Gimme My Pit!!

Jonah, Jonah, Jody…. Errr, ummm… Yeah, actually, that’s exactly right! Somewhere in its frightfully deep, dark recesses, my mind has been pondering Jonah for the last few weeks. Tonight the story of his character really hit home – most specifically, his pleasure in wallowing in a pit of contentment. Yes, Jonah wallowed in contentment. Grant me some liberty as I egocentrically digress to my own life for a few paragraphs.

Be the psychoanalysis what it may, I spent the first 30 years of my life living as a very shy person, fearful of everything, and bemoaning the lack of things I always wanted but Mr. Big Shorts Upstairs withheld from me. (He & I are pretty tight now, so I think He’ll accept my pertness with a little chuckle….) In the tradition of Adam & Eve, I often pointed to a list of people whose decisions determined my life circumstances: God, parents, siblings, teachers, bad guys in dark alleys, the makers of Doritos, the Taliban. I even added myself to the list, devolving into a self-castigation that explained how I was responsible – yet remained powerless. I could give you a list of at least 5 reasons to be afraid of almost anything in life. I’m great at justifying reasons not to do something, not to try something, not to venture into the unknown.

Since this blog was intended as a way to empathize (a nice word for commiserate) with single women, hopefully encouraging them somehow along the way, I’m going to bring this post back around to the original intent more than the last couple posts. I used to want to get married – far too desperately. I say “used to” because when I turned 30, I no longer felt desperate. I realized how great it is to be single. I love autonomy. I enjoy controlling the remote. I don’t like being bossed around. I prefer not to have to compromise if I can just have my way from the inception.

I’m selfish.

That’s the short of it, really. As much as I wailed over my single travails, the truth was…I was comfortable in my pit of despair. I understood its walls. I was never surprised by the emotions it created. I could justify singleness by blaming God. (Essentially, that’s what we do when we shrug and say, “Well, God must want me to be this way because He’s the only one with any real control. He does declare Himself to be sovereign, after all.”)

Being single is comfortable. I think anyone who knows me well knows that I can be quite…steadfast in my purposes. Maybe I’ve already used this line? I like to consider myself steadfast – something my family may have interpreted as obstinate or stubborn over the years. I wanted God to conform everything around me, including Mr. Right Now, into exactly what I wanted. I specified to God: eye color, interests, travel plans, food tastes. I mean, I had a plan. I had my t’s crossed, i’s dotted, p’s fully looped, z’s zedded. There-was-a-plan. In high school I even wrote a poem about Mr. Right.

God said, “....”

It’s not so much what He has said as what He has done. Or not done. I simply don’t have a clue why He does what He does, but – and I mean this sincerely – He is God, and He is sovereign, and He does have a plan for my life, but it’s His plan. The dreams in my heart are His dreams – and they’re His to change or fulfill. He’s not obligated to explain Himself, yet from a heart of love and to the purpose of comforting, leading, and reassuring us, He devoted thousands of words in a book we too often take for granted.

O Juxtaposition!

I wasn’t sure why God brought Jonah to my mind a few weeks ago, and why the story popped into my mind again tonight, until I started thinking about how entirely out of my comfort zone I’ve been living lately. In September I took a huge step of faith. I quit a job that paid me more than I make now and provided me a social outlet, and I went back to work from home. I was very concerned about the decision. How in the world could it be the right thing? I worked from home for several years, part time, while going to school. When I graduated with my BA, I worked from home for a little over a year. That was one of the loneliest periods I’ve ever experienced! Why would I risk that pit again?

But something changed in me in the last year and a half. I didn’t just enter my 30s. I didn’t just accept (albeit, resignedly at times) that being single may be God’s plan for me. I sometimes feel like my mind snapped. I’m so desperately bent on enjoying life – on living now instead of waiting for some fairytale future – that I tend to run away from my comfort zone. I used to joke that if I had a crystal ball, I’d know what decisions to make ‘right now.’ The problem is, ‘right now’ was my crystal ball! Exactly what I was doing is exactly what I would be doing in the future if I didn’t make a change.

Back to Jonah – that boy! Wow, he really had a selfish attitude. He argued with God – didn’t want to leave his comfort zone. He was content to cost a merchant a ship full of profit and to nearly cost the sailors their lives in a storm - and he actually slept through it all! The captain had to go “down into the lowest parts of the ship” (1:5) to awaken the prodigal prophet. (I wonder as I read this story, how many times has my own ambivalence toward others’ needs caused them some sort of trauma?) Next, Jonah forces his shipmates to go against their consciences and throw him overboard. Though Jonah cried out to God in prayer from the fish’s belly, and he did eventually go to Nineveh, his heart remained opposed to God’s. (How often do I outwardly conform to God’s direction, yet internally argue with the Spirit?)

At the end, Nineveh repents. What’s Jonah’s response? Check out this verse: “But it displeased Jonah exceedingly, and he became angry” (4:1). God’s purpose being fulfilled made Jonah angry! The word “displeased” refers me back to Genesis 1 wherein God consistently surveys His creation and ‘sees that it is good.’ By God’s original design, mankind walking in intimacy with Him was good. Jonah’s audacity continues as he prays, “I know that You are a gracious and merciful God, slow to anger and abundant in lovingkindness, One who relents from doing harm” (4:2). Jonah asks God to take his life rather than allow him to survey the repentance of Nineveh. I’ll grant a reader that Nineveh had some bad mo-jo. Terrible jujubes. Scary things that went boom-slash-flay in the night. But to be angry at God for mercy? For Lovingkindness? For relenting from harm?

Jonah proceeded to construct a shelter for himself on a vantage point that would allow him to witness God’s action against the city. Interestingly, Jonah constructs this shelter after he acknowledges God’s character and predicts God’s mercy on Nineveh. Was he that brazen that he considered God might actually zap the city to appease one mere man? Whatever else may be true of Jonah, he was certainly a self-centered man. His comfort zone was in being a prophet of God who warned people about God’s wrath, and then he watched people suffer the consequences of non-repentance. Maybe he had some egoism about being part of “God’s chosen people” as opposed to being a heathen. I don’t really know.

The Worm of It

I may not know Jonah’s motives entirely, yet I’ve lived with some of his same character for years. My comfort zone has been different, but the root is the same: selfishness. I had constructed a mental and emotional shelter, and I wanted to observe God bending His sovereignty to my will. And times occurred when God provided a nice, shady, leafy tree to add a sense of justification. Then, as did Jonah, when God caused a little worm to chomp down my leafy plant, my negative attitude doubled.

Most of us will never be asked to enter a city renowned for flaying people alive in order to preach to them. Most of us, I’m almost certain, will never spend 3 days in a great fish’s belly only to be vomited back onto land. Most of us won’t even be prophets. But what we will be is challenged to allow God to conform our comfort zone into unity with His heart and mind.

I rejoice over the changes that I’ve observed in my own life recently. I keep telling people that I don’t understand why I’m so motivated to challenge myself, but I have made it a mission to try new things lately. I took guitar lessons, signed up for an Italian cooking class (that had some real challenges!), picked a church and became a social nut, and continue to look for new opportunities to say “yes!” instead of “umm, heck no.” I hope and pray that God grants me further grace and perseverance to keep this up.

At the same time, I began to wonder tonight if my yearning to renege my comfort zone could simply open the door to another comfort zone. I’m keenly aware at this moment that God’s preference is that I not rely on what’s comfortable, but that I rely on Him. For example, my pleasure in singleness. It’s something I truly enjoy. But what if God asks me to exchange autonomy for submission? This, my friends, is my single greatest fear right now. Do I run like Jonah (not that there’s a line of dudes in Corvallis trying to bop me on the head with cupid’s wand), or do I run to Christ’s arms whatever the course He may point toward? The question is not merely, “Have you stepped out of your comfort zone?” The question is, “Has God alone become your comfort zone?”

The Handmaiden’s Purpose

Shattered…

                Tonight was a tough night. No getting around it. I’ve had some things rolling around in the back of my head for a while, and my spirit has increasingly rotated between feeling battered and uplifted. Before me towers a mountain that, like Hurnard’s Much-Afraid, I tremble at the thought of scaling. How can I, alone and so small, attain such a lofty goal? Worse yet, if I do get over this mountain…how many more will lie in my path forward? I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough experience with mountain ranges to know that those beautiful snow-capped peaks do not come in single units!

                A few weeks ago I started going to a church that has a group ‘for single people my age.’ (Never did I believe that my mouth would utter such a statement….) Things have been going well. I love the church. I love the people. Involvement has been encouraging on many levels. I’m developing friendships with Christian people who understand the positives and negatives of being a single adult Christian. Life is great! Right?

                Last year ushered into my life more questions than answers, in many ways, and the future looks about like the weather outside this week: bleak, stormy, and drowning everything not under a shelter. I don’t know what direction to walk, and being single (while great in many ways) makes that a bit harder because I have the freedom (‘freedom’) to do, well, anything. Choosing from a couple things is a lot easier than choosing from ANYthing, I assure you!

                During prayer time at the Bible study last week, I shared a request for direction for my life. After the study, I was sharing with a woman a little bit more about my life, contextualizing my prayer request. She suggested to me that I may just be the person who “keeps a home going” so that my family has a place when they come home for visits. Her comment, right or wrong, struck a deep wound in my heart. The one thing I have iterated repeatedly over the last year or two is that I’m tired: tired of being alone, tired of taking care of people, tired of being ‘the responsible one.’

                To compound the turmoil that comment stirred up, tonight I spent 4 hours on the phone with 3 different friends, back to back, each with different hurts, insights, and questions about marriage/relationships. I had 20 minutes between the end of my work day and the first phone call. I had no expectation of receiving these calls, and I certainly felt unprepared for each conversation. The first was a good friend who went through multiple Scriptures, discussing intently the purpose of humanity, the meaning of Christianity, and the place of singleness/marriage in a person’s life. Though we agreed on much, I felt a bit beat down internally.

Already exhausted from that 2 hour conversation, I set the phone on the charger, walked to my couch, turned on a t.v. program, and heard my phone ring. This time the call was from a married friend going through their own unique issues. My emotional reservoir was essentially dried up, yet my love for my friend drove me to patiently listen to the hurts and needs. We do not share spiritual values, nor is the friend interested in hearing about the Bible at this time. Thus, the conversation consisted of me listening to the broken heart of a person I love, knowing that only one answer will ever be able to heal the pain- and sin-ravaged soul, yet realizing that this friend rejects the answer at this time. While struggling to balance this conversation, I heard my phone beep twice, signaling that I had received texts from someone. I checked the sender after hanging up, and I almost cried: the texts were from a friend about…you guessed it!...’relationship stuff.’ In no way could I ignore this friend any more than I could the previous. She needed an ear – and she needed feedback. I still say I’m not the most experienced relationship advice person…but I guess by the time one spends 15 years listening to friends and relatives talk about relationships, there must be at least some wisdom hiding in one’s head!!

                When the last call ended, I felt completely used up. In fact, I made a phone call of my own. Not my proudest moment considering the voice mail I left my friend ended with about 15 seconds of me sobbing, “I’m tired of taking care of everyone. I need taken care of, too!”

               

It’s my turn!

That’s how I feel. In short, I just want somebody to take care of me for a change. Yet for some reason, despite having reached a breaking point this year, I see little to no reprieve. In fact, life has simply gotten more difficult: my grandpa’s dementia steadily worsens, the emotional/mental tax on my grandma causes her to tell me the same 3 stories every day, I fight with my sister, my finances go haywire with unexpected bills, I end up working for the same job I had quit 2 years ago to get a Master’s degree…. And I deal with these things even more “alone” than before. I keep mentally reminding God that He said He won’t give more than we can bear, and I’ve explained a couple times that I’ve borne enough.

I’ve come to the place where ordinary tasks at times turn me into a sobbing goon. Here’s an example. A few months ago I had to replace a tail light on my truck. Unable to pull the plastic light guard off, I resorted to putting Kleenex between my mini Leatherman and the paint, and managed to pry the guard off. It took 2 days of trying, but I fixed the tail light! Or how about moving the furniture in my house? I had some heavy pieces that needed moved from one room to another. The furniture was too large and cumbersome to pick up. I actually tried to prop a roll-top desk on my back…which obviously didn’t work out too well. Again, I was able to strategically solve the problem by wiggling a sheet underneath some of the furniture, and with other furniture by simply running back & forth scooting each side a few inches at a time. I remember I spent over an hour moving a couple pieces of furniture that a man could’ve moved in 10 minutes.

In so many ways, I feel like I’ve ‘paid my dues.’ (I’m throwing more clichés into this posting than cats in a crazy lady’s barrel!) I’ve learned how to be very independent and self-sufficient. I’ve traversed a difficult spiritual journey that has brought me to a place wherein I am resolved upon faith in God’s sovereignty and a desire to know Him above all. As far as those around me, I take care of people all the time. I’m here for family and friends whenever they need, in whatever capacity I can fill. I can’t not help people I love. If I see a friend in need, my insides compel me to help them. I truly care about the people around me. I was good at school throughout my AS, BA, and MA studies because I cared so deeply about humanity.

I’ve seen that begin to change lately, though. I’ve seen a deadening to others. And it scares me. The deadening, the pulling away, is beginning with family. I feel like I’m the grandkid who is first to be asked for favors, and the first to see and respond to needs. I’m tired of living next to family – I feel trapped, stifled, suffocated. I don’t want to be the daughter who the parents go to for favors. I don’t want to be the sister that the sibling seeks out to talk through things with.

…But not Destroyed

Thankfully, I have learned to laugh at myself quite a bit. I’ve had to simply because I do so many stupid things, and so often. Tonight has not been a night of laughing, particularly, but I did chuckle about my sobbing voice mail. It’s funny how strong I think I am, and then how easily small, compounded things can make me crumble.

God has not allowed me to be destroyed. Nor will He allow my character and the gifts He gave me to be destroyed. And I don’t want to become the selfish person who withholds. I don’t want to be the angry person whose heart freezes to an unloving and unlovable state of existence. I don’t want to quit reading because the pain in this world is so insurmountable. I don’t want to quit being the friend who can love those around me at all times. I don’t want to become the daughter, sister, granddaughter who resents being dependable.

I’ve found in my life that “good seasons” are almost immediately challenged by doubt, fear, insecurity, and, above all, hopelessness.  First Samuel tells the story of Hannah, a barren wife whose heart yearned for a child. Hannah offers great inspiration for many women, regardless of the object of each woman’s yearning. Tonight, though, the story became more of a conviction for me. How often do I read the story and focus on God answering Hannah’s prayer? The rest of the time I focus on how hard it must have been for Hannah to give back to the Lord what He had granted to her. Yeah, I notice that she prayed faithfully, but I don’t focus on the cause for God’s answer.

Tonight I sense God imprinting on my heart and mind some very significant facts in I Sam 1:7, 10-16: “And it happened year after year, as often as [Hannah] went up to the house of the Lord, [Peninnah] would provoke her, so [Hannah] wept and would not eat. And she, greatly distressed, prayed to the Lord and wept bitterly. And she made a vow and said, ‘O Lord of hosts, if Thou wilt indeed look on the affliction of Thy maidservant and remember me, and not forget Thy maidservant….’” Hannah “continued praying before the Lord…speaking in her heart, only her lips were moving, but her voice was not heard.” She explained to Eli that she was “’a woman oppressed in spirit’” who “’poured out [her] soul before the Lord.’” She asked Eli to “’not consider your maidservant as a worthless woman’” because she “’[had] spoken…out of [her] great concern and provocation.’”

Hannah’s pain was continuous. I bet she dreaded the yearly trip to Shiloh. Surely by year 3 she knew what to expect from her husband’s second wife. At home she undoubtedly incurred the spurious glances of neighbors, each judgment increasing in intensity with each birth of Peninnah’s children. Hannah was a normal woman who experienced a physiological response to the emotional cruelty (she “wept and would not eat”). Her husband couldn’t fix the problem. The religious leader thought she was an irreverent sinner in the temple. Misunderstood by everyone, wracked by emotional pain incomprehensible to anyone around, Hannah turned to her God in “great distress.” She both “prayed to the Lord and wept bitterly.” She asked Him to “look on the affliction of [His] maidservant” and vowed to honor God by giving back to Him what He gave to her.

                A New Testament story reflects Hannah’s in its essence. My first phone call tonight included discussion of Luke 10:38-42. “Now as they were traveling along, He entered a certain village; and a woman named Martha welcomed Him into her home. And she had a sister called Mary, who moreover was listening to the Lord’s word, seated at His feet. But Martha was distracted with all her preparations; and she came up to Him, and said, ‘Lord, do You not care that my sister has left me to do all the serving alone? Then tell her to help me.’ But the Lord answered and said to her, ‘Martha, Martha, you are worried and bothered about so many things; but only a few things are necessary, really only one, for Mary has chosen the good part, which shall not be taken away from her.’”

                My friend emphasized tonight Jesus’ reference to one thing being necessary: being seated at the feet of Christ. He took me to several other places in the Scriptures that reference ‘one thing’ being necessary, good, correct for us to hold as critical in our lives. The ‘one thing’ consistently referenced a heart seeking after God – ‘being at Jesus’ feet.’ The context of our conversation was whether or not…or at what point, rather…a Christian’s desire for marriage, or children, or money, or a different job, and so on, becomes an idol. The overarching theme encompassed in the phrase is simple: there is one perfect place for us to live, and that is at Christ’s feet. The root of frustration, the cause of hopelessness and despair, the reason for feeling alone and lost, stems from separating ourselves from our Savior and seeking to live for our own goals in our own power.

                As I re-read this passage in light of what I’ve been meditating on lately, especially over the last week, regarding Hannah’s story, I am convinced that I must act upon the conviction in my heart to devote time each day to seeking God’s face. Not only each day, but to set aside a time (at whatever interval I feel God leading) devoted to crying out to God for His answers. For now, my heart’s cry begs direction. I realized that I have not been praying because I have allowed myself to become convinced again of God’s silence in my life: God won’t listen, won’t answer, won’t care, won’t won’t won’t. But the God of the Scriptures will, and therefore I must, like Hannah and Mary, go to the temple, bow my heart and soul in prayer and fasting – and even in weeping if necessary – and persistently wait to hear the Savior’s voice speak.

                I insist that there are two types of loneliness a human can feel: there is being alone, and being lonely. If I continue trying to serve people I love in my own strength, then I am alone. If I wake up each day and ignore the opportunity to walk with God throughout my day, then I am alone. But if I seek God first, glorify Him only in my life, then alone I am not, nor ever will be. And even in times of loneliness where human companionship is the blessing I crave, I am not alone. God of the Bible – of Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Hannah, Ruth, David, Esther... – this God hears the cries of His people, and He answers. Sometimes with a yes, sometimes a no, and other times, like with Hannah, season after season of weeping and yearning will pass with a silent response from Jehovah.

                God will give direction to my steps. Accepting the salvation He freely offers makes me His handmaiden, and as such my purpose is to glorify God in my life, love my neighbor as myself, and reach out to the brokenhearted. Loving others and being a good friend are good things, but in my own power they become idols. I seek to accomplish the goal for the goal’s sake, or for my love for the person, rather than as a natural outpouring of my relationship with God. Better it is to rest in the Shelter excitedly proffered by a loving God anxious to spend a few moments with the daughter He purchased at the devastating cost of His Son’s innocent life. Through a right position of my heart, I can minister to my family and friends joyfully, receiving the power and strength to use the gifts God gave me from my communion with Him. And as to those decisions and purpose questions,

                “I will cry to God Most High, to God who accomplishes all things for me.” (Psalm 57:2)

The Ark of Life

Every family has a storyteller. That person in each generation who carries the thread of history, weaving the soul of the past into the living present. In my generation, I am that storyteller. It’s not an assigned task, filled with obligation and expectation – yet it’s not really a chosen path. Rather, it’s the burbling of a deep wellspring within, hidden under the guise of a carefree and, at times, klutzy exterior. While I can be both carefree and awkward in the truth of my nature, I also feel a bond, in fact, an unavoidable compulsion, to learn and to know.

            From my earliest memories, I thirsted for the stories of old. My dad would tuck us kids into bed, and we’d beg for tales of his childhood on the farm. By my teen years, at family events I would more often than not be found sitting amongst the grandparents, great aunts and uncles, and long-time family friends, laughing at the crazy yarns they compared. I grew to know my great grandparents, not by personal interaction with their living beings, but through these treasured moments of gleaning at the feet of my elders. I hear the stories, and I see the lessons in my loved ones surrounding me.

The hand of Great Grandma Campbell shapes, to this day, the life of my grandma. A godly woman, she rises every day and reads her Bible, prays for her family, and trusts God wholeheartedly to bring to fruition the promises of His Scriptures. She spends her days in physical pain, yet never complaining. A hard worker, a fervent prayer warrior, a lover of her family, and a witty tongue – these are the hallmarks of my grandma. I listen to the stories told by my great aunts and uncle, stories about their mother, and then I watch my grandma emulate the principles inscribed in the tales: in her movements, in her speech pattern, I connect with my history.

            Family legend is not the only place I feel connected. Through my years of reading and studying, I continue to absorb the story of humanity. My mind vividly pictures the moments in history that I read about. When I set my hands upon an old book, cracking open the leather binding and inhaling the aged scent of yellowed pages, I imagine the other hands to which the same book surrendered its stories. Whose hands turned the leaves? Into whose mind did the words trail? What did he or she ponder while reading? Would we have shared our thoughts politely? Interpreted the material similarly? Debated passionately over the meanings and significance to Mankind? My mind almost obsesses over the potential stories of the person’s life that I sometimes cannot focus on the fictional story etched on the pages.

            I consider this empathy a gift. It’s what marks my life as a storyteller. I connect to the past – to the present – to the future. I sense a world greater than my finite sphere, and I yearn to touch that ethereal Beyond. My entire being rejects the simplicity of mundane materialism, of the “9 to 5 life.” To spend one’s years eking out a meager living – or, should one be “fortunate” enough to land a position of wealth – cannot be the epitome of Life. Yet somehow enslavement to the “practical” has consumed our society, overturning the depths of reality. Empathy and rejection of the mundane simmer in my soul, pushing me to strive for a more meaningful state of existence. I find this meaning in connection with others – in absorbing their stories, learning who they are.

Sometimes my desire to connect, to love, to care for others, can overwhelm my human frailty. I’ve even seen empathy encourage compromise in my life. Life doesn’t always provide easy choices. God’s principles: humanity’s cries: approachability. These three elements are capable of harmony…at a price. That price is Self.

Myself likes to make people feel comfortable around me, and I believe that Christians today are being served a message by society that the world being “comfortable” requires Christians to not “act holy.” Instead, we’re to be relatable – which somehow has come to be interpreted, mistakenly, as participating in actions (physical, verbal, active, passive, etc.) that violate godly principles. So we live in a world seeking comfort, hope, salvation, yet we hear a blaring message of relatability, and somehow think that sacrificing a degree of godly principles is justifiable based on anticipated long-term results: the lost, hurting soul will be won over by my human love for her/him, turn to Jesus, and then we will miraculously become holy beings now that holiness is comfortable for both.

Maybe I’m the only one with this issue. (But…I suspect the problem extends beyond this little earthen vessel!) God has been showing me something through the story of Noah. Noah’s father, Lamech, professed of his infant son, “This one will comfort us concerning our work and the toil of our hands, because of the ground which the Lord has cursed” (Gen 5:29).Now, for anyone familiar with Noah’s story, not much pleasant seems to happen. God gave His creation principles. The principles contradicted society’s comfortable lifestyle.

And there’s where Noah’s life gets interesting. He obeyed God despite being (essentially) alone in the process. He witnessed the mass destruction of humankind. (That’s not comforting.) He must’ve felt lonely, maybe scared, probably confused. I suggest that Lamech’s prophecy seemed as ill fitting as a Vera Wang gown on a sumo wrestler! But God.

Fulfilled were the words of Lamech over his son. Noah survived, by God’s grace, and through him the Savior was ultimately born. Yet to me, one need not even flip to the New Testament to see the fulfillment of the prophecy. I try to picture a story without the Noah who obeyed God – a tale without a man who chose godly principles over “approachability” or being “relatable.” I simply can’t. Everything destroyed, God’s good workmanship eradicated.

No comfort lies in a story of watery desolation, the abolition of beauty, creativity, salvation. Thankfully, Noah obeyed God. He was the son of a godly man who was, some generations later, the great grandson of a man and woman who walked – quite literally – with God Most High in a garden of perfection…until their decision to abandon God’s direction. Thus, not only would Noah have heard the story of walking with God, but fully engrained in his heart and mind would be the price of disobedience.

I am the daughter of a storyteller. From my youth, my father has unraveled the mysteries of those deceased before my birth, as has his mother. In many ways, I feel like Timothy: a young Christian blessed by two living generations preceding me who impart godly wisdom, faith, and strength into my life. My parents and my grandparents have shaped my life through their stories, both spoken and lived. Today, I have a choice. Do I wield empathy in my own strength: the utter frailty of my human form becoming overwhelmed by the magnitude of need in this world, thereby losing myself in the midst? Do I run from His design, shirking the responsibility, shoving my head in the sand to avoid the inevitable pain of being used by the Creator? Or do I embrace the empathy God has divinely woven into my soul and allow Him to utilize this characteristic?

God placed a conviction in my heart as I pondered Lamech’s proclamation and Noah’s life. The lost and the hopeless are comforted in our obedience to God. I believe that many people are driven by fear of the unknown. Attempts to control every facet of life stem from a subconscious awareness of insufficiency. Some refer to Nature, others to Fate, and others simply blame “everyone else.” But everyone seems to acknowledge that something exists more powerful than a single human.

I’ve seen myself have two effects on people around me over the years. When I live my self-proclaimed title of “Christian” (Christ-like) in a genuine manner, I’ve seen a joy and peace permeate my sphere of influence; I’ve watched forgiveness, perseverance, and trust blossom. Conversely, when I succumb to anger, hopelessness, discouragement, or other negative lifestyles, I’ve observed these same characteristics fester in the lives of people around me. How I choose to behave – in submission to God’s sovereign ability to get me through a day, or wallowing in bitterness and letting myself “be honest and real” (normal?) with those around me – has an evident effect on other people. This is not to discount the very necessary facet of friendship, which is to say the friend who “loveth at all times” and listens to our hurts and frustrations – a very real and challenging part of life. Instead, the practical application is, I believe, how we express ourselves when we experience those times of weakness.

I don’t want to be a detriment to the hurting or hopeless. Oh, that I could be a Noah, abiding by my Savior’s guidance, regardless of my human entrapment! To wash the feet of those I love – of those He seeks, and for whom He suffered greatly – this is a Christian’s calling. We have not the luxury of indulging our “humanity,” of losing the precious hours of life trying to be “relatable.” Love we must, and this through joyfully surrendering to our God’s precepts, that we may comfort the lost surrounding us!

One Foot in Front of the Other

Time is human mortality’s relationship to eternity.

I composed this philosophical statement as a response to a question posed in my parents’ home group last fall. Each person wrote a question on a piece of paper, slipped the paper into a stocking, and then, as a game, we all passed the stocking around in a circle, each person withdrawing a paper and answering whatever question was written thereon. I didn’t get the question “What is time?” My mom did. But I pondered it, internally working out the dimensions of this inexplicable phenomenon we accept a priori.

Several months ago I knew I would use that statement in a blog post. The question was merely, “When?” I’ve excitedly approached each entry by trying to squeeze it into my topic, only to realize, “The Time is simply not right.”

“Life Interrupted”

I hit a pretty rough patch the last several weeks. By Thursday afternoon the little Stoic soldiers inside me had rebuilt the Great Wall around my heart. I’ve watched others move forward in life, seeing dreams and desires fulfilled, while I seemingly took 10 steps sideways. Not backward, yet not forward. Comparing my own life, I saw an intelligent yet somehow incompetent individual who has failed, quite literally, every aspect of worldly life save education. I “can’t land a man,” have a smelly dog, don’t get fashion, don’t socialize enough, can’t keep my house clean enough, can’t keep up on yardwork, can’t give my grandparents the care they need, can’t buy my brother’s family a car, can’t solve the problems in the Middle East. Heck, I don’t even own a couch or coffee table. Many would even say I’ve failed education by virtue of not “using my degree” or “becoming the first Dr. in the family.” (Whatever that means! Apparently being a Literature and History major consigns me to correcting papers or staying in school for eternity?) I had a teacher who, astute and effective as a mentor, lined up a perfect life for me: I would complete my studies at LBCC, then go to OSU for a Literature BA, get into the OSU MFA program with an emphasis on Fiction, and then go to Oxford for a PhD where they would pay me to teach while I studied. This would afford me the ability to gallivant around Europe as part of my studies.

A beautiful plan! And, for a while, I pursued it. So many things stood in my way – some imposed externally, some self-inflicted. In the end, I made purposeful decisions that I do not regret, but that shaped my entire future. I believe that the Oxford Goal could have happened. As I pursued academia, I realized I had the acuity to accomplish anything I set my sights on. But I also had nieces and a nephew who I love dearly. And grandparents whose ages steadily creep toward Time’s eternal cradle. And, and, and, and… Dreams dissipated, evolved, mocked.

My 20s were a series of interruptions. Priscilla Shirer coined the term "Life Interrupted," signifying the 'interruptions' that alter the course of our lives. I’m the farthest from any personal dream or desire that I’ve ever been. I’ve said it before, and it still rings true: I’m internally exhausted. I carry this constant stress. How can I make sure my life isn’t meaningless and empty? I lie awake sometimes, deeply burdened by the idea that I’m not only not living my dreams (thus living a philosophically meaningless life), but realistically I’m also probably not living for God’s glory a majority of the time (thus living an unequivocally shallow spiritual life).

By Thursday my heart had grown belligerently cold to both the world’s and God’s embraces. A multitude of shouts intermingled, drowning the calming whispers in my soul. I watched the walls of self-isolation enclose me – felt the asthmatic grip of hopelessness clinch my heart and lungs. All I could see were the impossibilities. All I heard were the voices, some literal and some imaginary, telling me what would never happen if I waited much longer, unless perhaps I did such and such or whatever various contingencies and ‘facts’ the speaker observed as wrong about my life. (It’s amazing how many people think they can solve another person’s life.) Let me assure you, if you haven’t yet discovered this yourself: in the multitude of advisors, much confusion abounds! Or as Solomon would say, “In the multitude of words sin is not lacking, but he who restrains his lips is wise. The tongue of the righteous is choice silver; the heart of the wicked is worth little. The lips of the righteous feed many, but fools die for lack of wisdom.” (Proverbs 10:19-21)

My ‘Second’ Chance

God has placed someone in my life who has already impacted me in many subtle yet dynamic ways. This person pursued inviting me to a women’s simulcast taking place Friday night and Saturday morning. Keep in mind, by Thursday I was willfully and belligerently closed off, overwhelmed, and frustrated. But I had that kick in my stomach – that “thing” telling me the conference was where I needed to be. I tried to run, dodge the bullet, ignore the gut…to no avail.

Her persistence should get her a jewel in her heavenly crown. I decided that attending a church function for a couple hours on Friday night couldn’t possibly kill me, and the worst that would happen is God would just ignore me like He was already doing anyway, and I’d leave with nothing just as I’d come. The conference opened with worship, and I spent most of the time singing (to my pew-mates’ dismay, no doubt) and wishing I’d grabbed some Dutch Brothers before going to a 2 ½ hour church event. Then the speaker announced that our first session would be started with individual time with God while the band played softly. That was the worst thing I could imagine! One of two results was bound to occur: either I’d fall asleep while praying (yes, I’ve fallen asleep in church and school…a few times), or I’d – heaven forbid – make a blubbering fool of myself.

I blubbered.

I managed to blubber silently, but snot is unpleasant whether loudly or quietly evacuated from one’s orifices. I didn’t spend a lot of the time listening to God (thankfully, He’s accustomed to my nonstop chatter and has extended much patience to my personage), instead choosing to throw out words describing how I felt, including: forsaken, forgotten, unloved, uncherished, alone.

Priscilla Shirer is either a wizard, or her Biblical teachings were designed for me, which I guess makes her a prophet, something like a wizard without the ugly beard and hat yet with a big verbal stick to knock sense into listeners. I do not exaggerate in saying that she used a large majority of the exact language I had just prayed. Her message centered on exactly the struggle in which I wallowed. At one point, she shouted: “You are not forsaken! You are not forgotten!” Was she looking right at me??

The entire weekend seemed designed just for my needs. The encouragements and exhortations abound in my mind still. “Are you hemmed in by the Word of God? Even if you haven’t run externally, have you run internally? If God brought us to a place, He must have a plan for getting us through. He is setting us up to experience Him in a way we could not otherwise experience Him. Is what we are facing a Needless Interruption or a Divine Intervention?”

 “When  As Yet There Were None Of Them”

There’s a song I wish I could attach here, but I’m not “computer geek” enough to work it out. Go on Youtube and search Amy Grant “Overnight.” It’s this weekend’s theme, and trimmed into the key points, goes like this:

“So you’ve handed in your resignation, contemplating why nothing turns out right. A little fed up with all the disappointment, so what’s the point in wasting any time. // [chorus] If it all just happened overnight, you wouldn’t know how much it means. If it all just happened overnight, you would never learn to believe what you cannot see. // I feel like my pace is at a standstill. Do I wait ‘till it falls into my hands? // There’s something to be said for experience. Who knows what’s ahead? Keep on going, take it a day at a time. One foot in front of the other.”

I realized this weekend that somehow in the last few months I shifted my gaze from my Creator to my created. I have unbudgingly focused on my failed plans, on my inability to control my life; I’ve obsessed over what plans to create, then how to fulfill them, in order to enjoy my life. With the visibility of a bat whose sonar is broken on a foggy night in the midst of the toolies (a word my dad used all the time with I was a kid, a.k.a. “boonies”), I have ripped the reins out of my Master’s hands and dashed madly across deserts and mountains and valleys. I unhemmed myself from His Word, opting for the empty and blind wanderings in a wilderness of my own creating. From my Creator…to my created.

Psalm 139:13-18 reads:

For You formed my inward parts; You covered me in my mother’s womb. I will praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made; marvelous are Your works, and that my soul knows very well. My frame was not hidden from You, when I was made in secret, and skillfully wrought in the lowest parts of the earth. Your eyes saw my substance, being yet unformed. And in Your book they all were written, the days fashioned for me, when as yet there were none of them. How precious also are Your thoughts to me, O God! How great is the sum of them! If I should count them, they would be more in number than the sand; when I awake, I am still with You.”

If “faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen,” (Hebrews 11:1) and if God went to all the work of forming me precisely, and if He fashioned my days before I even existed, then who am I to present my own plan to Him and then grow petulant when He doesn’t obey. Would it not be better to trust that the One Who sees the entire breadth and depth of my frail, fleeting human existence has a reliable conjecture regarding the daily, monthly, yearly details of my life?

O Lord, Make Me Vulnerable

This prayer began my public journey, and its spectre continues to haunt my feeble soul. But forward He progresses me still – at times my feet trudging, bloodied and bruised, and in other seasons running. I knew that vulnerability to God would be hard enough, and vulnerability to others is wickedly tortuous at times. Thankfully, Grace blossoms in my heart. My name’s meaning has always intrigued me: “God is gracious.” I’m not sure who concocts name meanings, but when I was little my mom would buy me bookmarks, often with my name and its meaning. Grace. “Unmerited divine assistance given humans for their regeneration or sanctification” (http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/grace).

May His unmerited favor and mercy consume your life’s pains, frustrations, interruptions. May your created succumb to your Creator. May Grace heal the chasm between your human mortality and His eternity. One foot in front of the other….

The Unforgotten

I’ve spent many years pondering Being. Not just during my years in the university system, either. I’ve always had a burning desire to understand – always lived a quest to comprehend. School simply provided me some tools, and trained me to gather, organize, and explicate those contemplations. The mundane cycle of the “American Dream” is a nightmare to me. It’s empty, meaningless, fruitless. I can’t be one of those people who lives to work, only to die a Life unlived.

We all live entrenched in intellectual absolutes. Religion or atheism. Humanism or pantheism. Philanthropism or egocentrism. I remember arguing against postmodernism on this basis: the denial of absolute truth is, in fact, an assertion of absolute truth. The lack of an absolute truth is in itself an absolute truth. Rephrased thrice, to assert that truth is false because there is no absolute truth is to assert an absolute truth, wherefore one’s subconscious lies because the lack of all truth makes the assertion false by virtue of the impossibility of truth’s existence.

Absolute truth exists, or it does not. Absolute truth cannot not exist absolutely. If absolutely does not absolutely not exist, then it may exist, which means that the denial of absolute truth is ignorance, thus requiring the denier to deny any and all existence of absolutes. The lack of absolute truth would thus be an absolute truth, thereby making the lack a falsehood. A definitive statement, “There is no absolute truth,” precludes all other plausibilities and relies upon the embracement of the absolute truth of the lack of absolute truth in order to be an accurate (“true”) statement.

But what does it mean to live?

I watch a lot of people express, through their actions, their philosophy of “living.” (I’d be scared to allow myself to explore the idea of what people equate as my philosophy based on my actions!) Most of what I observe depresses me because most of people’s lives are fairly meaningless from an eternal perspective. Now, let me say that I’m not using “eternal perspective” in the Judeo-Christian context. Let me use “eternal perspective” simply as a term referring to ‘the entirety of one’s life, whether comprised merely of human mortal years or encompassing the cosmogenic afterlife of a human’s immortal soul.’

A few rare specimen exemplify something exhilarating. Something selfless, humanitarian, and inspiring. I find these specimen among a gamut of socio-cultural-historical arenas. Lately I’ve challenged myself to attend a home group from my parents’ church. Among other things, I miss school, I enjoy the challenge of intellectual stimulation, and my father is an excellent source for such challenges. Thus, I attend home group.

Participation in the home group has meant reading the biblical book of Ruth, utilizing the “IBS” (Inductive Bible Study) method. I’m no Bible expert, and I’ve barely ascribed the time least necessary to honor the book, study, or group. However, something has already proven a great challenge to me.

Normally I’m a stickler for purity in literary criticism. In other words, don’t jumble characters, don’t rabidly assimilate the whole narrative into an egocentrically obtuse message, and don’t anachronistically pervert the intended message into a personalized meaning for one’s own context.

I’m going to break these rules tonight. I’ve read 2 chapters so far (discounting the previous times I’ve read the whole book), and here’s the deal: Naomi lost absolutely everything in life except her two daughters-in-law and her own life. She had no hope, saw no future. Ruth apparently had an unbelievably amazing relationship with her mother-in-law (which I imagine to be a product of what I estimate as 7-8 years of living with Naomi), or a horrific experience among/lack of respect for her own family’s/culture’s way of life, or a combination of the two, such that she preferred a dangerous journey to a foreign people with a destitute widow over returning to her own parents’ home and likely remarriage, motherhood, and a natural course through life. Both women stood on a crumbling platform, precariously hanging over the edge of destruction.

Ruth 2:8 ~ “Then Boaz said to Ruth, ‘You will listen, my daughter, will you not? Do not go to glean in another field, nor go from here, but stay close by my young women.’”

I notice two things here. First, Boaz proffers a choice to Ruth. She may listen, or she may not listen. I wonder how the question actually rolled off his lips in real life. Posed in the English translation above, it sounds like a rhetorical question. He already knows the answer – she’s going to listen. Yet he gives her the choice – because he’s not interested in forging a relationship through force. Then, the second observation, he instructs her to avoid certain boundaries; rather, she has been provided the safe environment of his fields, among his workers, who have been instructed to bless her without her knowledge.

Huh?

I have no clue.

Like Naomi, my external life is, in many ways, in reverse. Family and friends move, die, change. Their lives appear to circulate in a tornado, touching down in my heart for a fleeting moment before rampaging off to other territories while I sweep up the fragments of time. The aftermath gets buried in a metaphysical sarcophagus: piles of memories dissuading the heart from continued gleaning in an increasingly barren field. No hope, no future.

My life has become Ruth’s: each day I work to survive, knowing that I go home to the incessant drudge toward further separation and eventual death. Naomi was only going to live so long. And then what was Ruth going to do? Ruth left her homeland to spend her life with her mother-in-law. I doubt she regretted the decision even once, but surely she questioned herself a time or two.

Just enough

Gleaning must’ve been a struggle. Granted, Boaz had his workers drop extra grain from their sheaves so that Ruth could glean enough. She may have enjoyed the labor itself, and she probably found a measure of companionship among his young female workers. Yet “enough to survive” is far different from “plenty.” No abundance, no accumulation for the future. Today’s needs met; tomorrow’s untouched.

Herein I shift from the literal (“enough to survive”) to the metaphorical (“plenty”). Ruth would always have to work to survive – that’s life – but the spiritual, emotional, relational aspects of the young Moabite woman’s life equate the future, the hope, that neither she nor Naomi could’ve seen in chapter 1. I can easily imagine how dry and empty those women’s lives must have been when no deliverance was on the visible horizon.

I’m arguing with God right now. I’m tired of gleaning. I’m tired of being given my grain for today without a word for tomorrow. I’m tired of seeing no future, of feeling no hope, of experiencing no progression. I feel like I’m Naomi and Ruth all wrapped into one. I’ve been patient my whole life, waited on God, submitted to His leading, and, like the chapter 1 Naomi, I see evidence of turning my heart from the promises I once held dear. I don’t see the point of staying in Boaz’s fields if I can find fulfillment – rather than just survival – by extending my hands, my feet, myself, into neighboring lands. That doesn’t mean there is no point: the point however, eludes me.

Yet, somehow, a small voice inside me persists in whispering, “Ruth was never forgotten….”

The question is, on what will I hedge my bets? On what will I stake my life? I don’t think a person can ever stand long-term with one foot on each side of a fence. So do I run headlong into the visible fields of green? Or do I continue crawling over the rubble, gleaning the little sustenance I can find? And what if the waiting never gets fulfilled – will it still be well with my soul?