say a prayer for those people. Something along the lines of "Please work in so-and-so's life and help him/her live out your plan." It was a small gesture, but I did it every day. I wasn't sure what I expected to happen... and I shouldn't have been surprised when I started to notice a change. The people I was praying for weren't changing--not in ways I could detect, anyway. My heart was changing. I've always been a little skeptical of people who say things like, "God changed my heart!" I don't know why... probably because I'd never really noticed that happening. (Not that it wasn't happening; I just wasn't open and receptive to it.) I don't know if I can fully explain how this little experiment has changed me. I am more tolerant and more patient of these people who push my buttons... but more than that, I have found that it is possible, and not difficult, for me to love them. What a blessing!
I encourage you to try this. If there is someone in your life who tends to rub you the wrong way, pray for them. Truly pray for that person, an unselfish and honest prayer. Do this constantly. And I promise, your heart will be changed. If God can change my hard heart, I have no doubt that He can change yours too.
As I've mentioned a zillion times, this past year has been one of incredible growth for me. One pivotal moment during this time was the Sunday that our minister preached about Sandpaper People. I wish I had the transcript of this sermon to share, because he said it a lot better than I ever could. Basically, as followers of Christ, we are called to love, but there are inevitably some people who are just hard to love. For whatever reason, we all know people who are tiring, trying, who rub us the wrong way--they are our "sandpaper people." I know these people. They are my neighbors, my coworkers, sometimes even my friends. I'm impatient and I struggle with extending grace to those who frustrate me or who don't make my life easier; therefore, I have lots of sandpaper people. I'm not proud of that. My way of dealing with these people, should I get to the point where I want to do something about it, is to pray something like, "Dear God, please don't let so-and-so get on my nerves today." Surprisingly (ha), that doesn't work.
Our minister offered a solution in his sermon: we are called to pray for our sandpaper people. Not the selfish prayer I was offering up, but an honest, heartfelt prayer about each person. I was resistant to this at first. I didn't want to spend my time praying for people I don't like! But I got to a point where I really didn't have another choice. So I chose a couple of sandpaper people to start with, and every night before I went to bed, I would say a prayer for those people. Something along the lines of "Please work in so-and-so's life and help him/her live out your plan." It was a small gesture, but I did it every day. I wasn't sure what I expected to happen... and I shouldn't have been surprised when I started to notice a change. The people I was praying for weren't changing--not in ways I could detect, anyway. My heart was changing. I've always been a little skeptical of people who say things like, "God changed my heart!" I don't know why... probably because I'd never really noticed that happening. (Not that it wasn't happening; I just wasn't open and receptive to it.) I don't know if I can fully explain how this little experiment has changed me. I am more tolerant and more patient of these people who push my buttons... but more than that, I have found that it is possible, and not difficult, for me to love them. What a blessing!
I encourage you to try this. If there is someone in your life who tends to rub you the wrong way, pray for them. Truly pray for that person, an unselfish and honest prayer. Do this constantly. And I promise, your heart will be changed. If God can change my hard heart, I have no doubt that He can change yours too.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
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.
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.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
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.
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.
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