Last week I read a soul-stirring devotional written by a dear friend's husband. The topic was on praying for God to give us our daily bread. He made the comparison of us receiving daily bread much like a hungry child consumes a meal -- taking big bites, scarfing it down quickly with no time to savor, eating as if she will never see food again. In my house, the chief goal of completing dinner is to get to DESSERT! Just as children can be greedy consumers, so can I. As quickly as I receive God's provision in the midst of a crazy day, I often go on to act like He won't provide for tomorrow's problems. So I worry and stir the waters of anxiety in my soul.
Part of the problem is not taking "small bites", not savoring what God gives and letting it nourish trust in my starved soul. But a bigger problem for me is not liking God's provision. I want to hurry through the unpleasant to get to dessert. Let me learn my lessons fast, so God will bring me blessing. I'm not willing to savor the ongoing process of God nourishing my soul over time. I want the quick and tasty spiritual blessings of peace and joy and love! ( Forget longsuffering, self-control and patience!)
As I was processing this devotional the other morning, God brought a phrase from Psalm 23 to mind: "You prepare a table for me in the presence of my enemies." The meaning for me was instantly clear: God is providing for me even when I feel oppressed. Oppression is my enemy and is often accompanied by Despair, Anger, Unforgiveness and Self-Pity. When difficulties mount and pain swells, I am quite sure God is not providing for me. I want my daily bread to be sweet, yummy and easy to swallow. Anything less and I question the goodness of the One offering it.
But what if daily bread sometimes comes packaged differently? What if God is actually nourishing my soul with a crazy diet of frustrated goals, relational pain and unmet longings? To be perfectly frank, what I really want is to feed myself. I would love a spiritual "meal planner" that left me inspired, motivated and more righteous. I would like a 7-point plan for following God and having victory. But I don't want to be reduced to a place of neediness and total dependence on God's provision. That feels scary and very out-of-control.
But I am suspecting that is precisely why God brings a crazy diet of dashed dreams, disappointments and pain. He is bringing me to the end of feeding myself. He is reducing me to a place of need, so to give me the spiritual food that really satisfies. He is giving me the faith of a child and feeding me with simple truthes. God is good. He can be trusted. He works ALL things to His good. Jesus loves me. Nothing can separate me from God's love.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Best Efforts
This morning I got out a recipe for soup to make for dinner tonight, made a grocery list and laid plans to cook dinner before the afternoon driving started! But my efforts at organization were once again FOILED when the recipe disappeared! A thirty minute search failed to located it! A quick google search failed to find it! Where is the black hole in my house that so many things seem to disappear into: a lone flip-flop, a book of stamps, the dog's choke collar, important papers, a textbook. . . ?!!!
The lost recipe today seems like such a metaphor for my life: good intentions -- focused effort -- thwarted outcome. I am tired of trying and feeling crossed at every turn. I want control and it continues to elude me. It happened in school today when the boys whined, complained, evaded, distracted, disrupted and teased. What I want for them is good. Why is it so hard to achieve? Why does gratitude and self-discipline seem to disappear down that black hole with my recipe?
I was so tired and defeated by 3:00, I actually did something that is normally unthinkeable in the middle of the day. I pulled out a Bible and let it fall open to the first chapter of James:
Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing
of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be
perfect and complete, lacking in nothing. (verses 2-4)
What I hate more than losing things is feeling like my best efforts don't matter. And here is James saying, "take another look at these hard things. . . they matter. . . they serve a purpose. . . . they are re-making you and bringing wholeness and hope into your life. Look at trials in the right light and you can actually be thankful for them, even joyful."
Bring it, Lord. Change my perspective. Help me embrace the black hole as an instrument in Your hand. Let me believe that in "taking away" you are working to complete me. Give me joy in the midst of hard.
(The funny thing about the lost recipe is that it forced me to make the soup from memory. I had to "wing it" and the result was surprisingly delicious. Mmmmm. . . . I think God was highlighting the message for me.)
The lost recipe today seems like such a metaphor for my life: good intentions -- focused effort -- thwarted outcome. I am tired of trying and feeling crossed at every turn. I want control and it continues to elude me. It happened in school today when the boys whined, complained, evaded, distracted, disrupted and teased. What I want for them is good. Why is it so hard to achieve? Why does gratitude and self-discipline seem to disappear down that black hole with my recipe?
I was so tired and defeated by 3:00, I actually did something that is normally unthinkeable in the middle of the day. I pulled out a Bible and let it fall open to the first chapter of James:
Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing
of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be
perfect and complete, lacking in nothing. (verses 2-4)
What I hate more than losing things is feeling like my best efforts don't matter. And here is James saying, "take another look at these hard things. . . they matter. . . they serve a purpose. . . . they are re-making you and bringing wholeness and hope into your life. Look at trials in the right light and you can actually be thankful for them, even joyful."
Bring it, Lord. Change my perspective. Help me embrace the black hole as an instrument in Your hand. Let me believe that in "taking away" you are working to complete me. Give me joy in the midst of hard.
(The funny thing about the lost recipe is that it forced me to make the soup from memory. I had to "wing it" and the result was surprisingly delicious. Mmmmm. . . . I think God was highlighting the message for me.)
Sunday, January 8, 2012
A Word for the Year
For me, a new year usually begins with fresh resolutions. I love the blank page and the newness that suggests a better year. More organization, discipline in exercise, healthy eating, reading good books: these are common themes that I can energetically rally around in January of each year.
But this year a dear friend suggested to me choosing a word for the year, instead of composing a list of resolutions. This word would incorporate a character quality that I would try to practice throughout the year. Mmmmm. . . . this intrigued me and I was immediately besieged with a list of characters qualities I would like to have more of: patience, gratitude, humility, etc. . . !! How to choose?!
God scooped out a space in my heart. I wanted a word that I could plant and nurture and grow. Five days later as I sat in church, God dropped the word like a seed into the soil of my heart: YIELDEDNESS. I didn't hear the word in a song or the sermon. It's not a word I use. And my spell check does note even recognize it! But in the stillness of a worship service, God pressed this word into my heart.
As God is so capable of doing, He had already been doing groundwork to prepare me. The day before was one of the last days of Christmas vacation and I had designated it to be my "workday". Mark agreed to take the kids and I planned to work on lesson plans. I was staring down a demanding January and February and desperately needed to get some advance planning accomplished. I had two places I needed to go and the rest of the day at my disposal. But these were not simply places to go; they were people to visit. Five minutes at my parents became an hour of conversation. Ten minutes with a friend became a lengthy intervention about her health challenges. No doubt, I was meant to linger at each place. But my "work time" was largely sacrificed. As I drove home, I could feel anxiety rising and God speaking, "You can trust me with this. This was my plan for you today. Trust me."
I didn't get my work done that night and the next day God spoke the word "yieldedness" to me. Immediately, I knew that this was a variation on an emerging theme in my life: radical dependency. A few years ago I finally figured out that life really was too big for me. I didn't have enough organization, enough energy or enough wisdom to "make life work". Every day was big and unpredictable and I pictured myself as a toddler holding both of her daddy's hands just to walk across the room. Life was big and I needed God to be bigger in my life.
Yieldedness means laying down my desires every day. It means offering up my "to do" list and submitting my agenda, however good, for God's agenda. Yieldedness is laying down my tendency to control people and circumstances in an attempt to keep my life manageable. Yieldedness may look impractical and inefficient and even foolish. It is not a formula, but more of a posture. Yieldedness is rooted in the belief that God's ways are better than my ways. It comes from a heart that doubts my own wisdom, but trusts God's.
Yieldedness is a tall order for this girl who loves control and competency. It's like falling out a plane day after day. But what I'm really doing is falling on my Father day after day. The fall is scary, but the landing is sure. His arms are safe, His ways are trustworthy.
The day after "the word," I opened my Bible to begin reading through Psalms. I read these words in the first Psalm: "Blessed is the man who does not walk in the counsel of wicked, or stand in the way of sinners or sit in the seat of mockers. But, his delight is in the law of the LORD, and on his law he meditates day and night. He is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season. . . " (v. 1-3) This was God's sweet confirmation of "the word for the year" and His encouragement that "yieldedness" is not only hard work, but a brings sweet fruit.
But this year a dear friend suggested to me choosing a word for the year, instead of composing a list of resolutions. This word would incorporate a character quality that I would try to practice throughout the year. Mmmmm. . . . this intrigued me and I was immediately besieged with a list of characters qualities I would like to have more of: patience, gratitude, humility, etc. . . !! How to choose?!
God scooped out a space in my heart. I wanted a word that I could plant and nurture and grow. Five days later as I sat in church, God dropped the word like a seed into the soil of my heart: YIELDEDNESS. I didn't hear the word in a song or the sermon. It's not a word I use. And my spell check does note even recognize it! But in the stillness of a worship service, God pressed this word into my heart.
As God is so capable of doing, He had already been doing groundwork to prepare me. The day before was one of the last days of Christmas vacation and I had designated it to be my "workday". Mark agreed to take the kids and I planned to work on lesson plans. I was staring down a demanding January and February and desperately needed to get some advance planning accomplished. I had two places I needed to go and the rest of the day at my disposal. But these were not simply places to go; they were people to visit. Five minutes at my parents became an hour of conversation. Ten minutes with a friend became a lengthy intervention about her health challenges. No doubt, I was meant to linger at each place. But my "work time" was largely sacrificed. As I drove home, I could feel anxiety rising and God speaking, "You can trust me with this. This was my plan for you today. Trust me."
I didn't get my work done that night and the next day God spoke the word "yieldedness" to me. Immediately, I knew that this was a variation on an emerging theme in my life: radical dependency. A few years ago I finally figured out that life really was too big for me. I didn't have enough organization, enough energy or enough wisdom to "make life work". Every day was big and unpredictable and I pictured myself as a toddler holding both of her daddy's hands just to walk across the room. Life was big and I needed God to be bigger in my life.
Yieldedness means laying down my desires every day. It means offering up my "to do" list and submitting my agenda, however good, for God's agenda. Yieldedness is laying down my tendency to control people and circumstances in an attempt to keep my life manageable. Yieldedness may look impractical and inefficient and even foolish. It is not a formula, but more of a posture. Yieldedness is rooted in the belief that God's ways are better than my ways. It comes from a heart that doubts my own wisdom, but trusts God's.
Yieldedness is a tall order for this girl who loves control and competency. It's like falling out a plane day after day. But what I'm really doing is falling on my Father day after day. The fall is scary, but the landing is sure. His arms are safe, His ways are trustworthy.
The day after "the word," I opened my Bible to begin reading through Psalms. I read these words in the first Psalm: "Blessed is the man who does not walk in the counsel of wicked, or stand in the way of sinners or sit in the seat of mockers. But, his delight is in the law of the LORD, and on his law he meditates day and night. He is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season. . . " (v. 1-3) This was God's sweet confirmation of "the word for the year" and His encouragement that "yieldedness" is not only hard work, but a brings sweet fruit.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Rules for Relationship
Christmas seems to juxtapose the holy and the hectic, gratitude and grumbling; reflective worship and stressful frenzy. I so desperately want to keep my focus on the gift of Christ. Yet Jesus drifts to my periphery while demands and tasks occupy my focus. I'm a first born "Martha" who works like crazy in the kitchen, doing all the responsible stuff and resenting those who seem so nonchalant, relaxed. . . and unhelpful!! Yesterday was Christmas Eve and my prayer from the moment I woke up was "Jesus, let me worship. I have a mountain of work to do, but let me worship You even as I work. Let me not succumb to stress and driven-ness."
But, there is a crazy prerequisite to worship and that is repentance. I suspect that my reluctance to worship is rooted in the my reluctance to repent. You see, even though I want to worship Jesus, there is something that I love more than Jesus: my rules. Although grace has freed me from the rules of religion, I am still imprisoned by the rules for relationship that I have created for myself. Ironically, these rules are never more apparent than at Christmas! Somehow that toxic mix of family togetherness, expectations and busy-ness often brings more disappointment than joy, anger than gladness, isolation than intimacy.
My rules are subtle and seem justifiable, and not easily recognized. But, when anger and judgementalness rear their ugly heads, I can follow their trail and find they originate in my rules for relationship. Here is just a sampling: "It must be nice for ________ to sit and watch t.v., while I have been on my feet all day." "Why am I the only one working?" "After all I've done, not a single person has said thank you." "I'm just a commodity -- people only value me for what I do." "I can't believe how selfish _______________is!"
I don't think my rules are unreasonable. (Don't all reasonable people keep these same rules?!) But, when these rules are broken, even inadvertently, by those close to me, I explode or escape. Sadly, those closest to me experience my anger as I try to shame them into living by the rules. But just as ugly is when I am silent. I retreat with my "friends" self-pity, resentment and cynicism. I isolate myself and let my heart shrivel under the urging of my false friends. I choose the seeming safety of self-protection and withdrawal, but it is death to my heart. I am imprisoned by my rules.
I need to be rescued. And THIS is the essence of Christmas: Jesus came to rescue me. . . from my failures, my hurtfulness, my sin AND from my rules. Jesus came because rules are not enough. The Ten Commandments could not save the Jews and my "rules for relationship" cannot save me. Paul says it so clearly when he writes to the Romans:
"Therefore no one will be declared righteous in his sight by observing the law (RULES!); rather
through the law we become conscious of sin. But now a righteousness from God, apart from law,
has been made known to which the Law and the Prophets testify. This righteousness from God
comes through faith in Jesus Christ to all who believe. . . . for all have sinned and fall short of the
glory of God, and are justified freely by His grace through the redemption that came by Christ
Jesus." (Romans 3: 20-24)
I think I like living by my rules, because it makes me feel in control. I get angry when my rules are broken, because I'm not in control. To repent and receive grace is to lose control. It feels like jumping out of a plane without a working parachute. Such helplessness seems crazy, ill-advised, foolish! But I am never jumping alone. Jesus is taking the jump with me and guiding me to a safe landing.
So on Christmas Eve, as my heart was filled with a the pressure of "things to do" and a litany of injustice done to me, I felt Jesus pulling me out of the plane. I didn't want to repent, but I did want to worship. I wanted to exchange my critical spirit and anger, for joy and peace. And Jesus so kindly replayed for me how I constantly violated His rule of love. Simply by judging others, I was a rule-breaker. I repented -- "Jesus I am sorry. Show me how to love. Show me how to serve without expectation." I jumped out of the plane and landed in a sweet place of worship.
And it occurs to me that Jesus not only came to save me from my rules, but He came in a way that broke all of the rules. It wasn't fair that He had to come to earth to save people who had repeatedly turned their back on God. He didn't deserve being born into a poor Jewish family in a barn. He didn't deserve the scorn of religious leaders and the rejection by so many people. Ultimately, he didn't deserve death. But Jesus loved mercy more than justice. He broke the rules, so I could have a forever relationship with God. The realization makes me want to worship again and again. I'll keep jumping out of the plane of my safety to know a God who loves me that much.
"Joy to the World, the Lord has come;
Let earth receive her king;
Let every heart prepare Him room;
And heaven and nature sing, and heaven and nature sing,
And heaven, and heaven and nature sing.
He rules the world with truth and grace
And makes the nations prove.
The glories of His righteousness
And wonders of His love, and wonders of His love
And wonders, wonders of His love."
But, there is a crazy prerequisite to worship and that is repentance. I suspect that my reluctance to worship is rooted in the my reluctance to repent. You see, even though I want to worship Jesus, there is something that I love more than Jesus: my rules. Although grace has freed me from the rules of religion, I am still imprisoned by the rules for relationship that I have created for myself. Ironically, these rules are never more apparent than at Christmas! Somehow that toxic mix of family togetherness, expectations and busy-ness often brings more disappointment than joy, anger than gladness, isolation than intimacy.
My rules are subtle and seem justifiable, and not easily recognized. But, when anger and judgementalness rear their ugly heads, I can follow their trail and find they originate in my rules for relationship. Here is just a sampling: "It must be nice for ________ to sit and watch t.v., while I have been on my feet all day." "Why am I the only one working?" "After all I've done, not a single person has said thank you." "I'm just a commodity -- people only value me for what I do." "I can't believe how selfish _______________is!"
I don't think my rules are unreasonable. (Don't all reasonable people keep these same rules?!) But, when these rules are broken, even inadvertently, by those close to me, I explode or escape. Sadly, those closest to me experience my anger as I try to shame them into living by the rules. But just as ugly is when I am silent. I retreat with my "friends" self-pity, resentment and cynicism. I isolate myself and let my heart shrivel under the urging of my false friends. I choose the seeming safety of self-protection and withdrawal, but it is death to my heart. I am imprisoned by my rules.
I need to be rescued. And THIS is the essence of Christmas: Jesus came to rescue me. . . from my failures, my hurtfulness, my sin AND from my rules. Jesus came because rules are not enough. The Ten Commandments could not save the Jews and my "rules for relationship" cannot save me. Paul says it so clearly when he writes to the Romans:
"Therefore no one will be declared righteous in his sight by observing the law (RULES!); rather
through the law we become conscious of sin. But now a righteousness from God, apart from law,
has been made known to which the Law and the Prophets testify. This righteousness from God
comes through faith in Jesus Christ to all who believe. . . . for all have sinned and fall short of the
glory of God, and are justified freely by His grace through the redemption that came by Christ
Jesus." (Romans 3: 20-24)
I think I like living by my rules, because it makes me feel in control. I get angry when my rules are broken, because I'm not in control. To repent and receive grace is to lose control. It feels like jumping out of a plane without a working parachute. Such helplessness seems crazy, ill-advised, foolish! But I am never jumping alone. Jesus is taking the jump with me and guiding me to a safe landing.
So on Christmas Eve, as my heart was filled with a the pressure of "things to do" and a litany of injustice done to me, I felt Jesus pulling me out of the plane. I didn't want to repent, but I did want to worship. I wanted to exchange my critical spirit and anger, for joy and peace. And Jesus so kindly replayed for me how I constantly violated His rule of love. Simply by judging others, I was a rule-breaker. I repented -- "Jesus I am sorry. Show me how to love. Show me how to serve without expectation." I jumped out of the plane and landed in a sweet place of worship.
And it occurs to me that Jesus not only came to save me from my rules, but He came in a way that broke all of the rules. It wasn't fair that He had to come to earth to save people who had repeatedly turned their back on God. He didn't deserve being born into a poor Jewish family in a barn. He didn't deserve the scorn of religious leaders and the rejection by so many people. Ultimately, he didn't deserve death. But Jesus loved mercy more than justice. He broke the rules, so I could have a forever relationship with God. The realization makes me want to worship again and again. I'll keep jumping out of the plane of my safety to know a God who loves me that much.
"Joy to the World, the Lord has come;
Let earth receive her king;
Let every heart prepare Him room;
And heaven and nature sing, and heaven and nature sing,
And heaven, and heaven and nature sing.
He rules the world with truth and grace
And makes the nations prove.
The glories of His righteousness
And wonders of His love, and wonders of His love
And wonders, wonders of His love."
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Miracle Moments
It is a miracle when a bad day ends well.
Yesterday morning I exchanged my agenda for God's. I asked Him to help me be intentional with my kids, to help me love them well and pursue their character over completion of school (although the two often go together). Evidently, this was an invitation to let all sorts of disruptions and craziness into the day. While there issues all around, Graciela was the biggest source of angst. The simple goal of helping her use her words and not cry for what she wants, became a herculean task (mind you, she is six!!). It seemed the more patient I was with her, the more emotionally explosive she became. Every task was met with resistance and tears. Even the most innocuous situations, evoked anger and accusation from her -- "everyone is making me cry!"
The first miracle was that I didn't follow my natural impulse of yelling at her. Patience is always a miracle for me. By the end of the day I felt like I'd been home with a crying infant all day -- that kind of exhaustion that leaves you moving like a robot with no energy for emotion. I was glad, no eager, to leave at 5:30 to take Joshua to basketball practice! And despite the cumulative fatigue, I pulled on some workout clothes and ran around the track while Josh practice. I exchanged my emotional fatigue for physical fatigue and somehow I felt better.
When I came home, the demands ensued. Graciela didn't want to go to bed. She wanted to print a picture off of the computer. No, I couldn't do it for her in the morning. She didn't like my pictures. She wanted it now. Why wouldn't I print the picture? Could she just color one before bed. . . . ad nauseum. Every impulse in me just wanted to throw her in bed, turn off the lights, close the door and RUN!! But, God showed up with another deposit of patience. Books were read, prayers were said. And then Graciela pierced my heart. . .
"Mommy, why did the babies die in your tummy?" Sometime in recent months, Graciela had learned that I had miscarried three babies at different times. Gracie is passionate about babies and of course this stirred her tender heart. But, we had never had this conversation. "Were they sick? What were their names? Do you miss them very much?" Her sweet face was so earnest and compassionate. And I was struck by the inexplicable mercy of God. Graciela was here with us, because Baby Hope had died. One life exchanged for another. Death bringing life. Pain giving way to joy. A baby living a thousands of miles away, born of another mother, miraculously brought to us.
At the end of a bad day, God reminded me. Pain is always redeemed in the story He is writing. Good can come of tragedy. And mercy is always raining down on us, even when we don't see it. A bad day and a good God who can speak to a tired mom through the words of a six year old.
Yesterday morning I exchanged my agenda for God's. I asked Him to help me be intentional with my kids, to help me love them well and pursue their character over completion of school (although the two often go together). Evidently, this was an invitation to let all sorts of disruptions and craziness into the day. While there issues all around, Graciela was the biggest source of angst. The simple goal of helping her use her words and not cry for what she wants, became a herculean task (mind you, she is six!!). It seemed the more patient I was with her, the more emotionally explosive she became. Every task was met with resistance and tears. Even the most innocuous situations, evoked anger and accusation from her -- "everyone is making me cry!"
The first miracle was that I didn't follow my natural impulse of yelling at her. Patience is always a miracle for me. By the end of the day I felt like I'd been home with a crying infant all day -- that kind of exhaustion that leaves you moving like a robot with no energy for emotion. I was glad, no eager, to leave at 5:30 to take Joshua to basketball practice! And despite the cumulative fatigue, I pulled on some workout clothes and ran around the track while Josh practice. I exchanged my emotional fatigue for physical fatigue and somehow I felt better.
When I came home, the demands ensued. Graciela didn't want to go to bed. She wanted to print a picture off of the computer. No, I couldn't do it for her in the morning. She didn't like my pictures. She wanted it now. Why wouldn't I print the picture? Could she just color one before bed. . . . ad nauseum. Every impulse in me just wanted to throw her in bed, turn off the lights, close the door and RUN!! But, God showed up with another deposit of patience. Books were read, prayers were said. And then Graciela pierced my heart. . .
"Mommy, why did the babies die in your tummy?" Sometime in recent months, Graciela had learned that I had miscarried three babies at different times. Gracie is passionate about babies and of course this stirred her tender heart. But, we had never had this conversation. "Were they sick? What were their names? Do you miss them very much?" Her sweet face was so earnest and compassionate. And I was struck by the inexplicable mercy of God. Graciela was here with us, because Baby Hope had died. One life exchanged for another. Death bringing life. Pain giving way to joy. A baby living a thousands of miles away, born of another mother, miraculously brought to us.
At the end of a bad day, God reminded me. Pain is always redeemed in the story He is writing. Good can come of tragedy. And mercy is always raining down on us, even when we don't see it. A bad day and a good God who can speak to a tired mom through the words of a six year old.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
"Desolation Wilderness"
Two weeks ago, Mark and I were sitting on the porch of the Blue Agave looking out at Lake Tahoe. We were enjoying the best Mexican food we had experienced in a long time, time alone and a beautiful view of the lake. But, my heart was very weary. "I don't think this weekend will be enough. I can't imagine going home refueled and ready for normal life." Having planned this weekend to celebrate our 20th wedding anniversary, these were not the words Mark wanted to hear from me. Normal life seemed unrelenting in its demands and increasingly, when I dug deep for the energy to push through each day, I was finding no reserve. I was coming up empty and even in a beautiful place, alone with my husband, I couldn't imagine ever recapturing the energy I needed. My tiredness seemed terminal.
The next day, we had planned a 10 mile hike into the Desolation Wilderness. If the name wasn't enough to inspire fear and trepidation, I was also extremely nervous about encountering bears. We'd seen too many in the Tetons summer before last and now there were only two of us. In the wilderness, especially the desolate wilderness, doesn't one expect to find wild things?! So with apprehension we started out early on a hike that I soon realized was a snapshot of my life.
The trail was comprised mainly of rocks: small, jagged rocks, huge floors of rock, rock steps, massive boulders. The first 2 miles, we ascended 2000 feet. Hiking was strenuous and exhausting. But, the vistas of mountains and Lake Tahoe in the distance were breathtaking. In the midst of exerting ourselves in the Desolation Wilderness, God showed up. Over the six hours of hiking, these are some of the truths God spoke into my weary heart.
The destination makes a journey's effort worthwhile. . . .
We eventually arrived at two pristine lakes: Upper Velma and Middle Velma. Upper Velma was my favorite. A small lake surrounding by mammoth boulders with an active stream flowing out of it. We sat by this stream, water skipping over a rocky bed, with our feet dangling in its cold waters. Several times we took our shoes and socks off to cross over, as we tried to follow the trail to Middle Velma. The water was cold, exhilarating, restoring. I became 10 years old again, thoroughly enchanted by such beauty and just wanting to play in the water. The rugged terrain and difficult hike had used every ounce of my strength and left my legs shaking. Every step I took I had to push down my fear of encountering a bear. But because of our perseverance, we arrived at a place of exquisite beauty. Daunting circumstances and personal exhaustion is only part of the story. Our destination was well worth the effort. Exhaustion gave way to exhilaration.
There is beauty on every journey. . .
The Desolation Wilderness really was desolate. There were lots of rocks and resilient, twisted pine trees. Ironically, we saw no wildlife apart from a very infrequent bird. The landscape was beautiful in a very haunting way. But there were surprises. We hiked through patches of snow and saw rock pools still filled with water from the spring run-off. We saw fragile wildflowers and large rocks that were inexplicably balanced. At one protected place on the mountain we came into a mini-forest that was suddenly lush with vegetation -- flowers, bushes and even ferns, all sustained by an underground spring. We were surprised by beauty long before we reached our destination.
It's easy to lose the path. . .
Because we were hiking across rocks, it was often hard to discern which way the trail went. There were many off-shoots that were actually dead-ends. Several times we had to stop and backtrack. Mark was good at looking for "signs" like the rock cairns that prior hikers had left. Without Mark, I would have easily lost my way. Difficult trails require trusted companions to help keep you on the right path. Godly friends are not optional. . . they are essential. Not only do they make the journey entirely more enjoyable; they speak the necessary truths to keep my feet on God's path, not detoured by my own pride, self-pity, exhaustion or desire for that elusive "easy button".
Find your pace. . .
My Dad use to say that I had two speeds: go fast and stop. That inborn tendency has only strengthened with age, although these days tiredness often wins over industriousness! I am all about conquering whatever mountain is in front of me! So when Mark and I were hiking, I was thrilled with how much faster we could go without carrying 25 lbs. backpacks. I mentioned this to Mark, who casually commented, "The important thing in hiking is to find your pace and stick with it." This comment was like a little pebble dropped into the pool of my soul. I thought nothing about it at the time, but several weeks later it came back to me as I reengaged with "normal" life and my typical "go fast/stop" pace. I realized that perhaps I needed to "find my pace" in life and stick with it. I needed to stop living off of passion and momentary bursts of energy and really ask God to give me His pace. Of course, this means sitting still and asking God, letting Him be my most trusted companion. It means putting one foot in front of the other in the tedious tasks of cooking, laundry, bathing kids, putting sheets on the bed. It means receiving moments of rest and not pushing through to get ahead of my to-do list in the elusive hope that I'll ever be "done"!
God loves me. . . .
Who am I, that God would transport me (via Mark!) across the country, simply to speak to my heart? Who else makes a sermon out of a hike? Who else brings beauty out of desolation and restores hope in the midst of exhaustion? I am a daughter who is humbled to realize that God stops at nothing to communicate His love for me.
The next day, we had planned a 10 mile hike into the Desolation Wilderness. If the name wasn't enough to inspire fear and trepidation, I was also extremely nervous about encountering bears. We'd seen too many in the Tetons summer before last and now there were only two of us. In the wilderness, especially the desolate wilderness, doesn't one expect to find wild things?! So with apprehension we started out early on a hike that I soon realized was a snapshot of my life.
The trail was comprised mainly of rocks: small, jagged rocks, huge floors of rock, rock steps, massive boulders. The first 2 miles, we ascended 2000 feet. Hiking was strenuous and exhausting. But, the vistas of mountains and Lake Tahoe in the distance were breathtaking. In the midst of exerting ourselves in the Desolation Wilderness, God showed up. Over the six hours of hiking, these are some of the truths God spoke into my weary heart.
The destination makes a journey's effort worthwhile. . . .
The Desolation Wilderness really was desolate. There were lots of rocks and resilient, twisted pine trees. Ironically, we saw no wildlife apart from a very infrequent bird. The landscape was beautiful in a very haunting way. But there were surprises. We hiked through patches of snow and saw rock pools still filled with water from the spring run-off. We saw fragile wildflowers and large rocks that were inexplicably balanced. At one protected place on the mountain we came into a mini-forest that was suddenly lush with vegetation -- flowers, bushes and even ferns, all sustained by an underground spring. We were surprised by beauty long before we reached our destination.
Because we were hiking across rocks, it was often hard to discern which way the trail went. There were many off-shoots that were actually dead-ends. Several times we had to stop and backtrack. Mark was good at looking for "signs" like the rock cairns that prior hikers had left. Without Mark, I would have easily lost my way. Difficult trails require trusted companions to help keep you on the right path. Godly friends are not optional. . . they are essential. Not only do they make the journey entirely more enjoyable; they speak the necessary truths to keep my feet on God's path, not detoured by my own pride, self-pity, exhaustion or desire for that elusive "easy button".
Find your pace. . .
My Dad use to say that I had two speeds: go fast and stop. That inborn tendency has only strengthened with age, although these days tiredness often wins over industriousness! I am all about conquering whatever mountain is in front of me! So when Mark and I were hiking, I was thrilled with how much faster we could go without carrying 25 lbs. backpacks. I mentioned this to Mark, who casually commented, "The important thing in hiking is to find your pace and stick with it." This comment was like a little pebble dropped into the pool of my soul. I thought nothing about it at the time, but several weeks later it came back to me as I reengaged with "normal" life and my typical "go fast/stop" pace. I realized that perhaps I needed to "find my pace" in life and stick with it. I needed to stop living off of passion and momentary bursts of energy and really ask God to give me His pace. Of course, this means sitting still and asking God, letting Him be my most trusted companion. It means putting one foot in front of the other in the tedious tasks of cooking, laundry, bathing kids, putting sheets on the bed. It means receiving moments of rest and not pushing through to get ahead of my to-do list in the elusive hope that I'll ever be "done"!
God loves me. . . .
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Out of the Corridor
In early March a small light appeared at the end of our seemingly endless tunnel. As we moved through March and into April, that light gradually grew brighter until on April 11th we suddenly found ourselves out of the corridor. Thirteen months of prayer were answered in the form of a job offer from Thomasbuilt Bus in High Point, NC! Mark accepted, we left for a week at the beach and upon our return, Mark started work on April 25th. Three weeks into this job, the reality of employment is actually beginning to settle upon us. Standing on the other side of those long months of unemployment, it feels like we've been given a new set of glasses that allows us to view those months very differently. Not being chosen for various jobs brought such disappointment to us. Now we are filled with gratitude. We are glad we didn't get that job that would have taken us to Nashville; we are glad we didn't say yes to a job offer in Denver; we are glad for the expected job offer that didn't materialize in February. This job, this company, this place was worth the wait. Closed doors were just pushing us towards the right door. Seeming rejection was protection. Momentary disappointment was preparing us for future joy.
All this underscores for me the importance of vision, of seeing things rightly. I so easily rely on my present circumstances, what I see right in front of me. But faith is like a pair of spiritual lens that allow you to see beyond. Faith is believing that God is still writing your story, even when it seems like you'll never move out of present difficulty and pain. Faith is believing that there is a bigger reality, even when I live with unanswered questions and when God seems silent. It is what the apostle Paul so eloquently speaks of when he writes, "Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." (2 Corinthians 4:16-18)
Another viewpoint on the corridor: with every hardship there is a blessing. We experienced financial, emotional, vocational and spiritual hardship. But, there was the blessing of having Mark involved in every day life. There was the blessing of moving at a slower pace and having lots of quality family time. There was the blessing of being so desperate for God, that we clearly saw His daily provision. There was the blessing of depending on others and being deeply cared for.
And in the ironic way that God so often works, we now experience new challenges with the blessing of a job. The very lessons we learned in the corridor we need in this new place. We need that spiritual vision to look beyond big demands and tiring days. We need to see the blessings in the midst of hard days. We still need to live desperate for God and inviting Him into ordinary days. Every day we need to embrace the bigger story: that our momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.
All this underscores for me the importance of vision, of seeing things rightly. I so easily rely on my present circumstances, what I see right in front of me. But faith is like a pair of spiritual lens that allow you to see beyond. Faith is believing that God is still writing your story, even when it seems like you'll never move out of present difficulty and pain. Faith is believing that there is a bigger reality, even when I live with unanswered questions and when God seems silent. It is what the apostle Paul so eloquently speaks of when he writes, "Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." (2 Corinthians 4:16-18)
Another viewpoint on the corridor: with every hardship there is a blessing. We experienced financial, emotional, vocational and spiritual hardship. But, there was the blessing of having Mark involved in every day life. There was the blessing of moving at a slower pace and having lots of quality family time. There was the blessing of being so desperate for God, that we clearly saw His daily provision. There was the blessing of depending on others and being deeply cared for.
And in the ironic way that God so often works, we now experience new challenges with the blessing of a job. The very lessons we learned in the corridor we need in this new place. We need that spiritual vision to look beyond big demands and tiring days. We need to see the blessings in the midst of hard days. We still need to live desperate for God and inviting Him into ordinary days. Every day we need to embrace the bigger story: that our momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.
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