The Myth of “When you stop looking…”

If I were a betting women*, I would guess that one of the most commonly heard phrases by a single person is “When you stop looking, the one will suddenly appear” or some variation of this comment.  There was a time when that was a comforting sentiment, but now it just frustrates me.  And actually, I’ve come to believe that, while it may come with good intentions, it can be one of the most damaging statements for a single person to hear.

What about the other times I “wasn’t looking”?

This question was the first hint to me that the “stop looking” recommendation had its issues.  I didn’t go into college with strong hopes of meeting someone.  I wasn’t opposed to it, but my main motivation was to do something meaningful with my life.  Even after graduating, I felt fine being single.  It really wasn’t till I hit my mid-twenties, that I started to experience sadness over my singleness.  Again though, this wasn’t a constant sadness and I enjoyed the freedom I had to move to England for a year.  It really wasn’t till my late twenties that my singleness became concerning for me.  It was then that I really was faced with my deeper beliefs about myself and God. 

I share this, because, for all the times I wasn’t looking, I didn’t meet my future husband.  So, does that mean, I really wasn’t looking?  Underlying this statement is an assumption that one has been crazily searching for their mate every waking moment of the day.  Yet, I cannot think of one single person I have known who has fit this description. 

What are you called to in this season of life?

The last few years I have been learning about callings.  Sometimes we see callings as being lifelong, when actually they are often seasonal.  I am a student for a season, but not for all of my life.  The statement of “stop looking” completely ignores the question of what the individual is called to in that moment.  It presupposes that every person is to be married.  Right now.  While many will end up married, there are still those who remain single for life.  I know we try to ignore that reality by saying “they wouldn’t have the desire to if they were called to marriage.”  Unfortunately, I’ve met more than one person for whom that has not been true.  They wanted marriage, but eventually came to the conclusion that God didn’t have that for them and reconciled that with him.  No matter how much I want to be married, this does not necessarily mean that this is what God has for me today or even the rest of my life.  The deeper question may be, can I trust that the Lord knows what he is doing in this time in my life? 

Who is in control?

Yet, the most concerning aspect of the “stop looking” statement is that it seeks to put the ultimate control in our hands.  “I determine my future.”  “If I do this formula, then I will get these desired results.”  We need only read the book of Job to see that this is not the way life works.  Job was a godly man.  He lived life wisely.  Yet, that did not prevent him from experiencing deep loss and devastation.  I cannot trick God into bringing along the person I am to marry.  Doing the “right thing” will not guarantee that I get my way. 

I hate earthquakes.  Absolutely.  Completely.  They terrify me.  When I was little I experienced a few larger earthquakes.  Somehow, I came to the conclusion that earthquakes only happened when I didn’t think about them.  So, for night after night as I was getting ready for bed, I would think about earthquakes.  I believed that the thought would keep me safe and Southern California earthquake free.  I can look back on that today and laugh.  It seems pretty ridiculous to older me.  I can’t help but wonder if we take a similar posture when we tell the myth of “stop looking”.  It sounds normal enough, but when we step back and look deeper at what this statement implies, it actually is a bit crazy and ridiculous.  I am not denying that there are wise ways that we can present ourselves as singles, but it is not these actions that ultimately determine whether or not we get married. 

………………….

I wish life was that easy – to plug behaviors into the equation, yielding the same desired results each time.  The formula can be so alluring (and at times, it can seem as though it works), but it is also devoid of relationship.  If I determine my future, then why do I need another person?  Why do I need God?  If life has taught me anything, it is that I am not ultimately in control.  And that is good. And scary.  I don’t have a prescribed alternative statement to replace “stop looking.”  As I type this I realize there is not one prescribed statement that we should offer to the singles in our lives.  Rather, the relational move is to listen and be with singles as they continue on in their journey. 

*I am not a betting woman.  First, my job prohibits gambling, but even if I could gamble I would not.  Gambling makes no sense to me.  This is what runs through my head when I think about making a bet: So, I give my money to you and there’s a 99.9% chance I’ll lose it?  And that’s fun?  I think I’d rather hold onto my cash.  Or burn it.  Both sound more fun than gambling.  No judgment on those who gamble, it just doesn’t make sense to me.  I’m not a risk taker.  Gambling is tantamount to bungee jumping, which sounds like the worst thing ever.  More than you probably wanted or needed to know.  Hence the asterisk.  

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.

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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. 

 

One day 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 season, 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.  

To the Women I know

I posted this on Facebook today: My heart is with the women for whom today is painful and isolating. Be gentle with those in your life who may feel missed on Mother's Day.

Earlier this week I read a couple of blog posts about Mother’s Day.  Both women expressed how disappointing the day can be and their sorrow for those who experience the day as painful and lonely.  Those words have remained with me this weekend and I cannot shake this sadness as I consider the various paths of the women I know.  Today my heart grieved for those who are missed as we bless biological and adoptive mothers.  (Note: I absolutely believe we should bless mothers, but I wonder if there are more sensitive ways that we can approach this and celebrate women in general)

These are my words to the women I know today, especially those who ache today:

Women are co-image bearers of God.  We reflect part of him that men do not, just as men reflect God in ways that women do not.  I celebrate in you that reality of image bearer today.  It is worth recognizing and blessing.  

                                                         -------------------------------------------

Some of you lost your mothers at a young age and today only reminds you of the lost time.    

Others had a mom who parented with abuse, lies or hatred.  For you, mother might feel like a curse word.

You might experience disappointment in motherhood and doubt whether you have the strength to go on.

Some cry and mourn today for their lack of children and the hopes wrapped up in this expectation.  Whether through barrenness, age, singleness, the desire for motherhood seems to scream today.

Perhaps your mother was ill and unable to be fully present.  Maybe you had to step in to care for her and the term today just causes confusion. 

You lost a child and the loss echoes that much deeper today. 

                                                         -------------------------------------------

Whatever your journey has been as a woman, daughter or mother, I stand with you and thank my Lord for the privilege of knowing you.  I am honored to call you sister, mother, friend.  Your identity is bigger than the titles others may place on you. 

I mourn with you who mourn today. 

I rejoice with you who rejoice. 

May the Lord bless you on this day, beautiful image bearer of God.

       

Through the Fire

A few years ago I saw a concert at the Hollywood Bowl.  There were a few performers (including Adele way before she got super famous and sung James Bond theme songs) and one of them was Chaka Khan.  To be honest, I didn’t go to hear her and only knew one of her songs.  You know, the one where the guy keeps saying her name (Chaka Khan, Chaka Khan).  However, I really enjoyed her as a performer and at one point she spoke about her faith in God.  She mentioned a time in her life when she “walked through the fire”.  Then, she asked us, the audience, who was walking through the fire at that moment.  People raised their hands.  Chaka Khan went on to say how it was in that time of walking through the fire that she came to know God.  That phrase came back to me this morning.  Because, in my own way, I have been walking through the fire.

Now, this isn’t the only phrase I’ve heard used to describe this experience.  I’ve heard it called a trial, attack, desert or wilderness times.  Desolation.  Sanctification.  Purification.  I’ve heard it described fondly, with despair, or with the usage of multiple cuss words.  Essentially, we’re talking about the circumstances, the movements of the heart, the tensions, that bring about our growth in relationship with God.   

I remember growing up and how much I was inspired by a good testimony.  My parents both have crazy stories of how they came to God.  My story was much more calm and unexciting.  I was really young and told my mom I wanted to ask Jesus into my heart.  Growing up in the Evangelical church a story like that can be disappointing.  We want our insane come to Jesus stories, with extra drugs, sex and rock n roll on the side.  What I’ve found though, is that my story got much more interesting once Jesus entered the picture (or rather I acknowledged he was in the picture).  My life didn’t get perfect with Jesus.  And if I think back over the last 15 years in particular, my life has been much more challenging, tumultuous and complex.  There have been good times, but there have been seasons of walking through the fire.

When I was in my twenties, I eventually came to suspect that Jesus wanted access to the real me.  He wanted to be with me in my “broken places”.  It was scary, but also exciting.  I was met in significant ways by him.  Enough so that I learned to trust him a bit more with these tender places of my heart.  Today, going into these places in my heart has lost its sheen.  I still want to go there, to walk the way of honesty, but I’m weary from the journey.  Each time back into the fire, it gets deeper, more painful, and that much more costly. 

Today I walk in a season of unknowing.  I have a lot of questions about my callings in work and relationships.  I don’t have a lot of answers, but that just makes me want them that much more.  Some days I just want to run away from the fire.  Other days, I feel more peace in it. 

The verse that keeps coming back to me during this time is Peter’s words to Jesus, “Lord, to Whom shall we go?  You have the words of Eternal life.” (John 6:68)  This journey doesn’t have the excitement of something new and unknown right now, but it does have the promise of God.  There’s no one else I could or would go to.  I don’t know much else, but I do know that.  And today, as I continue on in the fire, this is what grounds and secures me.

My New Favorite British Television Program

I should begin this post by thanking my friend Amy, as she is the one who introduced me to this brilliant TV program (I used the term “brilliant” since that is a very British type of word and the show is British…see what I did there).  Amy is a great resource for me in the film and TV department.  She has similar tastes to me, so I can trust what she recommends.  Anyways, about a month ago Amy messaged me on Facebook, asking if I was watching “Call the Midwife.”  It sounded vaguely familiar, but I had not seen it yet.  She briefly told me I had to watch and that the second season was about to start.  So, on my next free afternoon, I sat down and was treated to the best that British TV has to offer.

A few years ago I was introduced to another British TV show, the now famous/infamous “Downton Abbey.”  I was an early convert to the show, watching the entire series in one day (in all fairness, Netflix listed it as a mini-series and not as a TV show).  However, as time has gone on, I’ve become increasingly frustrated with this program as more sensational story lines have crept in.  The final straw was the season 3 closer.  I think that was it for many viewers.  So, lately there has been a Downton shaped hole in my heart.  However, I’ve found that “Call the Midwife” doesn’t just replace Downton, it actually knocks it off the pedestal.  I am continually impressed with the stories, the acting and the lack of a soap opera feel. 

For those of you unfamiliar with the program, let me fill you in.  The show begins with Jenny Lee, a young nurse who has recently trained to become a midwife.  She is transferred to London’s East End, a poorer neighborhood where the babies are a flowing.  Her privileged upbringing is immediately challenged by the poverty of this community.  Yet, she grows and is able to see these women as women, and not for their poverty.  She works at a convent, where a mixture of Sisters and young nurses tend to the women in this community.  Some of the shows end with the Sisters praying beautiful sung prayers.  It takes place in post-World War II London, which I find such an interesting chapter in England, with the rebuilding and modernizing.  But there was one occurrence that made me just love this show.

In the second episode a new midwife joins the house.  Her nickname is Chummy and she is awkward, a bit of a mess, and can’t even ride a bike (the main form of transportation for the midwives).  My first impression of her was pity with an expectation that she would not be able to make it as a midwife.  “She’ll be gone by the end of the episode,” I thought.  However, I was pleasantly surprised to see her stay and become a beloved regular.  And this is the main difference between British and American television.  In American TV, Chummy would be a joke, hurried off at the end, only existing to teach the main characters a lesson.  In British TV, she joins the cast and shines as one of the major characters.  So, the moral of this story is, when possible, watch British TV. 

Season 2 of “Call the Midwife” is currently airing on PBS.  The first season is available to watch instantly on Netflix.  

Why I don't Give Blood...

Hi All, this is a post I wrote about a year ago, but it is still true today.  Enjoy!

I guess the full title for this post should be: Why I don't give blood and what that has to do with dating. A few weeks ago there was a blood drive on the campus where I work. It reminded me of the last time I gave blood...

Many years ago, when I was a wee college lass, I had a crush on a guy in the Christian ministry I was involved with. Every year during the week between Christmas and New Year's the ministry would gather with students from all over California and Arizona (and occasionally Hawaii). The first year I went, this guy, we'll call him John, gave blood. I was impressed by this selfless act and took note. The next year, I still liked him, and thought I should give blood. Because once he saw how selfless I was, he'd make the connection that we should date. That's how things work, right? But here's the thing. I hated needles. Now, I'd had shots, done blood tests, etc., but it was never a fun experience for me. However, I found myself tired a lot, so assumed I was anemic. They test you for that before you give blood, so I thought I'd get in line, but be dismissed. I get all the credit for being "selfless", but don't have to deal with the needle. It's a win-win.

I gather my friends and we line up to give blood. All the while, I'm looking around for John. He of course, is nowhere to be found. One by one, we get tested, and my friends are being wiped out like a plague - they all are anemic. I'm finally tested. And guess what? I'm approved to donate blood. Curses, my plan has failed! I have to give blood and John can't witness my "selflessness".

Later that night, all the members from my campus go out to dinner. John is there. We were at some weird place where every 15 minutes the servers would do a dance routine to a song. When "Wild, Wild West" came on (see, I told you this happened a long time ago), my friend and I decided to join in with the servers. As I am mid-lasso, I begin to remember the thing they told me earlier that day about not doing a lot of physical activity. Then the darkness starts to close in. I hurry to get back to my seat to prevent my fainting. All the while, I look ridiculous, staggering to my seat. I try to explain why I'm woozy, but between the music playing so loudly and my being woozy, I don't think anyone comprehends what's going on. Except that I am strange. And that is what John witnesses. Not my "selfless" giving of life to another, but my staggering around and talking incoherently.

So, that's why I haven't given blood since then. Actually, it's not a complete no, but I will never again give blood to try to impress a boy.

Realistic Expectations: Arrested Development

We are now less than a month out from the release of the new episodes of Arrested Development.  This is the day us fans have waiting for over many years.  I had given up hope, despite the rumors that continued to fly around about a film.  Finally, the day came, when I heard the news that Netflix would be airing a new season. 

As my excitement has grown, I’ve begun to wonder if my expectations for Arrested Development can ever be met.  I mean, how many times have I looked forward to a film, only to be disappointed.  The one that stands out most clearly in my memory is The Matrix 3.  I waited in line for the midnight showing, all dressed in black, and eager for the completion of the trilogy.  A couple of hours later I emerged dejected, disappointed and despising the Wachowski brothers.  It was so bad that it made me retroactively hate the second Matrix.  Today, I just try to pretend the second and third films just don’t exist so that I can appreciate the original. 

So, my fear in Arrested Development is that after all this waiting, the new episodes can never meet my unrealistic expectations.  Or that they will be just plain bad.  Only time will tell, but in the meantime, clips like these make me eager for May 26.

Please, please, please don’t be bad!