Christmas Reflections: Emmanuel

Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign. Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel.

- Isaiah 7:14, ESV

I have a friend at work whose son is singing the Amy Grant song “Emmanuel” for a school Christmas show.  He comically describes his son rocking out to this eighties smoothrocking anthem.  It is undoubtedly a peppy song and I remember singing it loudly, while having no idea what Emmanuel even meant.  One day, I found out that it means “God with us.”  That is what God promised Israel.  Not a distant, removed god, but God who dwells with his people.  The course of history changed with Christ’s birth - his seemingly, by outward appearances, insignificant birth. 

This is what we celebrate at Christmas – that God sent Jesus to be our Emmanuel.  Yet, the greatest gift for us is so often the most challenging one to really believe.  As a Christian, I mentally assent that Emmanuel is a reality for me today.  But my heart does not always act out of that reality.  If anything, one of the deepest wars in my soul is battling out whether I truly believe that God is with me. 

Because there are days when I try to take up my own causes and defend myself.  When I trace back what fuels these actions, I see that there are parts of my very own heart that struggle to trust that God really is with me. 

There are days when I avoid what I’m really feeling and will use any TV show or movie to ignore my churning, lonely heart.  These are the parts of my heart that feel as though I’m invisible.  Again, I struggle to believe that God can meet me in my obscurity.

There are days when I’m impatient, feeling as though the waiting (waiting for, fill in the blank) will never end.  In those moments, my heart suspects that God has forgotten me.

I see the Christian life as the place where the Spirit confronts our half-truths and lies.  It is a process that is anything but pristine.  Rather, it’s a tangled place, where my fragmented heart comes to light.  It’s the place where I realize I am just as much in need of God today, as I was on the day I first met him.  And it’s in the place of neediness that I can receive the gift of Emmanuel.  

The Novelty Has Worn Off

I'm tired of writing about being single. When I first started blogging, I was full of ideas of posts on the single life - both silly and serious. Now, the novelty has worn off. The thought of writing about singleness or dating feels more like a chore.

I feel stuck when it comes to dating. I haven't seen any movement and I find myself drifting into apathy. If I'm honest, I feel as though I'm in the same exact place I was this time last year. And this time the year before. And the year before that. You get the idea.

I hide in apathy to avoid the rejection I feel. The apathy feeling much easier to bear with than the disappointment. When I'm playing out the same narratives again and again (or at least, what appears to be the same narrative), it can feel as though apathy is the only option. My mind tells me this is not true, but my heart has another view and has no problem making that known.

I get why the holidays are so difficult for singles. There are so many expectations and visions. Not of sugar plums, but of Christmas light viewings hand in hand, cozy nights with hot chocolate next to the fire, and Christmas movies snuggled next to the one you love. Forget falling in love in Spring, Christmas was made for lovers.

As I sit with both of these truths, it feels as though they make up some sort of odd equation which I am trying to solve. 

Tendency towards apathy (when faced with disappointment) x Christmas hopes = ?

I was never great at math and when I look at this equation I'd prefer to just sit with one or the other, not both pieces of the problem.

Here's the truth. I fear that I will always be single. It can terrify me at times. I fear sitting with that fear, so I avoid by leaning into apathy. I also am secretly sentimental. As evidenced above, I have visions of romantic (and somewhat unrealistic) moments. I feel like Beatrice and Bennedick in Shakespeare's "Much Ado About Nothing," loudly proclaiming their skepticism and disinterest when it comes to marriage and then diving into love the moment the option of romance is placed in their path.  I avoid what I feel, because there are times when it’s just so hard for me to believe that God knows what he is doing. 

As I look again at the equation, I see what the missing piece is: trust.  Trust is the place where I acknowledge and present my hopes and then place them into God’s loving hands.  Trusting that his goodness is not solely expressed or defined by my getting married.  Trusting that he hears my cries and is with me in the sorrow and disappointments.  Trusting that he is indeed trustworthy.

Go?

Some days I really hate being friends with spiritual directors. I mean, I appreciate the deeper conversations about life and relationships and God. But then there are the times when these spiritual director friends ask those good questions. You know, the questions that stop you in your tracks. The questions you don't quite have an answer to. The questions that you suspect point to murky parts of your heart.

The questions that may very well make you drop an f-bomb.

Perhaps you've already guessed that I have had one such conversation recently. I was sharing my disappointment with a situation in life. This situation is painful on its own, but it also echoes heavily from a similar instance in my past. My friend listened and empathized. Then she asked the question:

What is it in you, that is drawn to these situations?  What is your part in this?

Crap. I knew she was right on with her question. I couldn't answer it on the spot, but judging by the way my body immediately tensed up, I knew there was something to that question. Something I sort of didn't want to know. Yet, a tiny sliver of my heart was ready to go there.

So, I returned to the question the next day, just me, God and my gnawing anxiety. It slowly became clear that at the root of this question was my fear. I am drawn to these situations, because I think it will make life easier, less risky. I fear that I won't be enough. So, I bolster myself with others I see as stronger, more capable and more charismatic. I hope that I will ride on their coat tails of success.  In the process, I find myself hidden and unseen.

This place has provided a false sense of safety, but it has also left me disappointed. There's a voice in my heart crying for more. I fear what must be risked to lean into the more I see within me. I keep waiting for someone to come along and unleash it. As I write this, I realize that perhaps it is not for me to wait for a person to recognize what is within me. Hasn't God already seen and known (and created) me? I think I've been waiting for a situation that will provide this neat, succinct platform to the places I believe God is calling me to. However, I don't know if that's how God would have me get there. Maybe now is the time to risk (I mean, that has been a theme for me since summer). Is this the day to step out, trembling with fear, into new terrain?

I'm reminded of a worship song I often used to listen to "If You Say Go."  It’s a simple song, but speaks to the place of obedience, saying yes when God says “go” and saying yes when God says “wait.”  The beautiful turn in the song is the reassurance of God's part:

If You call us to the fire
You will not withdraw Your hand
We'll gaze into the flames and look for you

I think God may be saying "Go."

Lord have mercy.

Fix Me!

I suspect I'll never fully recover.  From anxiety.  From overworking.  All in the name of being seen.  When I was younger, I saw healing as a means to an end. It took years for me to even admit that I needed to be healed. Then, healing was sought out in hopes of (if I'm honest) perfection, or preparation for a life in ministry.  Healing was the answer.

But the words that interrupted this twisted hope came to me one day, sitting in the rickety trailer that was my grad school's department library. Library hardly seems a fitting word for this space. Sure, there were books and tables to read at, but really, it was a piazza (and I can't say the word "piazza" without thinking of Tom Hanks in "You've Got Mail" when he's describing his book store as a meeting place and subsequently is questioned about his use of the term "piazza"). A place to meet and talk. Many real, honest conversations took place in that trailer. Its walls contain the tears, roaring laughter, and "strong language" that characterized our time as students.

I didn't know Johnie well. He was a couple of years ahead of me, but that day we entered into a light conversation. It eventually took a deeper turn, as conversations often did in that library. I spoke of what brought me to this program in particular, and my hopes of healing so that I could go into college ministry. He nodded slowly and responded:

I used to feel that way, but lately I've realized that I'll always be in need of God's healing. I'll never arrive at a place where I don't need him.

As the truth of his words exploded in my heart, I realized how much I'd just wanted to be fixed and be able to move on.

But being fixed isn't really the goal, is it? Well, it's not God's goal, but so often becomes our own, right? I mean, there is absolutely redemption on this side of life. God is growing me more into his likeness, breath by breath. Yet, whether or not I'm anxious (or angry, or short with others, or falsely believing that I am Wonder Woman), I am still invited into life with God. Which begs the question, do I want God or do I want him just for the goodies? If I'm honest, most days I just want the goodies. Some days though, I want him more. And that's hopeful. 

thresh·old

thresh·old  noun \ˈthresh-ˌhōld, ˈthre-ˌshōld\

1:  the plank, stone, or piece of timber that lies under a door :  sill

2a :  gate, door;

b (1) :  end, boundary; specifically :  the end of a runway (2) :  the place or point of entering or beginning :  outset

3a :  the point at which a physiological or psychological effect begins to be produced

b :  a level, point, or value above which something is true or will take place and below which it is not or will not 

What does the word ‘threshold’ mean?

I was asked this question recently.  The woman was fluent in English, yet this word was new to her.  Understandably so.  I struggled to give an adequate definition.  I kept landing on the phrase “threshold of pain” (3. A: the point at which a physiological or psychological effect begins to be produced).  She asked because we both had walked through an art installation called…I’m sure you’ve guessed, “Threshold.”  It was recently installed at the retreat center I visited this past month.  It’s hard to describe the piece, so I’ll just post the photo for you to see.

The piece is constructed with Texas limestone and has three separate entrances (the piece was constructed using multiples of 3).  The entire piece plays on round shapes, evoking a maternal, womb-like feel at moments.  Its floor itself is also made of stone, staying true to the name threshold (1:  the plank, stone, or piece of timber that lies under a door), implying that the skies are a sort of door.

For me, the standout part of this installation was the tower.  To enter into the tower, one must bow to pass through the threshold (2.a: gate, door).  It is a humbling move to awkwardly bend the body to enter.  It was a tall, tiny space, yet I immediately felt safe, secure and held.  What a contrast to the tube of an MRI machine, which I found to be scary and confining.  I knew I had to return later when I could be there alone.  That afternoon I walked back and had a sacred moment there. The acoustics invited a song, so I softly sang “For the Beauty of the Earth.”  And then I just stood there.  Safe and at peace.  

Lord of all to thee we raise, this our hymn of grateful praise!

Lately, I’ve had the sense that God is moving and preparing me for changes.  I don’t know what those changes will be, but as I described it recently, I can feel his moves and bumps indicating that something is happening.  I realize how much I am at the threshold (2b : end, boundary; the place or point of entering or beginning) of something new.  

So, what does threshold mean for me?  It means both an ending and a beginning.  Yet, it also means I am surrounded and held in a set structure, the structure of a threshold.  The true threshold.  God my Father.

Slamming into a Wall

Last Thursday I hit my wall.  You know.  The Wall.  The wall you hit when you just can’t keep going on at your current pace.  The wall that unleashes all your emotions, tears, and exhaustion like an avalanche.  Marathon runners talk about this wall they hit towards the end of a race.  Then their legs give out and they do a crazy dance of delirium as they collapse.  I hate running, so I don’t fully get this metaphor, but I do know the wall that you hit when life feels crazy.  I hit the wall while on the phone with my friend.  I was trying to listen and be present with what she was saying.  Then she asked what I thought and I stopped.  I had no idea what I thought.  All I knew was that I felt tired, frustrated, guilty for not tracking with my friend, and on the verge of tears.  Hello wall. 

I’m in the midst of a busy season at work.  And while it feels as though everything else in my life has been put on hold, I realize how much my life refuses to cooperate.  I can try to be streamlined, efficient, and on-task (blech, I hate these words).  Yet, that can only last for so long before I hit the wall.

I cried a lot that day.  And since I don’t know how to cry daintily, it was a messy cry (aren’t they all).  Let me tell you, that is not a fun time to have your Kleenex run out.  TP suffices, but it just doesn’t have that soft, cushiony feeling on your nose.  I cried with my friend.  I cried by myself.  I just cried.  I stopped eventually and watched some episodes of 30 Rock (season 7 just arrived on Netflix instant), staying in bed the rest of the night.  Plus, my arm hurt from getting a flu shot that day, so there was no chance I was recovering from all of that (mostly from aforementioned wall).      

A couple of days later I returned to the tears from Thursday and found myself…grateful.  Strange, huh?  I was grateful because this avalanche of emotions didn’t come out of nothing.  They may have been amplified, but they came from true feelings in my heart.  I’m not great at acknowledging what I feel in the moment.  So, my emotions can get back logged at times.  OK, a lot of the time.  But I don’t go as long as I used to without acknowledging where I am.  I wasn’t aware of how tired and frustrated I was feeling about life.  It took this wall to awaken me back to what was truly going on inside of me.  These feelings have brought me to a place of seeking with God.

What is my next step?

Do I continue on as is or does something need to shift?

Why is it so hard for me to trust you when I’ve hit my wall?

And the big one of late: How long oh Lord?

These questions have been on my mind lately and I seem to keep coming back to them.  I don’t have any answers, but I think these questions tie into what I feel.  These questions are part of my emotional response, my prayer to God.  I can try to ignore what I feel, but when I allow my feelings a place at the table, I can sit in God’s lap, look up into his eyes, and ask.  

Turning a Corner

I turned a corner this summer.  To be honest, I didn’t think it was possible.  The year preceding it felt sad and lonely and confined.  It seemed to stretch on forever without end.  I actually don’t think I realized how hard this year was until now, as I look back upon it.  It’s funny how time can widen and deepen our view.  Over summer my friend sent me a quote from Frederick Buechner:

The only thing worse than being fed up with the world is being fed up with yourself.  I envied the pigs their slops because at least they knew what they were hungry for whereas I was starving to death and had no idea why. 

As I read through this quote again this morning, I recognize so much of my own feelings from the past year.  I was tired of being miserable, but had no idea how to get out of it.  And I was sick of myself being this way. 

I met with this same friend yesterday.  She’d been away for the summer and as we shared and caught up, we realized how this summer was a season of shifting for each of us.  Our circumstances have basically remained the same, but our outlook is so very different.  Where the future seemed bleak and limited, hope has crept in, refracting our outlooks into multiple possibilities.  I’m not quite sure how I ended up here.  I’m thrilled to feel this way, but cannot identify what has allowed this change. 

I am a pessimist.  It’s true.  Ask anyone who know me.  At times, my pessimism limits my purview.  Another friend of mine is good at pointing this out in a loving way.  When I talk about circumstances and their assured grim outcomes, she will listen, but then name other possibilities.  “Yes, Jen, you may be stuck in this place forever.  But you also might not be.  No one is forcing you to stay in this place.”  I love when she speaks these truths over me. She doesn’t do it in a sunshiney, Pollyanna, bubbly way (I don’t know if we would be such good friends if that were the case).  Her words and tone of voice convey that she hears me, but also speaks truth in a way that doesn’t limit what I’m feeling.  I need to hear this.  I need to be reminded my story doesn’t end here. 

In the midst of this furnace-y year, I feel sturdy in a new way.  I have a deeper sense of knowing who I am.  But it’s not just knowing who I am.  It’s knowing who I am and feeling peace with that.  For years I have wrestled through being a strong woman.  I’ve tried to hide or dampen that part of myself.  I don’t want to do that anymore.  I don’t feel shame over this aspect of myself.  Similarly, I have been confused about my creativity.  It has warred with the more practical areas of my personality.  And practicality has so often won.  However, I’ve recently been reminded of my creative voice.  I love my creative voice.  It is an integral part of who I am. 

I don’t know what this all means, but I do know whom it is who will be stepping into the next months of possibilities.

Me.

Remembering Syria

Last Sunday, Pope Francis called the Catholic church together to pray and fast on behalf on Syria this Saturday, September 7.  I may not be a baptized Catholic, but I plan to join in on praying with my Catholic brothers and sisters.  I've been praying for this dear country the last few months and it has been awful to see how the fighting there has only increased.  The news of the chemical warfare is disheartening and horrifying.  To be honest, I don't know what needs to happen there.  I'm back and forth on whether or not I support air strikes.  But I do know that something needs to shift.  

In May I posted about my experience visiting Syria in 2006.  I'm re-posting this today, if only for a story to be out there that paints a different picture of the country.  Let's continue to pray for the Syrian people.

On Syria

“I hope you know that we are not all terrorists,” she said, staring me straight in the face.  I cannot remember my response back, but her statement changed me. 

………………….

Today I had plans to write about Summer movies.  I even had a great quote prepared for “The Great Gatsby” (I left feeling projectile vomited on with glitter – and yet somehow enjoyed the movie more than I expected).  But on my way to work this morning I was listening to the news and was reminded of the fighting in Syria.  I couldn’t help but think back to my time in that country, almost seven years ago.

………………….

Back in 2006 I visited Syria and Lebanon.  I suppose it was a “mission’s trip”, but it was unlike any trip I had been on.  We came with very simple goals: to pray for the land, the people, and to love them.  It was the culmination of a year spent working with a church in England.  I still remember telling my mom that our end of the year trip would involve going to the Middle East.  This is not what any parent wants to hear when your home country is fighting in multiple wars in the Middle East.  I give my mom a lot of credit.  She remained calm on the phone.  I can only imagine the conversation with my dad following that call.  Here they sent their daughter off for a year in England.  Safe, tea drinking England.  She even said to me before I left, “At least you’re not going to the Middle East.”  Oops. 

I want to let you in on a secret.  Syria is amazing.  It is one of the few places I’ve traveled to that doesn’t feel touched by the West.  I’m sure there are other places in the world that have held onto their culture, but with the growing accessibility of technology and communication, the world seems to become increasingly homogenous.  It was refreshing to be in a country that had zero McDonalds.  I’m not exaggerating.  McDonalds does not exist in Syria (or at least it didn’t 7 years ago).  The shops would close in the heat of the day and everyone would go home to rest.  I remember sitting in a courtyard with a fountain, covered overhead by layer after layer of leafy ivy vines.  As I walked the streets, twisted down the various alleys of the markets, I had a glimpse of a place that echoed its past.  It was like visiting another era in another world. 

On one of our days we were at the local university.  It had been a strange day for the team.  We were taken to university officials when we entered the campus (note: all of the university campuses we visited had guards at the entrances).  We sat nervously in an administrative building.  At one point, our bags were searched.  I was especially anxious as my back pack contained all of the Arabic New Testaments (getting caught with Bibles in Syria didn’t mean a trip to prison, but it was a possibility that we could get kicked out of the country).  We tried to play it cool, but I held my breath and quietly prayed as my bag was searched.  The guard didn’t stop at my contents.   Exhale.  We were moved to another room and waited more.  Eventually we spoke with a university official.  He showed us around the campus and introduced us to a few English speaking students.  We spoke briefly as the official politely ushered us off the campus.  As we were about to get on the bus, the young women began to ask me about my thoughts on George W. Bush and the war.  Then, she looked at me and said those words that stopped me:  I hope you know that we are not all terrorists.

Those words stopped me because I realized in the moment that some parts of me believed that most of the people there were terrorists.  My assumptions and prejudices slapped me in the face.  I came to love the Syrian people, but these beliefs revealed parts of my heart that shocked me. 

As the trip went on, these beliefs were constantly challenged.  I was overwhelmed by the hospitality I received from strangers repeatedly.  I was invited into house after house for tea and refreshments.   It felt so surprising, especially since this is not a cultural value in the U.S.  When’s the last time a stranger invited you into their house?  At a certain point, I had this desire to shout, to proclaim to the world: These people, whom you have called terrorists, you’ve missed them completely.  They are kind, they are welcoming.  They are normal people just trying to live their lives.  Why doesn’t this make the six o’clock news?  Why is the only view we see of the Syrians tied into war or violence?  With a gun or a bomb strapped to their chest? 

I had missed them. 

My eyes were opened. 

My time in Syria was the final exam in a year of having my cultural beliefs challenged.  It was a humbling year, but I am continually grateful for the ways that experience helped me to begin to see outside of myself and my home culture. 

That year didn’t eradicate my tendencies to make snap judgments or generalizations.  I still make them.  I still cling to assumptions that are just plain wrong.  I think I am able to see them more for what they are though.  And sometimes I’m able to pause and ask questions, instead of pretending I have the answers. 

………………….

People are usually surprised when they hear I’ve visited Syria.  They cautiously ask what it was like.  I know what they’re really asking.  Was it scary?  Was it awful?  Why on earth would you go there?  To be honest, I had a couple of scary moments, but what shouts the loudest was my experience of the kindness of the people I met.  I’ve been saddened as I’ve followed the reports out of Syria.  My heart breaks for the Syrian people.  This is not the first war they’ve known, nor most likely will this be the last.  There are deep reasons for the wars and violence there.  I don’t know what needs to change there, but I so badly hope that something shifts. 

As I listened to the radio this morning I knew I needed to share my little story.  I struggle to name my hope for those reading this post.  Awareness is good.  But deeper than that is a desire that you would see beyond the generalizations.  And pray.  

When There Isn't An Easy Answer

Some days I am confronted by the fact that there is not an easy answer.  Not surprisingly, this is not welcome news to me.  Or to anyone.  The reality is though, I live in a world that is overflowing with situations that cannot be explained with an easy answer.  My post the other day dealt with that exact reality.  When I realize this, the universe becomes…

Expansive.

Complex.

Unfathomable. 

And I feel miniscule. 

From what my parents tell me, I was an inquisitive child.  I was always asking “why”.  At some point, I stopped asking questions.  I ignored the unknown or tried to contain it into ill-fitting boxes.  I began to accept the easy answers.  I didn’t even question them.  My world felt safe and contained.  But life happened and it became increasingly challenging to ignore the utter chaos.  My easy answers were demolished.  I could only ignore that reality for so long before I had to give up on having all my questions answered. 

Strangely, giving up on the easy answers has been one of the best moves in my life.  I think when I looked for the easy answers, I ended up trusting the answer more than God.  I wanted to feel in control, rather than trusting that God is lovingly and capably holding the world.  At the same time, there is much that I see, which deeply saddens, and even horrifies me.  Now, I must ask why. 

One of the times when my easy answers were demolished was on 9-11.  I had lived such a peaceful, uneventful life in the U.S., and had never experienced an attack on our soil.  That night, I couldn’t sleep.  I remember lying there awake, deafened by the quiet of the night sky, no longer full of airplanes and helicopters.  I felt afraid and exposed, as if my safe world was crumbling around me.  I could not answer why.  Not in a way that would sufficiently answer the question.  I find myself repeatedly sitting with the question of why.  

Why is there war?  

Why is there injustice?  

Why has my life turned out this way? 

Last night, I was again reminded that I do not have an easy answer, specifically in regards to my singleness.  Yet, I so badly want to be able to explain or comprehend it.  I want to know why.  I want to know why right now.  I believe this lie that understanding my situation will lead to peace.  But knowledge alone will never provide that for me.  It is hard for me to trust God in these moments.  I believe he welcomes my questions and I had questions to ask last night.  I also know that his answers do not come in my timing.  So, I entered into the tension of unanswered questions.  As the tears came to my eyes, I remembered a song by Sufjan Stevens, “Oh God, Where Are You Now?”  I listened to it, and found that this song was my prayer for the moment.  I slumped on the ground, crying, and occasionally joining in singing:

Oh God, hold me now

Oh Lord, hold me now

There's no other man who could raise the dead

So do what you can to anoint my head

Oh God, where are you now?

Oh Lord, say somehow

The devil is hard on my face again

The world is a hundred to one again

Would the righteous still remain?

Would my body stay the same?

Oh God, hold me now

Oh God, touch me now

There's no other man who could save the dead

There's no other God to place our head

Would the righteous still remain?

Would my body stay the same?

There's no other man who could raise the dead

So do what you can to anoint my head

Oh God, hold me now

Oh Lord, touch me now

Transition and Grief

Hello Readers,

I wrote the blog below in the past year.  Last April it was posted on The Aurora Crossing blog, but I realized that I'd never posted it here.  

Enjoy (wait, can I encourage you to "enjoy" when it's a post about grief?)

……….

Here’s a little insight into how I operate.  I’m an avoider.  I don’t like going into my pain.  It scares me.  No. It is more accurate to say that it terrifies me.  I’ll do anything I can to numb out and ignore the big, sparkly pink elephant in the room (he also may or may not have flashing lights in an elaborate headdress).  That is, until the grief will no longer be contained.  As much as I hate, hate, hate when this happens, I’m also relieved.  Whatever pent up emotions I hold onto weren’t meant to stay put and the process of releasing them feels freeing.

I’ve begun to think that grief is a normal part of life.  Now, not every experience will elicit the same level of grief, but if I really think about it, I am saying goodbye to people, places, and things all the time.  Unfortunately, I live in a society that does not value grieving.  In America, we value moving forward.  Progress.  Pushing through adversity.  This can be a good value to have.  However, when the focus is purely on moving forward, saying goodbye is often seen as clinging to the past and even labeled as a weakness.  These beliefs can result in defining grief as acceptable or unacceptable.  You can grieve over the death of a family member, but don’t you dare grieve over the loss of a community due to moving.

Our grief in America is also privatized.  We emulate the Marlboro man, as we walk off alone into the sunset of our own sadness.  At the last Winter Olympics, an athlete from another country was killed in a luging accident.  I remember seeing video of the community grieving together.  The people were walking around and wailing for this person they didn’t know.  My initial response to this open display of sadness was “Why are they crying for this stranger?”  It struck me as so odd and foreign.  But then my next thought was, “This is a culture that values grieving.”

In the Bible, we’re given glimpses of the grieving rituals in Israel.  At times, this included hiring a professional mourner.  Yes, that is a person hired to cry, wail,  and beat their breast when a person dies (but the real question is, does it have good medical benefits?).   Again, this is a culture that values grieving.  Jesus was no stranger to grief.  One of the most personally moving examples of Jesus’ grief is when his good friend Lazarus died.  What did Jesus do?  In one of the most succinct and powerful verses in the Bible, Jesus wept (John 11:35).  Then he rose Lazarus back to life.  But not before he grieved and acknowledged the deep sadness in death.

I think one of the challenges in grief is entering into the tension of feeling the sadness, anger, and guilt over what can no longer be, while still clinging to the belief that the story does not end here.  It’s not ignoring the pain, but it’s also not letting the pain be (ultimately) the tragic end.  Sometimes, I get lost in my grief, or I avoid it for fear of getting lost in it.  It is in those moments when I see that I was not made to walk this path alone.

Grief is to be journeyed with others.  It has been scary to let safe people into my grief.  I often have to start by just stating my experience and as I begin to trust those people, the emotions eventually come.  This has been a process for me and I still have a ways to go.  Just this week I had a good friend over for dinner.  I was talking about my experience of singleness lately and she mentioned how disconnected my facial expressions were from the clearly painful story I was telling.  I took a risk, and allowed myself to really feel my sadness with another.  These are messy places for us to go, but I truly believe that as communities, this is one of the most significant gifts we can offer to another: the gift of company.

Isaiah prophecies Christ, calling him a man of sorrow, acquainted with grief.  Even in the times when it feels like no earthly human can meet me in my grief, I am not alone.  Jesus, who experientially knows grief is there, with me, loving me.  In the midst of grief, he is our divine company.

Every Pot has its Lid

I have the joy of living with two single women.  Some of my favorite moments with them are when we commiserate about singleness and the woes of dating.  The other night one of my roomies shared a profile she’d come across on a dating site.  As she read this man’s profile it quickly became clear that his life revolved around turtles.  Yes, you heard/read me correctly.  Turtles.  He talked about them in his introduction.  He had pictures of them.  He even listed them as one of the six things he couldn’t live without.  Wow, what do you even say to that?

We had a good laugh.  My roommate mentioned a statement she’d read recently that “every pot has its lid.”  That got me thinking, who would be a good fit for our turtley friend?  I pulled out my chalk board and started writing down some unusual hobbies.  Then, my roommates and I entered into some deep hypothesizing and began to match up our fictional people based on their interests. 

How about a Civil War reenacter with a Renaissance Faire groupie? 

Or perhaps an anime lover with a fantasy writer? 

Maybe a Goth paired up with a Steam Punker?

These explorations are a bit of a hobby of mine.  Perhaps even an unusual one.  I find that the world of dating is a strange one.  The rules in normal life do not apply and I often feel woefully behind on how this all works.  Do I text after a date?  How do I act interested, but not too interested?  Does he really mean he’ll call back if he says he will?  In these moments, creating charts and graphs, or even just talking about how strange dating is, feels somewhat grounding.  For years I was scared to ask these questions.  Now, I’m starting to dip my toe in the stream.  I find that the more I ask these questions, whether with my friends, or here on the blog, the more I find that no one knows what they’re doing.  And that is comforting to me. 

Still.  Some days I get frustrated.  I feel hopeless about finding my lid...Or is it my pot?  The older I get, the more secure I feel in who I am and in my character, and this reality seems to complicate dating even more.  I mean, when I was in my early twenties, I was still figuring out myself.  I was a lot less picky than I am today.  I think it will take a miracle of God for me to get married (although, I think anyone getting together is some sort of miraculous act). 

I was at dinner with a friend last night and we were talking about how much easier it would be if God would just let us know if we’re going to be single for life or if we’re getting married.  Frustratingly, he hasn’t answered that question for either of us.  And part of me gets it.  There is something good about this process of growth that comes through unknowing.  I have to trust in God.  Not that he will undoubtedly provide a husband, but rather that whether it be a single or married life, it is good and offered in loving care to me. 

As I wait, I’m grateful for moments when I can laugh with friends over the oddness that is a dating life.  

Resignation or Risk?

Last Thursday I had my monthly meeting with my spiritual director.  I shared with her about the surprising experience of my birthday and how refreshing it was in light of this challenging year.  As we continued to explore this past year the word that came to mind for me was “resignation.”  So much of this year has felt like I’ve given up.  There are many reasons for this.  Changes, changes, and more changes.  I’ve moved work, home, and church.  All significant shifts of life.  What I’ve noticed is that so often when I’ve been hit with disappointment, instead of expressing my emotions to God, I’ve just accepted it and moved on.  Except inside, I am not at peace with the disappointment.  My acceptance has been a resignation, not a trust in God.  It is despair.  Not hope that he is working and weaving in the disappointment.  Doubting that he sees or even cares. 

At one point, my spiritual director asked me whether I would approach God differently today than I did this year.  As I sat with that question, I saw the ways I would approach him differently, but also saw shifts and decisions I made throughout the year that I wouldn’t change.  I want to approach him differently by leaning into honesty.  Even though I know about desolation and suffering, it does not mean that I am at the place yet where I always truly mean “your will be done.”  Yet, there were times when my feelings wouldn’t be contained and they exploded in prayer to him. 

That same night I started meeting with some women to go through a book on prayer.  It was one of those nights when the conversation eerily echoes all the things you’ve been wrestling through during the day.  I was hit with the reality that I have not been asking boldly from God lately.  I have not entered into the dangerous place of stating what I want. 

At one point in the evening I mentioned how we have these two pray-ers in us.  The nice, cleaned up Christian pray-er.  In my mind she wears pearls and vacuums wearing heels.  Her prayers are safe, concrete, and pristine.  I called this pray-er neutered.  (To be completely honest, I said that this pray-er’s junk had been cut off).  I then went on to say that we also have a true pray-er within us.  Her prayers are risky, all over the place, and messy.  I want to unleash that pray-er.  She is crying out the true prayers of my heart.  However, when I let that pray-er do her thing, I enter into the scary world of risk.  And it completely flies in the face of resignation. 

Risk terrifies me. 

Because when I risk, there is no guarantee.  I might be disappointed.  I might fall.  I might end up just where I started.  Risking feels like living life outside of my control.  Yet, I truly do not control my life.  Ultimately. 

To play devil’s advocate (to myself), risk also could mean a life different than I imagined.  I might be surprised.  I might soar.  I might end up on the other side of the world.  Risking opens me up to life beyond my control, into the hands of God, who’s vision and imagination is infinitely more expansive than mine will ever be.

As I sit with the possibility of this upcoming year I am hit with the decision of resignation or risk.  As I drove home last night, I chose risk.  I don’t know all that will hold for me.  I fear risk, but resignation doesn’t work.  I am over resigning. 

……….

How are you stepping into risk today with God?

Modesty Musings

Last April I attended Q LA, a gathering to discuss ideas for the common good.  The event is structured similarly to TED, where each presentation is under 20 minutes.  At Q, presenters speak for 18, 9 or 3 minutes.  One of the talks I heard came from Jessica Rey on modesty.  This past week, I’ve seen her video “blow up” on Facebook.  I actually had mixed thoughts on her presentation and thought it might be worthwhile to discuss here.  I’ll begin by saying that Jessica had the 9 minute slot, which anyone will admit is challenging to thoroughly discuss any issue in-depth, not the least modesty.  I’d also like to add that I do support the practice of modesty, as long as we are willing to enter into the nuances of what modesty is and is not.

My main frustration with Rey’s talk is the oversimplification of the modesty issue.  To talk about modesty is to consider issues of the body, shame, views towards women, objectification, manipulation, sexuality, control, and relationality (by no means an exhaustive list).  It is through the complexity of this list, that I realize that this whole conversation points to something more significant than clothing. 

I hear a deeper echo.  An echo of the heart, which is more complex and nuanced than we can fully comprehend. 

We are sick at a heart level and our messy beliefs about our bodies and sexuality leak out of our hearts.  We have been told lies and half-truths and have internalized them as fact.  It follows that modesty is not at its core an issue of clothing, but rather is an issue of the heart.  If we are to engage in a conversation on modesty it has to start at a heart level.  

When the conversation begins with clothing, it becomes rule based.  Wear this.  Don’t wear that.  I do not need anyone to participate in my modesty.  I can just put on a turtleneck and baggy pants and I can check off the modesty box.  Yet, no matter how much I wear the “right” things, this in no way addresses the root of the matter.  I still may feel body shame.  I still may lust.   When we start with the heart, we get to the root of what is truly motivating our actions. 

Starting the modesty conversation at a heart level also acknowledges that we are needy and cannot do this alone.  I need you and you need me.  And we both need Jesus like no other.   Both men and women are welcomed into the arena at a level playing field.  What’s needed as we step into this issue is not a bunch of do’s and don’ts’s , but rather a willingness to get real about what is in our hearts.  To listen.  To explore why we lust.  To explore why we feel shame about our bodies.  To relate to each other.  To open our hearts to God and let him teach us true modesty.   A modesty that seeks to love and honor the other person, while also cherishing our God-given bodies.  Not a “modesty” that seeks to control and isolate. 

As our distorted views on the body and sexuality come to light, they will not be healed ultimately by more or less clothing.  That isn’t to say that there will not be shifts in what is worn or how we view the opposite sex’s bodies, but it is not the clothing that will lead to modesty.  It is solely through relationship with God that we can be healed and learn what it means to have a modest heart.  Modesty is not something you wear, it is a character of the heart.  And it is from the heart that all else flows. 

Lord, show us the way. 

……….

Further reading on modesty:

Rachel Held Evan thoughtfully explores they ways in which the modesty conversation can lead to the objectification of women.  I’d definitely recommend your reading it:

A discussion on whether the modesty movement is helpful or hurtful by Jonathan Merritt:

A collection of varying thoughts on modesty from the excellent Her-meneutics blog:

My Pie Plate Overfloweth

Yesterday was my birthday and it was not a day I was initially looking forward to.  About a month ago, a couple of friends had asked me about my birthday plans and I almost burst into tears.  This year has been continually changing, growing, moving, isolating, and, confusing.  Much in my life has changed and I have struggled in the midst of my shifting world.  So, the thought of celebrating a birthday felt lonely.  Who would I celebrate with?  Even as I write these words, the tears come.  My thirty first year in this world has been difficult, to say the least. 

Our beautiful hotel in Santorini

However, the loveliest surprise smashed into my dismay on Wednesday.  I was walking through the retreat center I work at and was reminded of a time, almost two years ago.  I was in Europe with my two closest friends, just finishing up our time in Santorini, Greece.  Up till that point, I had been dreading turning 30.  It felt like such a big number and I realized all the expectations I had for my life at that point (i.e. marriage, steady job) that were not actualized.  But there was a moment, waiting in line for our boat back to Athens when it hit me.  Yes, I am not married, but look at the rich things God has given.  I’m always prone to expect the worst in life and even on my trip to Europe (I had a foot injury right before that I was convinced would ruin the trip).  Yet my trip had been amazing thus far.  I kept experiencing moment after moment of God’s goodness.  And then I remembered the abundant provisions of God throughout my twenties.  I came to a conclusion on that boat dock, if God has had such good gifts for me up until now, how could that not be true in my thirties?  In that moment, a piece of my unbelief began to believe. 

In this past week, I’ve had a similar experience, of feeling overwhelmed with God’s love and goodness.  The first piece has been my brother’s college graduation.  This was a day that at one point I couldn’t have even hoped for it seemed so out of the realm of possibility.  It was such a special day, seeing my little (now not so

little) brother walk across that stage in his cap and gown, knowing the journey he has walked.  It was a day of joyful tears and deep celebrations.  Then on Tuesday, my co-workers had a birthday explosion on my desk!  We had lunch and it came with beautiful flowers (which happened to contain my favorite flower, dahlias, unbeknownst to my co-workers) and a new book.  It was much more than I was expecting and I loved the time with each of them that day.  On Wednesday I was facilitating a direction group and we were interrupted by a young man who needed help.  I had a moment when I almost brushed him off in order to keep my own plans.  Somehow, I felt the nudge of God and we all were able to love and care for this person.  My plans were thrown out the window, but I felt grateful to be part of God’s unfolding plans.  The experience that night somehow reminded me of why I want to walk with and care for people, pointing them towards the only one who can fully care for them.  I came home that night to my lost Birchbox (a monthly subscription I have for beauty samples) and it was one of the best ones yet, as well as a birthday card from a dear friend who is not in town.  By this point, I was actually looking forward to my birthday.  I felt overwhelmed by all that God had put in my path thus far.  He must have smiled at that moment in anticipation, knowing what was to come on my actual birthday.

I woke up on my birthday to find my apartment decorated by my lovely roommates.  No one’s day can start off poorly when you wake up to streamers and banners in honor of you.  Then, it was off to my friend Chelsea’s place so we could drive up to Downtown LA.  I was gifted with a fun book, which I can’t wait to read!  We stopped by one of my favorite coffee shops in LA, Handsome Coffee and had a fun interaction with the folks working there.  Then, we went to heaven on earth, AKA The Pie Hole.  I walked into the shop and was shocked to see my friend Kim there.  I immediately thought, what a coincidence that we happen to be here at the same time.  Then it dawned on me: this was planned.  This is a birthday surprise.  I wish I could have seen my face as it switched from confusion to knowing to excitement.  I even did a little happy dance in the moment.  But there were more surprises to come.  I ordered my food, an heirloom tomato pie and a Mexican chocolate pie, and the cashier told me it was on the house in honor of my birthday.  Again, I wish I could have seen my response.  The Pie Hole isn’t cheap and this was probably $15-20 worth of food.  Just free.  I was in shock.  I asked again.  I thanked the cashier.  I did a happy dance again.  Chelsea, Kim and I sat down and were treated to some of the best pies ever.  We all sampled each other’s, but all agreed that the Mexican Chocolate Pie was the best.  It was so good that you had to close your eyes while eating it.  As we were finishing up, the staff sent over another free piece of pie.  What?  With a birthday candle in it.  What is going on here LA?  Since when did you get so nice?  We ended up writing a thank you note to the cashier and as we were leaving we exchanged a round of hugs with her.  My day could have ended there and I would have been fine.  We spend some time walking around the Arts District, where I kind of want to live now, just enjoying each other’s company.  Kim headed off and Chels and I visited the Fashion district and then had a yummy dinner at Bottega Louie.  We had a car mishap in between that all, but it was fixable and it afforded a nice break in the midst of our full day.  By the time we arrived back to Orange County we were properly tired and ready for bed. 

Chelsea, Kim and I at The Pie Hole

The Mexican Chocolate Pie that changed my life

When I wrote my thank you note to the cashier at The Pie Hole, I wrote “my cup (pie plate) overfloweth.”  And that has become my phrase for turning 32.  I didn’t expect to feel this way.  I expected a disappointing, lonely day.  I’m so grateful that God’s plans for me are different.  It is often hard for me to believe that the Lord has good for me.  I’m predisposed to anticipate the worst.  But this week, another piece of unbelief begins to believe. 

P.S. Extra big thanks so my roommates, Kim, and Chelsea for making by day so incredibly special.  Chels planned the surprise at The Pie Hole and sneakily was texting and calling as we were headed to the shop.  

Wholly

About a year and a half ago I was introduced to the poetry of Madeline L’engle.  Now, I don’t mean to be overly dramatic and to demean this phrase, but it changed my life.  I was with two friends and we sat down in a coffee shop, taking turns reading poems from L’engle’s “The Ordering of Love.”  (BUY THIS BOOK!)  As each person read, the other two would nod their heads, sigh and “mmhmm” in agreement.  We all eventually said, “Oh Madeline, you just get it.”  Her writings paint an honest picture of the Christian life, which is a rare find.  Soon after I purchased my own copy and continue to savor her beautiful words.  I’ve bought it as gifts, I’ve used it in spiritual direction, I’ve tried to convince people of its brilliance (at times, even writing blog posts). 

One of the poems that has been a continual comfort for me is called “The Birth of Love”:

To learn to love

is to be stripped of all love

until you are wholly without love

because

until you have gone

naked and afraid

into this cold dark place

where all love is taken from you

you will not know

that you are wholly within love.

Stop.  Read this poem again.  Just let it sink in for a moment before continuing on. 

The process of being born must be traumatic.  One starts wholly contained in the mother’s womb, but then must leave, naked and afraid, not knowing where this tunnel will lead to. In that moment,  it must seem like the world is ending.  Wholly in confusion.  No wonder a child emerges crying.  But from the place of unknowing and fear, the child is met with the reality of the mother, with ready, open arms.  Wholly contained again.    

I love that L’engle uses the imagery of birth in this poem.  It just seems to perfectly capture the journey of life with Christ.  I feel that I am continually going through this cycle of being held, then birthed, then held again.  Each time of birth is scary and seems never ending.  I find it hard to trust what will be at the end.  My memory is short and I struggle to remember how God has been with me. 

As I read this poem today, I am reminded that even though I feel stuck in this “cold dark place,” devoid of love, that in actuality, God holds me.  I am actually surrounded by his love.  My prayer as I read was “Lord, help my see this ‘cold dark place’ for what it really is, a place full of love, instead of a prison.”  I want to truly believe that I am contained and loved by God.  Wholly.  

Summer Wedding Series: Why I love Beyonce’s “Single Ladies”, AKA The Dreaded Bouquet Toss

Here’s the third in my Summer Wedding Series.  You started by adjusting yourexpectations.  Then you learned some evasive tactics for those awful questions and comments pertaining to your singleness.  Now, onto the dreaded bouquet toss…

I am eternally grateful for Beyonce’s song “Single Ladies.”  No, it hasn’t inspired me in life or encouraged me in some dark moments.  Rather, it has been an aid to me at weddings.  But let me start from the beginning.  As a single woman in her thirties, I have gone to my fair share of weddings.  The older I’ve gotten, the more I have come to dread the bouquet toss.  Something about that tradition just frustrates and annoys me.  I mean, going to a wedding as a single person tends to be challenging enough.  Another wedding and I’m not the bride.  Then, there are the awkward questions or the misguided words of “encouragement.”  So, by the time the bouquet toss comes along, I’m feeling pretty insecure and blue.  Then, they parade the single people out in front of everyone and expect us to act the fool in pursuit of the bouquet.  It’s become difficult to avoid the toss as a single person.  Everyone’s keeping their eyes out for you, sometimes literally pulling you onto the dance floor.  I say no! 

I’ve developed some strategies over the years to avoid this debacle.  My ear has become finely attuned to the DJ starting to call all the single women to the floor.  On a good day, I can be half way to the restroom* by the time he’s finished his sentence.  However, since Beyonce dropped “Single Ladies”, I was given another ally in my quest to avoid the bouquet toss.  The moment I hear that song, I know that something fowl is afoot and I can be safely in the ladies room by the time the call is made. 

Weddings are strange social gatherings and they tend to stir up all my insecurities.  I love getting to celebrate my friends, to stand with them and give my support to their marriage.  Yet, in the midst of all that goodness, the sadness that is stirred in me is a fear that I will never get married.  The fear that I am called to singleness for life.

In the last few years, I’ve learned and taught on vocation.  Sometimes, we tend to see vocation solely as our life purpose, when actually the true meaning reaches much wider than that.  The word vocation comes from the Latin word “vocare,” which literally means to call.  We often use the term solely for those who are pursuing jobs within the church or other areas of ministry.  Yet, as Christians, there are basic ways of life that each of us is called into.  We are called to love God.  We are called to love others.  These are not callings that are specific to some people, but are for the entire church.  Another aspect of vocation that I explored was the immediate call.  There are jobs, people, places, stages of life that we are called to in this moment.  These calls may not be for life, but they are true for today.  An example would be the calling into parenting a toddler.  Your life call most likely will not be to parent a toddler, but in the present, this is a significant calling on your life.  We can often see all callings as being locked in for life, when in actuality they at times only span a season of life instead.**

One of the hotbed topics when it comes to vocation is that of the celibate life.  Even as I type these words, I can’t help but think of nuns and priests.  In the scriptures, we see Paul engaging in his own calling to celibacy, while he encourages others likewise.  I think one of the greatest fears of singles is this specific call, because it can feel like a life sentence.  However, this particular vocation can actually be seen in two different realities.  One is a life-long call to the single life, while the other sees singleness as relegated to the immediate season of life. 

Yesterday, I was walking across a lake by my house and talking with God about my singleness.  As I stopped and looked across the water, I remembered the creation narrative in Genesis, (See Genesis 1).  After each day, the Lord declared what he made as good.  In my own life, God has placed me in a season of singleness.  And I believe (to some extent) that he calls it good.  This is not the good that I envisioned, but I want to learn to trust in what he calls good.  For me today, singleness is good.  This is my part of my vocation for this day. 

While this recognition of goodness does not make my singleness automatically turn into a joyful gift, I am grateful for the little reminders that God is with me and cares about my life.  Beautiful walks across a lake.  Family and friends who love and care for me.  And Beyonce’s “Single Ladies”, giving me a rhythmic heads up when bouquet danger is on the horizon. 

……….

*The restroom is my designated haven during bouquet tosses.  It’s a legitimate excuse and lets me avoid having to explain why I don’t like the bouquet toss. 

**This section on vocation was inspired by the teachings of Dr. John H. Coe, Institute of Spiritual Formation, at Talbot School of Theology