Infinite

I have a friend, who was recently telling me how God is calling him to learn to receive love and care from God and others. I was excited to hear this for a few reasons. First, he is such a caring person, always giving to others, and I think it wonderful for him to get to spend some time receiving. Second, it reminds me of a season in my life, where God took me on a similar journey. From a very young age I have gloried in my independence. There was even a time in college when I used to secretly think of myself as Wonder Woman. There was nothing I could not do. But years later, through a traumatic experience, I was brought to the stark reality that I am not infinite. Even as I type that now, it is a good reminder. I am not infinite. In the midst of this season of receiving, I went on a mission's trip to Brazil. I was worried prior to leaving. I talked to my therapist about how I feared that I would over work myself, that I would over do it. For me, a mission’s trip was a time to work your butt off to the point of physical, mental and emotional exhaustion. Yet, I knew that the Lord was not calling me to this way of life, to this way of ministry.

So, I left for Brazil, scared about what my experience would be. A couple of days in, I caught a cold. It crept up on me throughout the day and by the evening I was feeling awful. But I didn’t tell anyone on my team. We had an outdoor worship service in the park, in which I was leading worship. Then we sat and listened to a teaching. I continued to feel worse and eventually a few of my team members began to notice. Everyone gathered together and helped me out. One of our team members even allowed me to spit my gum out in his hand so that I could take some medicine. It was frightening to allow others into my messiness. I felt loved by my team members, but also embarrassed. Wonder Woman was nowhere to be found. We traveled that night to a new city and the next morning I still felt ill. As challenging as it was for me, I made the decision to stay in bed, instead of participating in ministry that day. It was so humbling to be on a mission’s trip and not be doing a thing. And yet, I really had no choice. Being stuck in this place, I had to rely on my team members and I realized what a wonderful gift it is to receive.

I began to feel better over the next couple of days, but on the last day of the trip I again got sick. On our second flight I took some night time cold medicine, in hopes that it would knock me out for the rest of the flight. I took the medicine on an empty stomach, which I overlooked since I didn’t feel hungry. I began to feel nauscious and went to use the rest rooms. While waiting for a stall to open up I lost consciousness for a moment. Immediately, the flight staff was around me, asking if I was alright. This part is a foggy for me, but a Brazilian doctor and a medical student from the States both came to the back of the plane to examine me. One of them identified it as a reaction to the meds as a result of my taking it on an empty stomach and the altitude. Within a few minutes, some of the women from my team came back. Although our mission's team consisted of over thirty people, no one realized it was me who was requiring medical attention until a team member went to use the restroom and saw me lying on the floor. I was in capable hands and felt so provided for between two doctors. I had a few moments to myself before going back to my seat and found myself overwhelmed with gratitude. Even though I had passed out and was lying on the floor of the plane, I felt so cared for by God. It's almost hard to describe, but the experience of being taken care of in the midst of a seemingly scary situation was life changing. I think at that moment the reality of my finitude became so real to me. It had been growing and developing in me for the past couple of years, but this is the moment when I saw it and accepted it with open arms. I made peace with my finitude.

I am not in perfect peace with my finitude. It is an ever changing state, but slowly, its roots dig in deeper in my heart. My finitude is not the dirty word it used to be. My finitude is no longer ignored. My finitude has become a means of grace, a means of love. And that is one hundred times better than being Wonder Woman.

He Set Us Up the Bomb

The other night I was praying as I drove home. I know – how pious of me. Earlier, I’d heard some news that caused me to feel hope over something I’d been praying about the last few months (could I be any more vague?). My prayer to the Lord as I drove home was “Please don’t set me up the bomb.”

Some of you may remember a funny video that went around in the early 2000’s. It started with the opening scene from a video game. The game was originally in Japanese and the translation to English was terrible. The most quoted line from the video was “All Your Base Are Belong to Us,” which also became the basis of a techno song that followed the footage from the video game. One of the other classic awkwardly worded phrases is “He set us up the bomb!” (See link below for the video).



So, back to my prayer. I felt hope over this situation, but almost immediately, my next response was fear. “What if I have hope about this situation and it doesn’t work out?” I’m somewhat of an intuitive person. Sometimes my intuitions are right. Sometimes they’re wrong. And sometimes they are right and things still don’t work out how I expected/planned. As I consider this, the real issue for me is trust. It is hard for me to trust God. It is hard for me to believe that even if I don’t get what I want, that He is still at work, that He loves me, that He knows what He is about. This is nothing new to me. Trusting others, trusting God, has been such a scary place for me to step into. The Lord has definitely brought healing in these areas and I can see that. But, my trust issues are as layered as an onion. So, there are many more levels to go.

In Ignatian spirituality there is the concept of indifference. Essentially, one is grown by the Lord in being able to hold anything that passes through one’s hands openly, neither refusing, nor grasping. In this season in which I find myself, I have had many “opportunities” to grow in indifference.

For me, the trust and indifference must be tied together. I cannot be truly indifferent if I cannot trust God. My prayer revealed that this remains a hard place for me to trust. I'm ok with that. The fact that I can see this speaks to God's work in these scary places in my heart. But it's still scary and risky and frightening.

And these are some words from one very much in process.

Baccalaureate - the extended edition

Tonight was my baccalaureate ceremony in which I was hooded (insert various jokes here). It was a very dear, special night, surrounded by very dear, special people. Each graduate was allowed to submit a note of thanks, which was read while the individual walked across the stage to be hooded. We were limited to 95 words. I was shocked to discover that my first attempts was close to 4xs over the limit. Oops. So, after much editing, I was able to make it to around 97 words. Here is the extended version, the director's cut. =)

My time at Talbot, at ISF was both better and more challenging than I ever could have envisioned. And yet, I would not have had it any other way. Each point, experience, conversation, prayer was vital in my growth and development. As I reflect back I consider the cost. While it was hard it was completely worth it.

It is with a full, grateful heart that I thank my wonderful parents - who backed me up when I left it all to attend seminary. To my dear brother Andrew, who has taught me so much about love and sacrifice. To Leigh and Chels, you are my compatriots on this journey with Jesus. Thank you for walking with me, crying with me, laughing with me - for bringing your beautiful selves.

To Drs. Barber, Coe, TenElshof and Porter: It has been an honor to study under you and to witness the reality of your relationship with Christ on a daily basis. You are all the real deal. Monica, words cannot express the joy I've experienced getting to work with you. To the community at ISF: You have made my time at Talbot beautiful. Thank you for loving me as me, in process.

To my Daddy Jesus: Thank you for bringing me here - You knew how much I needed this place, more than I knew and more than I'll ever know. Thank you for being with me through every hill and valley. You do know what You are about.

Practicing the Art of Grieving

I graduate this Friday. Along with this comes the inevitable question: So, what’s next? And I hate this question. On multiple levels. The reality is, I don’t want to move on. It is so hard to step from what is known into what is unknown. Ambiguity. I can handle and even appreciate it in my life. But when it seems as though every aspect of my life is entering into a weird, unknown existence, I long for some sort of security blanket (or in my case, a soft pillow).

This transition is made more difficult, because I really love where I am. Almost three years ago I entered seminary to study spiritual formation and to train to become a spiritual director. I didn’t know what spiritual direction even was. I began school having experienced the hardest season I’d ever been through. I was shattered, dusty, and weary, a 26-year old ministry burn out. That first semester was water to my soul. I was hearing words, explanations for why we are the way we are. It was as if someone was able to give words to the things I had experienced as a Christian. I was invited to be real and it was refreshing.

It was also hard. There are aspects of the self, hidden vices that masquerade as virtue, that were not appealing places to visit. There was also unresolved pain. Life got messy. Looking back, I do not know how I remained so engaged in this program. I think the idea that stuck with me throughout my time was, it is hard, but worth it. I had an overwhelming sense of this is where I needed to be.

Grieving has never been easy for me (and it’s probably not easy for anyone). Yet, our lives are so full of grief. Even on small levels, there is continual loss in our lives. A few months ago I was watching the news and they were showing footage from the memorial service for the Georgian luger who died right before the Olympics began. People were walking through the streets, wailing. My immediate response was to think that was odd – most of these people do not know the man who died. It struck me though, that there was something beautiful about this communal experience of grief. And not just that it was communal, but also that there was this acceptance of grief and freedom to express it publicly. These are a people well-practiced in the art of grieving. I think for those of us in Western cultures, this is not the case. Grief is to be shoved down or hidden. It is a private matter. But we cannot escape it. We can try to ignore it (which only works for so long) or we can engage in it and learn to how to grieve well.

I am reminded of the journey of the Israelites, especially their 40 years of wandering. Loss of freedom. Loss of Egypt. Loss of food choice. Loss of stability. Loss of Moses. Yet, some of the things lost needed to be lost. In all their grief though, the Israelites didn’t lose God. He was the one and only thing they could grasp onto. And I believe that remains true for us today.

So, I willingly (or somewhat willingly) enter into the unknown, with mustard seed-like faith, that God has me and that He knows what He is about.

Gnossienne No. 1

I’m not sure where I first heard this song. I only know that last July, Chris Martin played this piano piece between songs and I knew I’d heard it before. On New Year’s Day I was watching the documentary “Man on Wire,” and lo and behold, there was the song. I decided I needed to find this song. Turns out, it is called Gnossienne No. 1. This song draws me in – it speaks to me. Or maybe it calls me, because it is expressing the words and thoughts and emotions that my soul is pouring forth right now. There is something so mysterious and a general sense of the unknown in this piece. That sense of the unknown resonates with me right now. I am in a class on vocation – one’s calling. I have been spending time thinking and praying about my own calling. It once appeared to be so clear, but I find that it now feels shrouded in mystery. Some of the prayers my teacher has been asking us to pray during this class also express this same idea of the unknown:

“My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end...” (The Road Ahead – Thomas Merton)

“God has created me to do Him some definite service; He has committed some work to me which He has not committed to another. I have my mission – I may never know it in this life, but I shall be told it in the next…” (A Meditation – Cardinal Newman)

I so badly want to move past the unknown – I want to know – I want to have control. The further I follow these desires down I see their roots in my pride and difficulty in trusting. The challenge is learning to trust God in my present context of mystery and in the reality that there will be many things I will never know and understand on this side of life. What am I trusting in? The presence of God and the fact that He is God. Both of these prayers end in similar places:

“I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.” (Merton)

“He knows what He is about. He may take away my friends. He may make me feel desolate, make my spirits sink, hide my future from me – still He knows what He is about.” (Newman)

Both of these prayers remind me of the lament Psalms – the ones where the author cries out and speaks the truth of the situation or circumstances, but ends with the ultimate context: God. In this class (vocation) my teacher mentioned how he always wanted to know how long these Psalms took to write. They paint such a beautiful picture of our process as humans, but so much of our process is slow and can seem to drag (at least it can to me). How many of these Psalms represent years of one’s journey with God? There’s a point where we can sum up our experience in a few words, but those few words are birthed from many seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and years.

So, I’ll end this post now – somewhere in the midst of my own process, learning to trust God in the mystery (which will probably be a life-long journey) and to open to the reality that He knows what He is about.

Time for another 2009 Recap

I’ve just started reading Donald Miller’s latest, “A Million Miles in a Thousand Years.” It’s all about the stories we’re living out. Miller mentioned a friend of his who writes down all the interesting things that happens to him, as his own sort of on-going memoir. It got me thinking back to this past year, well that and it being New Year and all. So, I decided to compile some memories from 2009.

My 2009 Highlights

Three-Week Retreat – I don’t know if “highlight” is the best term for this retreat. It was a highlight, a lowlight – words just won’t do me justice when it comes to this. It was harder than I thought it would be, but also so very different. By the end I felt certain that every experience was necessary during the retreat. There were special, dear moments, that I will hold onto for the rest of my life, including my first time seeing Mt. Ranier (on that trip; I’d seen in before). PS – Just call me Jen.






Trip to New Zealand – I only wish I had more time there. It was one of the more slow paced trips I’ve ever taken and I enjoyed that. NZ is gorgeous and Erin and I got to explore and adventure in some of the locals spots (definitely places not found in your tour books).




















My first time to the Hollywood Bowl –I don’t know how I missed visiting this LA landmark, since I’ve lived in So Cal for almost 30 years. The night was magical! Adele was amazing and the wonderful company, goodies and wine made for a memorable evening.











Coldplay – For years I have passed on seeing some of my favorite bands and have regretted it after. I decided not to let it happen again and bought tickets to see Coldplay in July. Although money was tight this year, I didn’t regret it. They put on a great show and it was very meaningful to hear “Fix You,” live. Another favorite was their acoustic rendition of “Billie Jean.” Plus, Chris Martin would play these gorgeous piano pieces between certain songs. It was a fun, playful night, with some fun, playful friends (Brosef Andrew, Amanda R and Kim J). Amidala and Your Mama!




Prairie Home Companion – Garrison Keillor and his friends performed at the Greek this summer. My dad has listened to the show for years and I had discovered the show through NPR podcasts. The older I get, the more I realize how similar my dad’s and my tastes are. We were literally in the back row, but right before the show started and man walked up and gave up 2 tickets, about half way up the venue (his parents weren’t able to make it). Keillor is amazing – he is a true story teller. Despite Sheryl Crow being there (ugh), KD Lang and Martin Sheen made for an engaging night. Despite our free seat upgrades, another favorite moment was during the commercial break when we all sang old timey songs together.

ISF Group – I started meeting with some friends from ISF at the beginning of the year. It has been such a gift to get to dig in and live life with them. I had struggled “finding my place” at ISF and this group helped me to settle in even more. There have been deep cries and deep laughs and everything in between. And if that wasn’t enough, there was Christmas in July.









Being moved by my community – My dear family and friends moved me while I was on my 3-week (details on why I had to move under Lowlights). It has been a lifelong struggle for me to accept the help of those around me. Usually, I will refuse help and do it on my own. It became clear that it would not be possible and my lovely community stepped together. It was humbling, but mostly I felt so loved. This experience is monumental in some ways. Thanks again to the amazing Chels and Leigh for coordinating the move (who said “forget about it – we have it covered”), and for my friends and family who came together to move and unpack me.


Season 5 of Lost – Perhaps this entry seems a bit out of place. I do love this show and Season 5 was a blast! Only one more season left – ahh!!! And yes, I am a nerd.
















Fall Retreat to Vallyermo – Fall semester was so very challenging. I came straight back from my retreat into school, work, life. During Torrey conference (in which classes are canceled for half of the week), I spontaneously decided to take a 48 hour retreat to one of my favorite retreat centers – St. Andrews Abbey in Vallyermo. The trees were adorned with autumnal colors and it provided a gorgeous background for me to rest. There weren’t any ground breaking moments – just time to step back and catch my breath. It was nice having some friends close by during the retreat and I especially enjoyed our night with the raccoons. =)



Nose Piercing – This was very symbolic for me, as if I was learning even more how to walk in my freedom. I have wanted my nose pierced for years, but kept talking myself out of it. Finally, I decided to just do it. My wonderful brother purchased my piercing as a birthday gift. He drove me over (while I started freaking out about it), encouraged me and even held my hand during the piercing. Ok, I hate needles, but this was one of the least painful things in my life. It was so quick and easy. Plus, I realized how traumatic the sound of the ear piercing gun is – a plain needle is much more relaxing. Thanks again to Lindsay V for the recommendation of Outer Limits.




My 2009 Lowlights

Jane’s suicide – A friend of the family took her life last spring. Suicide is hard regardless, but it brought up a lot of memories of my brother’s attempts. This loss was incredibly hard for my mom and led to some difficult times for her. It was hard for me to witness her like that and reminded me of how things were when I was younger.

Having my housing situation blow up – Less than two weeks before my 3-week retreat there was an incident at my house. I don’t want to get into details here (if you know me well, you know the details), but it was very traumatic and hurtful.

Loosing a job – I found out, without any notice, that I was loosing one of my jobs. I started writing business plans back in 2008 and it had been a major contributor to my monthly income. My boss recently decided to stop this aspect of his company. Still figuring out how to supplement the income.

Going off anti-depressants – After about a year on anti-depressants my Dr. decided to wean me off them. Although it was a slow process, it still was hard; however, it wasn’t till the end of the process that I realized how challenging it was.

Accessories to my journey this year (not exhaustive)

UP
Harry Potter (the books)
Peets Coffee

30 Rock & Community











Chels & Leigh
Various Songs: Der Gang Zum Liebchen, Here is Love, Hoppipolla, How He Loves, Zero to Hero, Jai Ho, Chasing Pavements, Come Ye Disconsolate, For the Beauty of the Earth, All Creatures, Yahweh, What a Friend, What a Child is Meant to Be, Ode to Joy.
Wednesday Night Group
Julie and Julia
ISF group
Study Wednesdays with mein brudder!
Chocolate
My gorgeous journal, hand crafted by Chels and Leigh
Rainbows
Brian VanDragt
ISF Staff
Various Podcasts: Relevant, This American Life, Prairie Home Companion, The Moth

Here's to the close of one story-worthy year, and to the opening of a new one!

Jen

Thoughts on Ratatouille and Beauty

I am watching Ratatouille and remembering how much I enjoy this film. For those who have not yet watched it, the story revolves around a rat named Remy, who happens to be the best chef in France. Of course, being a rat has its setbacks, especially in the culinary world. He befriends a clueless human named Linguini. Together, they breathe life into a once thriving restaurant. The major dramatic moment occurs when Anton Ego, the formidable food critic, decides to dine at their restaurant. In a bold move, Remy serves ratatouille, which is a peasant stew – certainly not in the same realm as French cuisine. As he takes his first bite of the dish, Ego is transported back to his childhood. He is no longer the bitter critic, but rather is a sad little boy, who is comforted by his mom with ratatouille. A change washes over his face. He is no longer the same person. He is that child again. And yet, he is still the adult. Somehow everything has come together in one of those a-ha moments. That child and that adult have integrated; have experienced life at a deeper dimension. Prior to this moment, Ego is surrounded by death. His office is even shaped like a coffin. However, by the end of the film, he is alive, enjoying life, dessert, and ratatouille.

It is something beautiful to witness these moments in one’s life. The moment that changes everything. Maybe it is found in a word or two, a note of music, or in the case of Ratatouille, a bite of food. And somehow, everything makes sense. Doesn’t it seem as though these moments are so often ushered in by beauty? It takes something of that nature to awaken us from our monotony, to scream an invitation to join into the life that is available.

Today I went to a chapel at school. The second half involved an outdoor banquet, in which we feasted on fig spread, cheese, bread, grapes and delectable chocolate truffles (that’s my kind of chapel). The tables were beautifully decorated, garnished with vibrant flowers, and everyone had a place marked with his or her name. I was one of the first people outside and it was a joy to hear the response of others as they approached the table. You could hear a change in their voice – one of surprise and delight.

This writing has got me thinking on my own experience. One moment in particular comes to mind. When I was 14 I had back surgery to correct scoliosis. It was very painful and I had to stay in the hospital for a week. There was something so lovely about coming home. It took awhile for me to get out of the car and walk back to my bed. Finally, I lay down and rested. Although it was November, the weather was perfect (that’s southern California for you). The windows were open and there was a gentle breeze going through the house. It brought with it the scent of flowers from the backyard. And in that moment, I was overwhelmed with beauty. Somehow smelling the flowers awakened in me gratitude for my life. Of course, it was in the context of going through intense surgery, but the scent brought up the emotions that couldn’t come out before. I cried – tears of joy, tears of pain, tears of exhaustion. Something shifted in me then. I was not the same.

These moments happen on a variety of different levels. Although, not every moment of change will be utterly life altering, they are still beautiful. I’m curious to hear about all your “moments” as you journey through life.