Category: christianity

Prayer Patrol

As I began the year, I asked God to give me a word or theme that would be a guide for me as I journeyed through the days. The word that seemed to bubble up for me was prayer. Right on the heels of that I found and ended up teaching Will Davis, Jr.’s book, “Pray Big” at church. No sooner had I started that than I was asked to participate on a parachurch weekend team in the position of prayer. I like it when God makes things that plain.

This weekend is the time when I will be sequestered away and focused on prayer. I can barely describe how honored and humbled I feel to be given this opportunity. I have been part of the music ministry, given talks, and even been responsible for the spiritual direction of the weekend, but being asked to pray…wow.

During our last team meeting I was sharing with someone how blessed I feel to participate this way. I mean, when was the last time someone told you that all you had to do for the next three days is pray? Some might consider that boring or a daunting task. Not me.

Now the downside to this hit me last Sunday as I sat quietly in my pew at church preparing for the worship service to begin. I read over the list of prayer concerns within our congregation and was immediately aware of a heaviness in my heart. My eyes filled with tears as I realized that to really be engaged and involved in the ministry of prayer is be broken, broken and open to the needs and hurts of others and broken and open to the God of Heaven whose deepest desire is to meet those needs.

I have thought about that a lot this week. I have walked through the week with a new sensitivity and awareness. Prayers have been whispered immediately so as not to be forgotten. I gained a deeper connection with the way the Word describes how Jesus was moved with compassion as he looked out at the people of that day. Are you familiar with those passages? Two places in Matthew’s gospel, Matthew 9:36, and 14:14, describe how Jesus responded when he looked out over the crowd and saw their needs, both physical and spiritual. Later, in Luke 15, we find the story of the Prodigal Son, which could be called the Loving Father. In it we find that when the son finally comes to his senses and is walking home, practicing his apology along the way, he is swept off his feet by his father who deaf to the son’s words meets him “filled with compassion.”

I have often been put in the position of pray-er because of my former ministerial roles or my personality, spiritual and extrovert. It’s like being given the job of secretary in a group because you’re the only girl. I used to respond with a ready, “Have prayers will pray.” I never minded it, but I don’t think I really got the real deep meaning until recently. Being looked to as one who prays is an awesome responsibility.

I remember how this awareness came to a church I attended many years ago. Our beloved pastor was dying due to the ravages of cancer. It got to the place where the cure was worse than the disease and were put in the position of standing beside him as he finished his journey. Fortunately, our congregation had several retired or unassigned pastors, I was one, who were able to divide the responsibilities and make sure that there was no lapse in spiritual leadership. During this time, the prayer life of this congregation reached a new and deeper level, and the really amazing thing was how it went beyond the walls of our building. People in the community began to see how our lives and the life of the fellowship was being changed by prayer. We began to receive calls from people asking for prayer, people who had no ties to our body, but who were moved by the prayers of the people there.

I want to be that kind of person of prayer. I don’t want to be a “rent a pray-er” or someone who gets the job just because of a role or theological training. This broken feeling is heavy, but I don’t want to lose it–not because it makes me special, but because it forces me to go deeper in my relationship with God. There are moments when I just feel I can’t not pray. (Yes, I know that’s a double negative.) I’m praying as I walk through Walmart, at the bank, for the loud kid and frustrated parent at the Library. I pray for the car speeding by me that they will arrive safely and if they’re speeding because they’re trying to get to someone at a hospital (because no one should be in that big a hurry for any other reason…). I’m starting to see that anything and everything can be turned into prayer.

I feel ready for this weekend. That’s a little scary. I believe that there are going to be some tough spiritual battles this weekend. It won’t be a cakewalk. But the words spoken to Esther by her uncle have been ringing in my ears: you have been chosen for such a time as this.

Have you ever wondered what you have been chosen for? What will God accomplish through you this weekend? Do you believe that he wants to be that intentional in your life? Will you be open to it?

Coming out of the corner

Coming out of the corner

When you were a kid did you have to stand in the corner for punishment? I don’t think I did. I got my fair share of spankings. I was sent to my room. Only one time did I ever miss a meal. I was grounded as I got older and remember losing car priviledges, too. But I don’t remember my nose stuck in the corner. Oh, and there was no such thing as a time out chair in my house.

So as an adult, who is almost fifty-five, today feels very odd to me.  Recently,  I completed the final phase of punishment for a crime I committed ten years ago. I was not the kid who got in trouble. Never even got a speeding ticket. A friend made the statement that my worst crime was probably the way I cooked meatloaf.

Before I recieced my sentence, I completed a psychological evaluation to determine the likelihood of my reoffending. I was deemed low risk for reoffending. A PSI (pre-sentence investigation) was also done and it supported the Psych eval. So when it came time for my sentencing, the judge ordered me to spend sixty day in county jail, pay a $500 fine, and serve five years on community control (aka probation). Additionally, this crime automatically carried a ten year period of community registration which came with its own restrictions. This final component has been the mostndifficult for me. In many ways it has been like being in a prison without bars, because of the legal restrictions and the self-imposed shame. There wasn’t a single day in that ten years when I didn’t feel some level of judgement, real or imagined.

Today the bars are gone completely. All phases of that original sentence have been completed. It seemed very fitting that the sun should be shining the day it was all done, because I certainly feel like I had come out of a very dark place.

Putting someone in time out, whether it is in the corner or in prison, can provide the separated individual an opportunity to reflect and plan. My encounters with people seems to reveal to me that much more time goes into the planning than into reflection. The plan may be as simple as how not to get caught again or to exact revenge on those the “prisoner” blames for his or her incarceration. As for me, there was much  more reflection than planning. I have spent a lot of time, both in therapeutic counselling and journalistic reflection, thinking about what got me into the place where I made such devastating decisions and what I need to do to be sure I don’t ever repeat those mistakes.

So now I’ve crossed into a new place. In some ways life doesn’t look any different than it did a few days ago, but I can feel the difference.

Sunday morning in worship we sang the chorus, “Trading My Sorrows.” It starts out by saying!
“I’m trading my sorrows, I’m trading my shame. I’m laying them down for the joy of the Lord…I’ll say yes Lord…” I get that. I have exhausted myself. Ten years of shame carrying can do that to a body.

I was trying to explain this feeling and the “change” to a friend.   Never having walked this path she just couldn’t wrap her brain around the difference. She has only known me for the past four years, so she didn’t know the pre-crime Tina. She couldn’t understand what difference a day would make. This isn’t the first time we had this conversation, either.  So once again, I tried using a current example to help her see.

There has been a job advertized online and in our local paper for a counselor position at the local drug and alcohol counselling center. There is licensure requirement listed. I have a counselling degree and experience. I could do the job. Last week I wouldn’t even considered applying. What makes the difference? Two things. First, I have completed my sentence. That means something. And through the process I re-established my credibility and I have the references to support that. They are the same references I would have had last week, but now it’s their word and my action. Even more than that, I have hope. And that is poweful a thing.

What I know for absolute certain is that I am out of the corner.  I sometimes wonder if the paint was wet in the corner where I stood.  Or perhaps someone stuck a “Corner” tag on my back when I was reflecting too deeply to notice.  I wonder this because there are some people who treat me as if I still belong in the corner.  Good therapy has helped me in handling this.  I just remind myself: they can’t put me back there unless I let them.  And all their fretting about my being “restored” is about them.  I don’t have to try and carry their stuff–I have enough of a load of my own to deal with thank you very much!

So I’m going to kick around and enjoy a little fresh air and freedom.  No more corners for me!

Book Review: Seal of God

Seal of God–The Path Is Narrow…But the Reward Is Great

A Memoir

Chad Williams with David Thomas

Forward by Greg Laurie

284 pages

Tyndale Publishers

I’m not in the military. I didn’t think I would really have much to relate to with this book. I was wrong. This is the story of a young man who is naturally gifted athletically. He achieves levels others only dream of and then gets bored–seeking the next thrill, the next bit of excitement. He frustrates his father by never sticking with anything. Here’s where I began to relate.

Chad winds up making a connection with a retired Navy Seal that changes the course and shape of his life forever. The story of his determined preparation and the relationship he has with his mentor is quite encouraging to me, both from the perspective of one who only dreams of being that determined and wishing I had that kind of mentor.

The tragic loss of his mentor in a brutally horrible attack in Iraq serves to amp Chad’s desire to be a Navy Seal. Reading through the grueling process of preparation made me feel like such a marshmallow, but also served to motivate me to start moving. I was about to cheer out loud when he finally completed the training.

That accomplishment, great as it was, only served as the vehicle for the real change and achievement in Chad’s life. The real story within the story is how he came to faith, how he grew, how that faith was challenged while he was a Seal, and then provided the opportunity for him to take that same level of determination and turn it into full-time ministry.

I’m excited to share about this book here, but I had no sooner finished reading it when I began to think of the people in my life with whom I wanted to share a copy. There are quite a few!

The writing is easy to follow and while he leads the reader into the often misunderstood or unknown world of the military, Navy Seals specifically, he does it in such a way that is informative and enlightening.

I highly recommend this book!

To comply with new regulations introduced by the Federal Trade Commission, please mention as part of every Web or Amazon review that Tyndale House Publishers has provided you with a complimentary copy of this book.

　

 

 

Way to Go Lady!

There are some biblical characters that I really enjoy!  The Syrophonecian woman is one of them.  (See Mark 7:24-31)  Jesus has just come through what seems to be a highly irritating exchange with the Pharisees and scribes.  Their hardness and heartless adherance to the traditions of the elders (This always reminds me of the nameless “they” in “they say”) along with the slowness of his own disciples left him drained and needing some down time.  So he goes to find some rest at someone’s home.  But there is no rest to be had.

I find it  quite interesting how a pagan woman got to where Jesus was seeking to hide.  The disciples have been so good at shooing away people and children, but somehow, she gets through.  According to the Greek she doesn’t just ask Jesus a question, she makes her request over and over.  It sounds somewhat annoying. So I guess in part, Jesus caustic response might be more understandable given his exhaustion and her persistance. 

A cursory reading of the story leaves wondering some things.  In addition to wondering how she got in: does she expect Jesus to come with her?  Had she heard about how Jesus seemed to provide a magical “remote” healing of the Centurian’s daughter?  If not, why didn’t she bring the girl with her?  How sick or what kind of demon possession did she have?  What was her name?  These are the questions that go through my mind at first glance.  Then I peel back a few layers and I really wonder, why was Jesus so sarcastic with her?  Didn’t he just get done rale against the Pharisees and their blind following of tradition?  Wasn’t Jesus’ comment just another form of Greek/Pagan bashing that would support their pharisaical mindset?

The only way I can read this story and make Jesus’ behavior make any sense is to see it as a possible teaching moment for those who were listening.  I think this way based on Jesus’ openness to healing those outside the Jewish faith.  He didn’t hesitate to heal the Centurians child, or Legion.  In John 4, it states that Jesus “HAD” to go through Sammaria, which resulted in his encounter with the woman at the well, when clearly that wasn’t the best way to travel.  So it would make no sense that all of a sudden Jesus had nothing to offer this woman.

I wrote the previous parts to this post last week.  Today we moved on in our study of Mark and covered Mark 8:1-21.  The beginning portion of this chapter is Mark’s report of the feeding of the 4000.  There is a lot of discussion regarding this second miracle.  Some commentators wonder if it’s just a repeat, an error, that there really wasn’t a second separate feeding.  Many feel that there were significant differences which possibly point to not only a second feeding, but a feeding that focused on Gentiles.  Those who support this thinking point to the number of loaves and baskets of fragments, seven, because seven and seventy are important numbers to the Gentiles. Also the fact that Jesus didn’t have to worry about the crowd pressing him to be a leader who would overthrow the Romans–the Gentiles didn’t have as big a beef as the Jews in this regard.  But the thing that stuck out most clearly to me was just the placement of the miracle: on the heels of his encounter with the Syrophoenician woman.

Could it be that Jesus did go to this woman’s home or region?  Could it be that her faith prompted his trip and the resulting three day teaching?  This miracle doesn’t appear to be the teaching opportunity for the disciples that the feeding of the five thousand was.  Here Jesus is prompted to feed these people out of sheer compassion, concern that if he sent them home they faint along the way.  In the first miracle the remnants that the disciples collected were described as small pieces, or crumbs, while here the leftovers are much larger pieces and they filled large baskets not the beggers baskets Mark describes in the sixth chapter.

I know it’s mere speculation on my part that there is any connection, but how many other things do we believe that are conjecture or interpretation?  Who’s to say it didn’t happen this way?  I like thinking about what a difference this woman could have made with her faith–and it wasn’t just about bread.  I imagine there was great joy as she shared her story.  I believe that others came to Jesus with a spiritual hunger that far outweighed their need for bread.  And if it did happen that way–I think they were fed to over-full.

When I think of this woman’s faith, I’m humbled and challenged.  Do I feel entitled to something big?  Will I accept the small miracles of daily grace that come my way?  How faithful am I about telling my story?  Do others see Jesus in me?  I want to feel close enough in my relationship with God that what other might see is imputance, God will interpret as holy boldness. 

There’s just so much to glean from this story.  But what I hear myself doing the loudest is cheering her on: Way to go girl!

Tradition’s Impact

Today’s Bible study covered Mark 7:1-23. I look forward to getting with my friend to study on a weekly basis. We have translated Philippians and the Sermon on the Mount, and are currently working our way through the gospel of Mark. Her background is Greek language studies, not Koine Greek. I have studied Koine and as a pastor come at study from a more exegetical framework. This difference has meshed amazingly well and led to some rich discussions. Often we come away with more questions than answers, but we’re both getting better at being okay with that.

So we decided that in this passage Jesus was pretty ticked off with the Pharisees. He probably did his fair share of finger wagging. This definitely wasn’t a “writing in the sand” moment. He spoke harshly and with oozing sarcasm when addressing their annulling/voiding the word of God in favor of their own traditions. We found ourselves speaking as passionately as Jesus as we discussed our translations.

We noticed in verse 18, Jesus again refers to the dullness of the disciples (see also Mk. 6:52). For the longest time I just thought that the disciples were just not getting the God side of Jesus as the God-Man. His miracles and authoritative preaching seemed to mystify them. What I began to see as a result of studying this passage is some of the reasons why they were so hopelessly confused. Jesus challenged everything they believed.

This passage focuses on the encounter between Jesus and the Pharisees and Scribes related to cleanliness and uncleanliness. At first glance it may seem that the main issue was that of hygienic versus ceremonial cleanliness, but digging deeper reveals so much more. The traditions of the elders were so restrictive regarding purity issues that it would have been very difficult to consider eating socially on a casual basis. Everything Jesus did flew in the face of this.

As I considered this I saw in a new why some of the ones invited to the King’s banquet might have been reluctant to accept that invitation (see Matt. 22:1-14). I understand that thinking flies in the face of traditional interpretation, but when I consider the extremes of the purity traditions, it just began to make more sense to me. So with that mindset, I start to understand how Jesus just was an enormous irritation. They had worked all their lives to uphold these traditions and Jesus threw it back in their faces when he chose to dine with all manner of unclean and unacceptable kinds of people. And both sides were adamant in their stance and irritation with other on this.

I think this also explains the confusion for the disciples. If in fact they were looking for a Messiah who would rid them of theiroppression, they thought he would be attacking the Romans not their own religious leaders. Instead Jesus was telling them to keep on paying the taxes, while they needed to throw off the traditions of the elders which had invalidated God’s word. The Kingdom that was at hand was the Kingdom of God and it flew in the face of everything they were basing their lives and hope upon.

This matter of eating and ceremonial cleanliness cut across the fabric of their faith and practice. They didn’t get it while Jesus was with them. No, the problem continues to be addressed in the developing church: see Peter’s encounters in Acts 10 and Paul’s many words about food being a stumbling block.

So I’m wondering if we get it yet? I don’t think so. I’ve been a part of several different denominational groups, each holding to its own set of traditions. I’ll never forget the scolding I received for using the wrong communion cloth on the altar early on in ministry, or the time I questioned the point of the Hanging of the Greens at Christmas. The effectiveness of my ministry in one church was severely hampered because I moved the pews in the sanctuary by angling them by a mere few inches so the congregation would focus their attention on the cross instead of staring blanking straight ahead. More than one time I was told that “we always do it that way” and it was therefore assumed it would be done that way until Jesus comes–and maybe even on into heaven.

Please don’t hear me saying that traditions are bad. I can’t because I don’t believe that Jesus held that position. What frustrated and even angered Jesus was when the traditions superseded God’s intentions and hindered the people’s ability to move more deeply into relationship with God. Take the Sabbath, for example. Jesus stated that the Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath. God’s intention was that Sabbath should be seen and experienced as gift not a hardship. It should be something that improves one’s relationship with God, not something that becomes the scorecard for adherence and practice.

I believe that one of the most meaningful passages of scripture is found in Revelation 3:19: Look at me. I stand at the door. I knock. If you hear me call and open the door, I’ll come right in and sit down to supper with you (The Message). Jesus was willing to break bread with Simon the Pharisee, Zaccheus, Matthew, and at least 5000 on a hillside, where I’m pretty sure there wasn’t’ near enough water to satisfy the traditional rituals for cleanliness. He didn’t let it stop him then, and I don’t think he would today.

　

　

　

　

　

Job 37:14

In a few weeks I will participating in a parachurch weekend (similar to Walk to Emmaus).  It is such a blessing to serve on the team.  Sometimes I wonder who receives more team or participants.  But I don’t worry too much, I just soak it all in. 

Our theme for the upcoming weekend is Job 37:14.  I have been working on something that I want to offer for palanka.  I thought I’d share it here because the truth applies to wherever we are in our journey and whoever is right there with us.

Stop! It’s a word that I find myself often using with my grandson. Stop talking. Stop cutting. Stop. Stop. Stop. And the most frustrating thing about that is that if he would stop when I told him to, it would save him—and me—so much grief, or clean up, or apology. But even at just 6yrs of age, he thinks he knows more than me. To say that he’s willful barely touches the depths of his strong character. But what good is that kind of strength if there’s no willingness to trust one who is older, wiser, and more experienced?

Do you ever wonder if God ever feels that way with us?

 

Consider. Think about it. Marvel at it. Ponder it. Reflect on it. Look deeply. See what’s there. Take it apart. Touch it. Taste it. Ask questions about it. Desire to know it inside and out, upside and down. Imagine the infiniteness.

 

Do you think God ever wishes we would consider Him that way?

 

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The wonders of God.

The miracles of God.

The amazing things in creation.

The mind-boggling things we have no explanations for.

The delicate and fragile.

The strong and enduring.

Powerful natural moments bringing beauty and disaster.

Tragic accidents that result in devestating loss and incredible unity.

Feats of athleticism and artistic creativity.

Simple and complex.

Unfathomable and unexplanable.

Beginnings and endings.

Love. Joy. Peace. Grace.

Wonder-full gifts from wonder-full Father.

 

And here’s the most incredible thing of all. Since the beginning of time he has been working in the lives of thousands of people to prepare this weekend just for you. You are here by His design. You were meant to be here right now, with these people, in this place. And they were meant to be here with you. There will be no other perfect time for God to give you the gifts of grace like this moment.

 

Stop and consider that!

Lent Old Testament Intolerance?

So many times, so many years, I declare at the beginning of the year that I am going to follow a read through the Bible in a year program.  One year I purchased the “One Year Bible” to help me accomplish this task.  I failed miserably each time–until this year!

This year I decided to try something and it has worked.  I have been tearing out the pages for each month out of the binding so that I am able to tuck one month’s readings in my purse.  It’s always with me.  I typically have time to read the daily portion when I first get to work in the morning, but if something comes up, or it’s one of the days of the week when I’m not working, then I always have it with me.  What I’ve attempted, and seemed to have accomplished, is to remove the excuse that has sabotaged my efforts in the past. 

And I’m happy to say: I’m still reading and have only had to play “catch up” a couple times.  The other thing I am quite happy to say is that I am totally enjoying it.  I look forward to it.  Well, until this week anyway.

This week has been different.  Up until now, I have really gotten excited about the journey of God’s people and seeing things in the Old Testament story that point me to things in the New Testament.  It’s been neat to make those kind of connections.  But this week I became troubled by all the God-endorsed and God-directed (ordered) killing that was done as the Children of Israel entered the Promised Land.  It felt hostile and intolerant.  It made me uncomfortable.  Surely God didn’t want to have that kind of rep.  Surely God didn’t want to come across that way to people who are just considering following him.  Could he?

I am a completely sold out to the idea that what we have contained in the Bible is there on purpose and for a reason.  I don’t always see or understand what that reason is–and this is just such a case.  It has left me with a great big, “Why?”

As I pondered this for a while, my discomfort continued to grow.  Tolerance.  It’s a good thing, right?  Here’s how dictionary.com defines tolerance:
1. a fair, objective, and permissive attitude toward those whose opinions, practices, race, religion, nationality, etc., differ from one’s own; freedom from bigotry.
2. a fair, objective, and permissive attitude toward opinions and practices that differ from one’s own.
3. interest in and concern for ideas, opinions, practices, etc., foreign to one’s own; a liberal, undogmatic viewpoint.

I sat with that for a bit and let it percolate, if you will.  Fair.  That’s good.  Objective.  I’m okay with that.  Permissive.  Hmm. We’ve entered into queasy territory here.  Maybe that’s where God has trouble, too.  Being permissive feels like letting someone get away with something–and not something good.  Perhaps that’s how I’m to make the link to this portion of history for God’s people.  As uncomfortable as it makes me, I have to come to the place where I understand that there are things that God doesn’t permit, that He just won’t tolerate.  I have to step out of my “politically correct” bubble that doesn’t just make allowances for differences, but obliterates any distinctions between right and wrong.  Doing that means that I have to try to understand the heart and mind of God, consider His perspective.  Tall task.

Part of the challenge in this is that I have grown up in a culture that has advocated for tolerance and acceptance.  After all, I want to be accepted so I should be accepting.  I was trained to believe that there is too much rigidity in thinking that is only “black and white”.  Ecologically we may be going green, but spiritually we’ve been heading towards many shades of gray for a very long time.  Menninger’s message from a few decades past only rings truer today: What ever became of sin?”

What I wish I could come away with from all this pondering  is a clearer understanding of how live less tolerantly (in the negative sense) while remaining relevant to a world that refuses to be any other way.  I’m not there yet.  I did however see the wisdom in a quote that may offer a little guidance at this point:
“In essentials unity.  In non-essentials liberty.  In all things charity.” (Rupertus Meldenius)

 

Balaam’s Ass

Text: Numbers 22

Just about every time that I’ve heard this story, the emphasis has been that if God can use a donkey to get his message across then certainly He can use “me” (the me being whoever was telling the story). But as I read the story today,I saw something very different. The focus seemed to shift from the cowering mule to the persistant angel.

Have you ever wondered what it takes for God to get through to us?  How many signals do we ignore? Or maybe a better question is why? What this account shows me, and so much of my life testifies to, is that God works in many ways, by many means, to get His message, His plan, across to me. The how of my missing may be more directly related to why. He is the hound of heaven, but I have become very good at tuning out the barking dog.

So I took some time to reflect on why I’ve been ignoring the barking dog.

I’m comfortable with the way things are.

I’m afraid.

I’m listening to something else.

I assume, or hope, the dog is barking for someone else.

I’ve come to accept the barking as just a part of life. Everybody has barking dogs, thy’re eveywhere, so what you going to do?

I am thankful as I have journey through this Lenten season that God has barked, spoken so clearly to me.  I started out the year thinking that I was going to focus on prayer.  While I have to a certain degree, it has been because my fear has driven me to it.  Having opportunity to teach a Suday School class where we discussed a book about pinpoint praying helped that focus as well. 

God hasn’t used a donkey to get through to me, unless you are considering my own metaphorical stubbornness.  He has however gotten my attention through some unusual things.  I heard him whisper that I had been worrying too much as I stepped on the scales every morning and saw the frustrating results of my emotional eating.  He answered my prayer about writing with a scholarship to  the Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers Conference and then to me that it is time to stop dreaming and start doing.  For so long I have been praying about a particular issue that my husband has been struggling with for years and this past week during spiritual enrichment services the Spirit broke through.  And I felt God’s smile envelop me and assure me that he has heard my heart’s cry and not to worry because he’s been working in ways I cannot see because he loves my husband more than me.  I let him know that I’m okay with that.

I wish I could stay right here in this spiritual place, feeling encouraged and provided for.  I’d happily just pitch my tent and sit.  I hear him so well here.  But that thinking didn’t work for the disciples when they wanted to stay on the mountain.  So  I guess I’ll travel on, but I’m going to be listening harder.  No donkey’s going to have to get my message from God.

Lenten Learning Curve

The Lenten Learning Curve (and for some reason, I want to keep typing Leaning instead of Learning…hmmmmm) has felt like a roller coaster this year.  So many ups and downs, I have just barely been able to hold on.  But I don’t want to go through Lent, or any part of life, with my squeezed tightly shut and my hands white knuckling the lap bar.  There is no joy in that, only prayers for the end of the experience.

I have never considered myself adventuresome or courageous and I have been befuddled when others tell me how much they appreciate those qualities in me.  For example, they marvel at how “comfortable” I am with getting up before a crowd and sharing my heart.  I crave those opportunities.  I feel fully me when I’m preaching or teaching.  I can’t imagine not doing that. 

That being said, there has been a vicisious battle with fear this season of Lent.  I have wrestled a deeply subconscious battle up to where I could identify it and why it had such a strangle hold on me.  I have been confronted with my reticence and reluctance to move forward towards publication in my writing.   I have had to deal with relational issues resulting in painful confrontations.  Part of me would love to press rewind and pick a different path, but I know that the lessons would just come from a different direction and who knows how severe the learning would be then?

So while the lessons have not been easy, they have proved to be immensely beneficial, life-giving, and even freeing.  And while I’m not ready to throw my arms in the air and scream wahoo, I’m at least willing to admit that I’m thankful for the lessons learned.

Yesterday I faced the largest of those lessons.  I went and registered for the last time.  The deputy who worked on my paperwork was nearly as excited for me as I was.  A couple times he mentioned that he didn’t get to do this (finish someone’s paperwork) very often…um, never.  He asked if I was going to have a party.  Several people have offered to throw one for me.  Not only is the dark cloud lifted, but the fear that somehow it never would happen is gone too!  And the still small voice in the back of my heart whispers, “Will you trust Me now?”

In an endeavor to be more trusting, I took a couple steps.  I applied for a scholarship to the Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers Conference.  And I got it!  My reaction when I opened the email was such a mix of laughter and tears.  Then I decided that I would apply to different publishing companies to be a reviewer of books on my blog.  And I was accepted by one company.  I can barely describe how encouraged and excited I am. 

So I’m learning and leaning.  Trusting more.  Maybe I haven’t gotten to a full-fledged “Yes!”, but I’m at a very decent, “Okay!” with God.  It’s not perfect but it’s progress.  And that’s good for me.  Not bad for a recovering perfectionist.  Not bad at all.

 

We’re Still in Lent….I’m still journeying

Have been thinking a lot about fear these past few days. Have been feeling it, too. Not liking it very much conceptually or emotionally.

I broke down and tried to tell a friend about it. We were having our weekly Bible study (currently we’re translating and studying the Gospel of Mark). Before we dive into the text, we spend some time catching up and sharing what’s been happening in our lives. She asked me if I had been doing any writing and I had to confess that I had been too frozen by fear to be creative at all. She didn’t get it. I don’t blame her, neither do I.

I am facing a day in the very near future when I will bring to a close a very shame-filled part of my life. March 26th should be a time of celebration, but I am afraid that some kind of hiccup in the system is going to happen and instead of an end I will just experience a never-ending dark hanging over my life. My fear isn’t completely unfounded for in the middle of this “sentence” there was legislation that temporarily snatched away the hope of an end. It was a very dark time for me. I found that living without hope of end of pain, emotional in my case, is difficult to say the least.

My friend went on to ask me how my faith was impacting this fear. Her question implied that if I had faith then I wouldn’t have fear. I wish it were that simple. Perhaps the problem is that for me, it’s not just about fear–it’s really about control. Who’s really in control of my life and can I trust the one who is in control to do a better job of managing my life than I can? What if He takes me to a place that is overwhelmingly difficult? Why can’t I have some of the ease that others get?

Thinking this way took me on a journey through scriptures that should bring me comfort and contentment. There is the verse that is often quoted from Jeremiah, that God has plans for, plans that involve hope and a future, is generally taken out of context. If you read the entire chapter, you find that God has put his people in a very dangerous exile and told them to get comfortable. Job, asks a question that echoes what these folks must have been feeling and fearing: shall we take the good and not the bad? Life must have looked better to the one to whom the Psalmist wrote Psalm 37. He or she seemed to be in a difficult place and when they looked around them people who were living rough and faithless lives seemed to be prospering. It didn’t seem fair.

Ok. Everything written up to this point is from yesterday and before. What a difference a day makes. Or at least, what a difference a sermon can make. I had one of those moments this morning when I was almost positive that my pastor had been reading my emails, blogs, or mind this week. His message was straight from God’s heart to mine. (And I told him so, too.)

The title of the message was “Victory and Deliverence.” He used Acts 12:1-11 as his text. It was one of his more powerful and spirited sermons. Or maybe it just seemed that way, since it felt like he was sharing it just with me. I was most affected by the first half, the part about victory. He shared that he had a thought, one that didn’t come from his many books and it impacted his preparation. “Victory doesn‘t require winning.” He spoke about trusting God and not being concerned about the outcome. The pump was primed for me during the offertory, of all things. The pianist played a beautiful arrangement of “Because He Lives.” As I listened to the music, I was totally captured by the phrase: “Because He lives, I can face tomorrow. Because He lives, all fear is gone.” Looking at the pieces individually may not have the same impact for you, but it just about knocked me over.

Pastor didn’t know about my nagging fear. He knows March 26 is coming for me, but he had no idea how I had been struggling. The pianist has no clue about my fear or the importance of March 26 for me. Yet both she and the pastor, in obedience to God shared exactly what I needed to hear to get me through this trying time.

Tuesday, the 27th, may not be any different than the day before. Some emergency law may go into effect that in effect snatches away my intensely anticipated and longed for freedom, but I know I’ll be okay.

To seal the deal for me, one of the major points in this morning’s Sunday School lesson (which the co-teacher taught today, not me) was that we need to have a “so be it” attitude (think Mary speaking to the angel about being God’s handmaden, or Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemene) in our relationship with God, especially as it pertains to our prayer life.

I no more know what the 26th or 27th will hold any more than I know what’s going to happen in the next minute, hour, or day. What I do know is that I know who’s I am. I know that whatever the plan is, wherever the path leads, I can trust the maker of path and plan to have what’s best for me–even when I can’t see it or don’t understand. I have already been delivered from the worst and am a victor through Christ. And really, what more do I need? I can’t think of anything.

Funny. I don’t feel afraid anymore. And the only thing that’s changed is me.