Several days ago I asked God to show me how he is working in my life. As you could probably ascertain from my last blog post, I’ve been having a hard time seeing this. Being able to admit what I did in the last post is one of his answers and then something that happened yesterday, which I now share:
All day I was feeling the pointlessness of my existence. This wasn’t situational, necessarily. It wasn’t a “big day,” other than the rambling, normal celebration of a friend’s birthday. I had spent all day with these friends chatting, eating, staring off into space, being entertained by their children, taking photos with my cell phone… Continue reading “A Lantern of Hope”
Sometimes I go down roads in my head I don’t want to go. This usually has to do with big questions about life and God. Several years ago I suddenly couldn’t shake the fact that the Bible doesn’t say explicitly what happens to babies that die. I couldn’t just believe something happy to soothe my fears, I had to know. And until I worked it out, I had a hard time thinking about anything else.
When thoughts like this come along, I don’t usually want to share the journey with anyone because I fear several unpleasant things. Mostly I fear that they will label me or decide something about me based upon my current feelings and thoughts without recognizing the journey of it. I fear this from others because I tend to do it to myself.
“THIS IS A BAD PLACE AND I WILL ALWAYS LIVE HERE.”
That’s the thing I tend to think when I’m wandering down the miry path called Crisis Of Faith… Continue reading “The Ugly Truth”
Why is it so difficult to receive love? So, so much more difficult than giving it away.
Sunday in church, the pastor talked briefly about the things a minister/leader/pastor cannot do for those to whom they minister. The sum up is that a minister cannot go in and fix something inside of another person’s heart.
Pondering this and other things as I drove home Monday through the incredible beauty of the Wenatchee National Forest, I was stuck on an even more disturbing reality: How difficult it is to fix something inside of my own heart.
I know a lot of kids and have the pleasure of watching them interact with their parents. All of them are at various stages of obedience. Sometimes my heart is like the naughtiest, most disobedient toddler. I can say with great sternness what I want my heart to feel or not feel, to know or to not know. I can cajole it to believe, bribe it not to rebel, soothe it into gratitude… Continue reading “Bluebird in my Heart”
A year ago I was keenly longing for my own place- a kitchen in which to bake, a living room to invite people into, wall space to hang my prints.
Three months ago I was making detailed plans for getting an RV to live in so that I could have my own home while still being able to travel.
I’m pretty happy staying in guest rooms and sleeping on couches, but at the same time, I find myself mentally decorating some imaginary home of my own. I spend a little time here and there “shopping” for things like area rugs and arm chairs. My dream house is the coolest thing you’ve never seen.
Maybe I talk about this a lot?
If it seems like I’m repeating myself, it’s probably because I’ve been in this flexible state for the last 4 years- not at all what I expected from life so near to 40. While I’m waiting and waiting to find out where “home” is, I learn more and more deeply how comfortable it can be to be homeless…
Continue reading “Splendid Spinsterhood”
Normally I wouldn’t publicly argue with a fictional character. I usually reserve that for inside of my head or those really fun late night conversations with friends, but today in the shower I was thinking about Yoda.
That came out weird.
I was thinking specifically about Yoda’s, “Do or do not, there is no try.” While I get that he’s pushing on Luke’s tendency to give up like a big whiney baby, using “I’ll try” as an excuse to fail in the future, I don’t really agree with Yoda’s method… Continue reading “Fighting Yoda”
My daughter Sarah is not alive anymore, but sometimes she lives so vividly in my thoughts it’s as though she is alive. But she’s not. It isn’t sad, but it is.
When I’m driving in the car she sits in the back seat and kicks her legs and laughs at something silly I said. Walking down a long hallway, she may skip beside me, she may hold my hand. And sometimes, when I’m sitting in a chair, she gets up into my lap and lays her head on my shoulder for me to pet her hair like I loved to have my mother pet my hair when I was little… Continue reading “My Favorite Ghost”
I float in and out of thinking, distraction, sleep, bad dreams and mundane activity.
I’ve formed this weird habit of not talking to people about stuff. Talking to friends about the things I’m wrestling with is like having nice hand rails for a rickety, floating bridge. Not talking sends me adrift, or maybe I just hang out on one rotting rung because I can’t see the way forward. Questions echo in my mind without reply. And then suddenly I’m confessing my sins to the checker at Haggen after she asks, “Did you find everything alright?”
The world seems to be moving more quickly now and I feel like I have to butt in to have conversation, or it’s selfish, or too intense. Maybe that’s why we all have blogs, so we can confess without really asking anyone if they’re willing to listen. Then it gets harder to believe anyone actually is.
Note to self: talk to my friends about stuff… Continue reading “Dream Out Loud”
Going for walks in the morning is like stepping into a fairytale as some sick, old creature. The woods are glittery and towering, decorated with a million invisible strands of web, still drenched by the rainstorm from several days ago. Naturally I listen to music while I walk, and this just adds to the beauty and romance of the trail.
I didn’t appreciate Robert Frost’s poetry until I moved to Warm Beach Camp, but walking through the woods every day from my apartment to the bakeshop, I got to know nature in a much more personal way than I ever had before… Continue reading “The Wild Quiet”
Sometimes I run out of words. There is some magical balance between structure and freedom which I am trying to strike. Too much structure and I become too stressed and anxious to function well, too much freedom and many important left-brain abilities go out the window- the most noticeable of these being communication.
To combat this atrophy, I’ve been doing crossword puzzles and reading books. I have even managed to write in my journal, but I’m still not really at a place to make focused, thoughtful posts.
For that reason, I have taken pictures for my post today. This represents the corner I turned yesterday. Not only did I have two very helpful conversations with two wise women about Rest, but I also cleaned and organized my room- making it a much more comfortable place to work stuff out…. Continue reading “Place to Be”
One of my closest friends, a white American woman, is married to a black Jamaican man. She doesn’t really watch the news and so I was explaining to her what I had read/heard about the situation that has been unfolding in Ferguson, MO. She mentioned her own awakening awareness of racism since marrying a black man and, unfortunately, his introduction to racism since moving to the U.S.
At the age of 22 I worked for the summer at a camp in Wisconsin. Most of the kids coming to the camp were from inner city Chicago. Black city kids at a mosquito infested Christian camp with an almost only white staff. It was a particularly difficult summer for me and likely also for them. This was partly because I had just been kicked out of Bible college, and my inner brokenness made me more fragile and less capable of connecting with my campers.
White people who want to steer clear of being called racist tend to do an opposite kind of injustice to their fellow brown humans by pretending that skin color is the only difference, missing the rich differences in culture. I have never heard a black person make this same mistake. On my first or second week as a counselor at camp, I was wrestling heavily with the communication-by-insult factor. On my insistence that regardless of how ubiquitous this was in their families and communities, it was still not nice, one savvy 12yr old said with great inflection, “You don’t know many black people, do you?”
I didn’t bluster and say, “I have black friends” because I honestly didn’t. Growing up in the suburbs of North Seattle did not bring me into contact with very many black people…. Continue reading “Divided Humanity”
Most of us want to be Good People. We tend to think that, just as a child grows from infancy to adulthood, everyone is at some stage of “growing up” toward maturity and greater independence.
A few months ago I posted something a friend of mine wrote where she mentioned a pastor who had committed suicide. Weeks later, another friend asked me about this- disturbed to consider a pastor doing such a horrible, desperate thing. Because of this idea we have that spiritual growth is a steep climb up a mountain made increasingly on your own, it is horrifying when someone “ahead” of us on the path gives up or slides dramatically backward.
We ask ourselves, “What is the point of my climbing if someone like that can fall?”
The bad news is that being a pastor or a missionary or a nun will not safeguard us from being Bad People, from getting depressed, from having broken relationships, from sin or from tragedy (a fact that is noticed easily by people who keep their distance from Christianity). Although we gain maturity and we learn lessons, we’re always light years away from being grown up… Continue reading “Getting it Right”
Taking a sabbatical in my home town is a bit like going to a kids birthday party for some peace and quiet.
Nevertheless coming here and taking a sabbatical were both things I felt like God was leading me to do. It’s much easier to make jokes about than to manage well and I’m taking some time today to lay this situation before God. To be honest, I think this very thing is one of my main reasons I need a sabbatical and a huge part of why God led me to do it here in Washington state.
Like when you pray for patience and discover yourself surrounded by frustrating life you can (wrongly) see it as proof that you shouldn’t have prayed for patience, or you can see it as a divine opportunity to get in plenty of practice. And, let’s face it, life is ever full of such opportunities. It is just a matter of choosing to see each thing as a chance to grow instead of as a God given “trial.”
God is not spiteful, but he is wise and he is loving.
So here I am on the verge of a week in which many “opportunities” are presenting themselves, all piled up, pushing and pulling at me… Continue reading “Party Pooper”
As a verbal processor, it’s painful to not have words. If you had seen my room last week as I packed to leave Colorado, you would see the perfect picture of what my head looks like now.
Everything is thrown into piles around the room. Heaping, disorganized. Then, in the most random order, I begin to dive in and make throw-away, keep, and give away piles.
Until it’s all tidied and figured out, it is, as my mom would say, The Wreck of the Hesperus.
And so today there is this incredible mash of thoughts and emotions building up and spilling over a little in very random comments made to whoever is near. Earlier, while I was trying to brain storm for a teaching I’m working on, I felt as though all of my insides were going to push themselves outward through my freckled skin. In response to this feeling, I got up and went outside to lay on my face in the grass in the sun. Then I sat up and stared off into space for a long while. It was the most productive thing I’ve done all day.
So, why in the world am I writing a post about not having words?!?! It seems possible that someone out there might relate. It’s also possible that I will see one or several of you in person and in response to a question about how I’m doing I might just make a weird face and give a few grunts and groans to express that for which I still don’t have words.
If life were not such a great, big, incredible adventure, I would have so much less to process.
Life is on the verge of transition. I’m not speaking existentially for all, but specifically for myself. This coming week will be the end of a long and full season with the School of Biblical Studies. All of the celebrations will occur, students will graduate, millions of photos will be taken with strings of people side hugging and smiling, epic recap videos will be cried over, mini speeches will be made.
I pan out that way to invite you in to the universal themes of hard won victories and deeply forged friendships.
On a more personal level, I hate goodbyes.
Let’s be clear, many stages of life and relationship are difficult. I was talking with a friend earlier today and she expressed how much easier it is to be in our mid 30’s than it was to be in our 20’s, and yet emotions never seem to lose their vivid colors. We are much more likely to laugh together over a mistake than to cry alone, but mistakes still require the getting back up part. I’m not quite an old lady yet, but getting back up requires a bit more effort now than at 21… Continue reading “Like It Or Not”
A Father’s Love: Father to the Fatherless
Guest Post by Thad Nelson
I was on a construction jobsite a few years back listening to a conversation between two of my co-workers about how terrible their fathers were and I interjected quite insensitively how awesome my own father was. This stopped the conversation and Charlie says to me, “Hey stop it. You’re spoiling our pity party!” It was at this point in my life that I really stopped and took stock of who my father is and what I had learned from him. Peacemaking, patience, joy, sticktuitiveness, self control, frugality, gentleness.
My dad never had an opinion when it came to eating out. He is generally not a picky person but it’s not like he doesn’t have favorite things:
Lasagna, 1000 island dressing, and carrot cake, to name a few, but I realized in retrospect that what he really wanted for dinner was for us to be happy and not to fight. When I was young I wanted a certain wood toy and so he set out to build it for me. I was so distraught by the noise of the saw that he stopped and never made it. I think about myself in a similar situation and I think I would say, “If you don’t like it, then go in the house” Turns out, I am not my father. I began to recognize that he had consistently modeled the art of peacemaking by setting aside his own wants and desires for the wants and desires of others.
I would say that I learned patience from my father from countless hunting and fishing trips, but it would not quite be accurate. At least not in the sense that I typically think of his patience. He is patient with people. He was patient with me and my sister and my mother and our stray cats and all our shortcomings… Continue reading “A Father’s Love”