Advent: Joy?

I cringed writing the title of this. Joy has seemed so distant and foreign still. But I sat in on a Catholic mass this past Sunday, the third Sunday of Advent, known as Gaudete Sunday. The beginning of the week of joy. When the priests wear rose colored robes and light a rose colored candle.

joy.

but how?

Just like hope...so hard to grasp. Words that surround the advent season. Even as I type my breath shallows out and my jaw tightens; there's a lot of tension with those words and feeling like I need to just do more to 'gain' these things.

But I can't force joy. Or hope. I can't fake it, either. But something a friend said yesterday, coupled with what I've been rereading in Nouwen's book Compassion, made me smile. A hint of joy? Perhaps.

We were discussing my tendency to sit back and observe the world and (over)analyze. And my friend lightly commented, "Isn't that what this season is all about? Immanuel, God-with-us, who doesn't just sit back and watch us. He gets involved. He doesn't point out our flaws and analyze why we do things. He willingly, joyfully enters our world and gets his hands messy. He engages with us because He thinks we're worth it."

And that's what makes my God different than all the rest. As a baby, he became dependent. As a toddler, he fell and scraped his knees. As a boy, he was reprimanded by his parents. As an adult he was ridiculed, abused, misunderstood, and heartbroken by loss, illness, and betrayal. He has experienced the things I have. And what do we all want? Someone who is able to relate, to understand, to feel the joy and pain we feel day to day.

Christmas and advent is a reminder that this is who we have. An advocate who left the comforts of heaven, not so that he could say we owe him anything, but to say...

You are worth it...

Advent: A Second Glance.

Mary and husband have waited 8 long months. It’s almost time. I wonder if she kept it to herself, that the hope everyone had been holding out for (or given up on) was just a month away from arriving.

I don’t think hope is something one can keep inside. But there were so many mysteries surrounding this moment. Did Mary sleep with Joseph before marrying? Did she sleep with someone else? Or was her story really true? How many people knew her story? Were there whispers on the street as she walked by, cradling her belly?

And Mary herself, I don’t hesitate to think she and her family may have had weakened hope in their Jewish Messiah coming so soon. Four hundred years or more of story after story, told again and again by family gatherings held long in to the nights. Where was she in the middle of all this? A young adolescent, disenchanted by her family’s religion? Or holding fast to what she’d been taught? I wonder if Mary needed hope the most.

I know God wants to bring hope to the hopeless. Maybe baby Jesus was an answer to not just the world’s cry but possibly Mary’s last plea for help. Maybe she was beginning to give up on the Old Testament promises, on those stories, on herself and on her God.

But now, 8 months in, does she believe the promise she received face to face with the angel? Or is she questioning it? It’s easy to encounter something so mystical that it’s almost unbelievable, and then question it once it’s vanished from the forefront of our minds.

Except…within her she has proof. Evidence that God hears the cries of His own. That He longs to bring hope, to fulfill His promises of redemption, hope, and love. And right now, Mary has him all to herself. No one else has the connection to this child that she does. And I wonder if she felt closer to God. If having God in living form inside of her caused any anxiety, overwhelming sensations, fear, the typical things a soon to be new parent may experience. And if these created space for God to sit with her in those moments of anticipation and soothe her.

In this we have an incredible picture. A picture of a God so personal, that He will become present with us in our moments of overwhelm. But yet, an illustration of a God so compassionate that He is sending us a rescue, not just for Mary, not just for His people, but for the world, that He may show and shower it with His love.

Advent: Hope. Waiting. Absence.

In light of Advent, I'll be posting a reflection each week to help recapture that mystery and magic we used to know when we were young. Because I don't believe it evaporated as we've aged. We've just seemed to have misplaced it. I hope we find it again and are able to revel in it. Enjoy.

Journal Entry 12/1/10

I just don’t want to do this anymore. I’m done with it. God, I’m done with this season of my life. A season that perhaps parallels the Christian season of advent. What is advent? It is a new season. A season of waiting. More? More waiting? Ok. Better than hurrying.

Waiting. Waiting for hope. Anxiously waiting. For a relief from anxiety. For community. For togetherness once again with God. The intertestamental period, quiet, an absent God. A people who wait. Fearfully. And I wonder how many lost hope? I wonder how many gave in to the rise of their anxiety? I wonder which ones had given up? And in turn their children gave up? And their children? Until 400-600 yrs later, a generation of hopeless children. I don’t think I would have survived that time period.

But yet, I am in my own intertestamental period. Silence, absence? Distance. Waiting. With hope? Not quite. Maybe a small seed of such. But not really holding on to it too tightly. Fear of disappointment. That dropping feeling in your stomach where you’re too ashamed to hope, to be let down, again…

I wish I could have a hand delivered message from an angel. Like Mary had. Or maybe a north star. Something that says, “Hey, hold on. You’re almost through this. Hope is on its way but maybe not as you expected.”

My small seed of hope does have expectations. I feel like I know what it should look like, the kind of hope I want, the kind I need. The kind that satisfies that ache in the back of my throat and the bottom of my stomach.

And if it’s not healed? What am I to think? God remains absent? Uncaring? Uncompassionate? I’m not sure, but perhaps this is how the Israelites felt. That leaves me with a bit of comfort.

Limitations

I called up a friend and asked her if I could tag along on one of her long runs. She’s one of those marathon people I’ve mentioned. Her secret goal, like all of them, is to get me to run one.

I've learned that my body responds better with endurance and distance than a fast paced short run. I wanted to run with her and see how I did with a longer distance. When we talked, I mentioned doing about 7-10 miles. I’d been running six miles consistently for a couple of weeks, so I knew I could do more. Plus, I’ve gotten a lot better at listening to my body and knowing when enough is enough. I would end my run sooner if I needed.

We met up on a Saturday morning at 6:45. Freezing cold. I hate running with layers on, but I had to. We had decided on running a 10 mile out and back course in the backwoods of North Texas. It was actually the same road I did my biking on for the Triathlon. Gorgeous.

The first hour was great. We talked, we laughed, told stories. I kept an ear out though. For myself. To see if I was pushing it too much, but I felt great.

The talking died down around what we thought was mile 7. I was beginning to breathe a little harder, and my legs were starting to hurt. Around what we were thinking was mile 8, my body was exhausted, my quads and calves hurt. With each stride I could feel it. I even tried picking my knees up just a bit to see if I could shake out some of the dead feeling. But then it got to the point where I was doing good just to keep each leg moving. I kept thinking, “After this hill, we’ll see the school and we’ll be close to done.” Six or seven hills later, I saw the school, but still not within reach.

If you've ever run a long distance, then you know that at the end of a long run, your body feels like it has only two options: collapse. or keep running to keep from collapsing. We'd been running for a total of two hours. My body wasn't sure what to do, when we finally reached the school. I tried to stop at first, but I kept going, then I started to shuffle, and almost doubled over. I had to remind myself to place one foot in front of the other as we walked to our cars.

An hour so after our run, my friend texted to apologize for pushing me too hard. We had actually done 12 miles instead of 10. Sickly enough, I felt elated. I just finished running 12 miles. I just ran 12 miles. I. Me. I just did a 12 mile run. Incredible.

The next day I couldn’t move. I had to lock my knees and hobble around because my muscles were so exhausted and sore. When I tried to walk normally, I almost fell. Every move was an effort. But still, I ran 12 miles.

I didn’t run for another seven days because I got sick. And that was ok with me. I over did it Saturday. I guess I hadn’t figured out how to listen to my body. But I still ran 12 miles. When I ran again the next Saturday, I was thrilled to be running again. It’s an addiction. But I kept myself in check. I wouldn’t allow myself to go fast. But I think I just got lost in my excitement and thoughts, and before I knew it, I was doubled over almost throwing up. I’d only done half a mile.

People hate admitting it because it seems so restrictive, but we have limitations. Our body has limitations. At 4’11, I will never be able to dunk. Today, I will not be able to run more than a certain mileage because I haven’t trained to that point. These are small examples. There are things I can’t do that I love because of my limited amount of time. I’m sure you can think of your own limitations. I’m one person. I have 24 hours in a day. There are limits within that. I think we all need to sit back and recognize this truth. While it’s restricting, it can be incredibly liberating. It gives me permission to say no to things that would stretch me too thin. Permission to rest. Rest. Limits make us rest. And I don’t think we do enough of it.

Verbalizing Fears

I remember swinging the girls the first day I babysat for them. They laughed. The little things we did brought them joy, and I remember standing there confused as I pushed their swings. How can they be so joyful? Why are they so easily amused?

It hit me in the core of my being. A tremor. I couldn’t fathom why they enjoyed anything. How can anyone enjoy anything on this earth? I think sometimes I get so far hidden into my internal cave that I can’t understand why anyone would want to live outside theirs.

I've seen one of the girls I babysit retreat to her cave before. I pushed her too hard on the swing and she would have fallen out had she not been hanging on so tightly. I apologized, but she started to whimper and ask to get off and go home. I dropped to her level and looked at her. She was scared, but she didn’t know how to tell me. Instead, she asked for her blanket, which was at home.

She’d just had one of those your-life-flashes-before-your-eyes-moments, but she didn’t know how to handle it except to retreat to comfort. This had happened before in different situations. She always wanted to go back home immediately. Safety. Security. I tried asking her what was wrong, half expecting her to suck it up and move on. But when I looked in her eyes I think it resonated with me how much it frightened her.

I looked at her, “I pushed too hard didn’t I? And that really scared you didn’t it?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. Do you want a hug?”

“Uh huh.”

As soon as I helped her verbalize what she’d experienced, she climbed back in the swing and asked me to be gentle.

I’m not sure how I thought to do what I did. I guess just instinct. Sometimes we just need help verbalizing our fears.

Spiritual Musings: God As Present

11/11/10 (Happy Birthday Mom)

Having done ministry for three years as my job and six years as a student, I've heard a good bit about God being present. But you know how you can hear about something almost every day, think about it as much, and even teach it, and still be almost clueless?

That's how I feel about God most days. I don't think I'll ever totally understand Him. Not sure I want that mystery to be solved yet. You know what I mean?

But I want to unravel what I've been taught and play with some new ideas. Here's part of the Ignatian Prayer, a tool many people use throughout their week to help them focus:

1. Recall that you are in the presence of God. No matter where you are, hilltop or valley, country or city, in a crowd or alone, you are a creature in the midst of creation. As you quiet yourself, become aware that God is present within you, in the creation that surrounds you, in your body, in those around you. The Creator who brought you forth into being is concerned for you. The Spirit of God, sent by Christ, will remind you that you are gifted to help bring creation to its fullness. Ask the Holy Spirit to let you look on all you see with love. "Love is patient, love is kind, love is not jealous or boastful, it is not arrogant or rude. Love does not insist on its own way; ... it does not rejoice at wrong but rejoices in the right ... Love hopes all things." (1 Cor.)

Notice in the Ignatian Prayer, it says, "become aware that God is present within you, in the creation that surrounds you, in your body, in those around you". I love that it says God is present in me. Right now. I know, hard to fathom, isn't it?

I want to take it one step further. If He's present within me, then maybe He's actually a part of me.

Not apart from me.

But a part of me.

Kind of powerful.

Disagree or agree, but I think this is true of all of us. What if God is present within each of us, but some people haven't tapped in to it yet? Some people are afraid to, afraid of a critical voice, a judgmental voice, disapproval.

But that's not God's presence. That's us being totally ridiculous about ourselves. I should know, I spend too much time entertaining the voices of fear, criticism, and judgement.

That fear isn't what either of us (God or me) desire. But a deep love that moves within me-in a very deep and immovable place. A place where we won't let but a very few enter.

What if God is already there, whispering, but our fear holds us back from listening. And if God is a part of me, then I'm not listening to a part of myself, the very part that wants to destroy the critical voice.

There's a lot of tension in this idea. But if it's true, that God is present within all of us, what would happen if we started looking for it not just inside of us, but in others too? And in the places and events that surround us? What if part of the mystery is that He is so present, but I can't slow down to see this?

Year of Failure: Tri-ing

Year of Failure #3: Tri-ing

My sprint triathlon was part of my fear of failure list. And my bucket list.

Check and check.

There's a ton I learned, and I'll probably continue to write about it for a while. One of the major lessons: self confidence. I just did what a small percentage of the world has the chance (or will) to experience...and in a really good time for a first tri. And I loved it. And I didn't fail. If I can do that, what else am I capable of that I don't know about?

I registered two months in advance, and I had to estimate how long it would take me to finish. I typed in 2h 30m. I was clueless. I think I said a half hour to swim, an hour to bike, and at max a half hour to run. Then, I threw in some extra minutes just in case. Who knows what else could happen out there. (As training went on, I slowly realized it wouldn't quite take me that long).

My actual time? 1h 38m. Slightly different than what I thought I was capable of when I began. Just goes to show, you never know what you're capable of.

How many times do we not try something just because we doubt ourselves? Thinking we're inadequate. I was definitely not ready for a tri when I signed up on August 16th. The two months I spent training I kept thinking, "What the hell did I sign myself up for?! I can't ride 16 miles on a bike!!!" I had lots of mornings I doubted myself and my training schedule. I'm not one of those people who signs up for something and buys the how-to books. (It's probably better I didn't. I just found out about all the possible injuries I could have sustained, and that alone would have stopped me.) Halfway through I was beginning to wonder if my self-made schedule was really doing me any good, and that maybe I should have gotten one of those books.

I dunno a lot about triathlons or training, because I've only done one, and a really short one. And I still don't know a whole lot about self confidence. But I do know we are far more capable of anything we could dream or imagine. And I don't think this just applies to athletics.

"But if you never try,

you'll never know

just what you're worth..."-Coldplay

Triathlon & Glory

August 16th, 2010 I decided I'd sign up for a triathlon.

You know those people who decide they have to run a marathon before they die, and when they finally do it, they go on and on about how amazing it is and try to convince you that you just have to do one? I'm not one of those people. But I know lots of them.

Ten months ago the head coach of the cross country team I help out with told me I should do a triathlon. He's also one of those people who tries to convince me to do a marathon. I just called him crazy and went on running with the team, riding the bike along side them during their distance runs, and swimming during Friday pool workouts.

Then I read Donald Miller's book A Million Miles in a Thousand Years. He talked about how he just kinda got stuck in life and realized he was living a boring story. So when his friend called to invite him to climb Mt. Machu Picchu, he said yes and signed up for a personal trainer the next day. Miller calls these kinds of things "inciting incidents". Things in our story plot that kinda move us forward or take us out of the normal routine and usually end up changing us.

After gifting his book to several people without ever having read it myself, I finally picked it up early August. Somewhere in the middle of his inciting incident chapter and our cross country practices starting back up for the season, I remembered the coach's comment early January. So I signed up for a sprint triathlon. I had the time to train, and I needed something to help me deal with all the anxiety that comes with transition. And life.

October 17th, 2010, just last Sunday, I competed in my first triathlon ever. And I loved it. It started early on a Sunday morning. So yes, I did skip church, but I had a service of my own in the middle of rural North Texas on my bike watching the sun rise over dew covered fields and horse pastures. And this is what I learned during that hour and four minutes of worship...

Life is not a marathon. Despite what my therapist tells me.

It's a triathlon, where transitions count. Each phase can only be taken as it comes. When you start the swim, there's no sense in sprinting it out for 250 yards. You still have a 16 mile bike ride and a 3 mile run. And when you're on the bike, you can only focus on each mile, even each hill as you tackle it. If you start thinking that this is just one hill of many more to come, you're done for. On top of that, you can't focus on the running when you're biking, you gotta keep your head where you're at. Stay in the moment.

And for the bike course itself, you gotta know when to switch gears. Half the fun for me was figuring out which gear I needed to be in and when and how it affected my fatigue. If you're in the wrong gear, you burn out. Lower gears are meant for uphill so you don't exhaust as much energy. Higher gears are for the down hill so you're not pedaling faster than your heart or knees can handle. Sure, I didn't nail it every time. A few hills I ended up doing more work than I needed, but I gave myself some room for errors and for much needed grace.

When you get off the bike, you can't mentally jump into the next event until you've reracked, gotten some water, and taken off your helmet. Anticipation is NOT key in this sport. You gotta take it one step at a time.

And when you get to the last event, the running, my favorite, you gotta take it one mile at a time cuz this is when it really counts. This is when the fatigue really sets in. This is when your body catches up with you and starts to realize you're pushing your limits. Your calves burn, your quads hurt, and your lungs are screaming. But somewhere in the last mile and a half, your heart kicks in and takes over, and you realize you've just done something you never thought you could do.

Isaiah 61

In high school, my favorite Bible verse was Isaiah 61:3 “They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord, a display of his splendor.” I even tried to paint an interpretation of it. I think I liked it so much because of the image of an oak of righteousness. Strength. Might. Grandeur.

I have many memories driving down our South Carolina back roads to get to the beach. With my face to the window, I would watch as we passed plantation home after plantation home, the kind you see in the movies. They do exist, and they are even more splendid than what you see in films.

But the best part of the plantations, the greatest display of splendor, is the oak trees. Hundreds of years old, with stories hidden deep within them. Stories of love. Of death hung by ropes. Of heartaches. Of new beginnings. Of revolution. Of civil turmoil, strife, and bitterness. Of peace, freedom and shaky resolution.

They have seen and heard far more than you or I. Far more than what can be so easily printed up in textbooks or newspapers. Far more than what the human heart can bear.

When I was young, I had hoped I could be like the image of the oak tree, firmly rooted, aged with wisdom, able to share stories that could teach generations.

And now, as I sit on a couch, overwhelmed by life’s questions, I despair that I resemble more a scrub oak whose roots cannot withstand the violence of storms.

Scrub oaks have no use in the south except firewood. They grow to about 8 feet in height and no more than 4 inches in diameter. When one buys property, the first thing to do is to clear out all the scrub oaks and replace them with something more beautiful and solid. That’s what mom and I did when we moved in 1996.

It’s easy to see myself as a scrub oak. But perhaps sometimes it’s easier to believe the worst of ourselves than it is the best.

So when I go back and read verses 1 and 2 of Isaiah 61, I start to question which oak it is that I really am.

“…because the Lord has anointed me to preach the good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor, and the day of vengeance of our God, to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in Zion—and to bestow upon them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.”

I have shared wonderful news of redemption to the poor, those who have no homes, and those who have no hope. I have bound the brokenhearted, proclaimed freedom for captives, and released from darkness the prisoners. I have story upon story how I have had the great privilege to fulfill these things. And yet I sit here, feeling worthless. And why? Why is it that we chide ourselves so? What do we gain from it but nothing? And what does it take to go from seeing myself so scrubby and useless to displaying splendor? How is it that God sees me? Does He see me as firewood? Then why do I?

Absence & Revisiting Glory

I went back to the road, Glory Lane, a couple of times in the past few weeks. I'm training for a triathlon, so I got there a lot quicker than usual. Apparently hard work pays off. Who knew.

When I got to the road, I was just quiet at first. No questions. No answers. No screaming, shouting, or melt downs. Silence. I didn't even have my iPod. I was running with the cross country team I help coach, and we just happened to be running near the street so I darted off the running path to visit "an old friend" as I told the head coach. When I'm running with the team I leave the iPod at home.

I walked in absolute silence. I think because that's all I'd heard from God lately. Quiet. Not even a whisper. I braved it and tried to break the silence a few minutes after.

Um, God? Silence. I only have one question today. Silence. And it's this: ...are...are you there? Silence.

Great.

And that's how it's been. The God who is absent and silent.

Don't freak out. I know theologically that's incorrect. God is never "absent". But that means squat compared to how I feel. I know, emotions aren't everything. I get that. A little too well. But lately, I just let myself feel what I feel instead of denying it. I think I've lived 25 years ignoring or denying emotions (except the ones society labels "good"). And I think that wears me out.

You're probably thinking, "Great. So...then...what? God feels absent and silent. That doesn't feel great."

No it doesn't. It sucks. And repeating a bible verse about God never leaving us hasn't helped. Actually, Jesus' words have. "My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?" That's what I'm talking about. And hey, look, he didn't deny it or ignore what he was thinking and feeling.

That helps a little. What helps more: I just sit in the silence. Something provokes me to keep asking, God are you there yet? Are you ....there yet? Now? How about now? No? Ok. Caaaan you hear me now?

What...what did I do wrong?

I ask myself that when something doesn't go as planned. That would be always. I think I pissed God off. Is that possible? But I don't think God goes silent to punish us. I don't think He's passive aggressive. But here are some of my thoughts I journaled. No answers, just cries,

Absent maybe not gone

not having disappeared

maybe ethereal

unreachable

unseeable

but I don't think I'm the one in the wrong. So does that make it You?

I know, a post without a resolution. Who does that. Those are always hard to read because it makes something inside me squirm, it's unsettling a bit. We like solutions, problems ending, things being fixed. But I don't think there's a formula to this one. I've exhausted every one trying ("If I fix this or do that, God will show up. If I just do more of this, then He'll be pleased and answer" etc. sound familiar?). I guess I'll just sit and wait.

in

silence

Cancer & God

Lots of wrestling in the past 7 days, to put it nicely. It has been six months since my mom has been cancer free for the first time 18 months. That's amazing. To be honest, I'm still waiting for another phone call from her to tell me it's back. I can't go through a year and half of constant bad phone calls and not just expect another one. But for now, she's good, and we're all relieved.

Until I found out that one of my cross country runners, also a leader in our student ministry, was diagnosed with cancer (ewings sarcoma). While the prognosis is good, it's still horrid to think about. During our leadership meeting last night, one of our leadership guys said something to her that fit my thoughts exactly, "I just hate this for you...I hate you have to go through this."

I don't think God creates cancer. I don't think He enjoys it. I don't think He wants us to have it. But I'm still having a hard time wondering how Jesus could miraculously cure people when He was alive (and I've heard of healings even in present day) but can't or won't cure my friend. I guess if everyone was healed of everything then we'd probably be bored with life after age 233. I dunno. But I keep going back and forth between shaking my fist at God (why can't everyone in my life stay healthy?), and realizing He's the one catching me when I fall apart at the injustice of sickness.

I get a lot of "Christian" answers from people who mean well, too. Such as, "Oh she's going to heaven, it's ok". Even though she's not dying.... or "Well, God has a plan, it will be fine." Really? I don't seem to think this was in His plan. All good things come from God. Cancer is not good. And some argue saying well maybe He caused this to bring good from it. Sorry. I can't buy that. I think, yes, good will come from it. I think God is so loving and redemptive that He takes all the bad and tries to make something good out of it for our sake and His. But I'm sick of hearing people say God causes this to happen. I should probably step off my soap box now...but please, if anyone you know is sick, chronically, fatally, etc, don't tell them God planned this (even if that's what you believe, nothing good comes from this statement). Just be there for them and love them. Our presence, not our formulas, cliches, or answers, is what heals and matters most.

Year/Fear of Failure: Cookies

This week in my project of the year of failure I made cookies. From scratch. And they were good-ish. And I managed to have everything cleaned and put away in 20 minutes. So, failure there. I'm supposed to learn how to allow things to be messy. Oops.
But I tried anyway. I made the cookies for my City Hall 101 class, a free 3 hr class that talks about the city of Frisco, how it works, why it works, why it puts the "A" in American Town etc. My cookies were a sort of peace treaty from our first class introductions. I forget who I am when I'm speaking in public and all sense of integrity and propriety leaves me. Sooo when I introduced myself it went something like, "Hey, I'm Katy. etc etc etc I graduated from Clemson who beat University of North Texas last week and will beat Auburn this week. And I'm hoping to move to California in the next year or two." Yes, lots of arrogance. And I did this knowing we had several UNT graduates...and a boisterous Auburn alum, too, who let me know just how badly Clemson would get beat. Oops. And I'm not sure why I threw in California. Oh, and to make matters worse, I bought this t-shirt for a buck from the Farmer's Market, an Arizona State University shirt. After my introduction, and the Auburn alum's acrid remark, the lady to my left snorted, "And you're wearing an ASU shirt. That's my rival. I went to University of Arizona." Awesome. I tried to defend myself, telling her it was only a dollar at the market and that I had an University of AZ shirt, too, that I got for just a dollar. That didn't seem to appease her any.
So I arrived with my chocolate chip cookies Monday night, wearing my U of AZ shirt this time, and I think we're all friends now. They ate the cookies, which I will accept as a form of alliance... Or maybe just a peace treaty.

An update on Glory Lane: I haven't been back in several weeks due to construction near the path, training for a triathlon, applying for new jobs, and finding out a friend of mine has cancer. Hence the reasons I haven't written as much either. But expect more soon.

9/15/10 Thoughts on Words: Holy

Perhaps it’s a bit oxymoronic to even define Holy. I’ll get to that in a minute. But I want to draw attention to something I came across in Rolheiser’s The Shattered Lantern.

“The psychological task is to learn to look at things familiar until they become unfamiliar again…” (98). I loved doing this with words as a child. I would recite words over and over in my head and wonder how funny they sounded after awhile. Like the word dog. How could three letters be put together to make noise that I stood for something? Nowadays I look at words and ask why they mean what they mean. Or perhaps their meanings have evolved since their creation. Or maybe we’ve diluted the original intent.

Words like glory. Joy. Hope. And Holy. God is holy. But what does that mean? I remember praying with one of the girls in my Bible study in college one day. We had just done a study on holiness. And all we could pray was “Thank you God for being holy. You are just…so holy. And it’s good…that…you are holy.” It was so awkward. We didn’t know how else to define holiness. After studying it, we still had no concept of what it was. A familiar term, but too familiar that it is just thrown about in Christian circles. What does it mean that God is holy? I love what Rolheiser says, “Biblically, holiness means otherness, incomprehensibility, beyond conception, beyond imagination, awesome, awe-ful” (98).

I love this. Why? It breaks down everything I was taught and feared: that God was too holy for me. Even as a mature adult, having studied the Bible for a few years, I knew in my head what holiness meant, that God was set apart and perfect. But to me the underlying implication was that God was too good for me. That I was too bad for Him. It doesn’t matter how many times I heard God loves me, that I am never separated from him, I had engrained in me a bad definition with a bad connotation. I don’t know how or why, and I don’t have anyone to blame but maybe myself for not pondering this sooner.

But holiness means incomprehensible. Have you ever studied an old oak tree? Like one on a Southern plantation home? Taken the time and looked up at it. Perhaps you were lying down, studying how the trunk splits two different ways. Each way divides into hundreds of branches. Each branch has twigs, which sprout leaves. And there are thousands of leaves. And this one tree has big fat roots below it that absorb droplets of water. All the water it could need for every branch, twig, leaf. And that the water defies gravity and meticulously travels up the phloem (thank you Dr. Rochelle & AP Bio) to be delivered to each branch, each twig, each leaf. And then to think of how each leaf takes something we can’t even touch, the light of the sun, the gases in the air, and converts each atom to nutrients. That is incomprehensible. And beautiful.

I think God is too. The way He works, the way He moves, the way He thinks, and best of all, the way He loves. Just look at the story of the 99 sheep and the 1 lost. That God would leave the group to chase after just one sheep shows how precious that one is to him. This is implausible and in today’s society, inefficient. The parable of the prodigal son, the parable of the workers in the vineyards. It is beyond our conception, beyond our imagination. And I don’t think we rest and think upon this enough. What would happen if we did?

Later thoughts: I am incomprehensible to myself. Am I holy too? I think the Bible talks about God seeing us as holy. Are we incomprehensible to Him? I mean, do we surprise Him in delight with the things we do? What a concept. I thought God knew everything about me and ceased to be amazed. Maybe He knows, but he is somehow still amazed. I guess to try to comprehend it would make him less holy.

Fear/Year of Failure

So I'm learning that fear of failure is not uncommon. Neither is perfectionism. Both of which I will quickly admit affect my daily decision making. I decided it would be kinda fun to mess with my head/ways of thinking and see if I can get past some of my idiosyncrasies.

Last week I figured out I hate cooking not because it's domestic, but because I hate anything messy. And I have this quirk where everything has to be cleaned and perfectly put away immediately after cooking. Then the food is cold and mushy. So why not just deal with peanut butter and jelly, easy to fix, low mess, and easy to put away.

Until you get super perfectionistic/anti-messy and start eating on paper plates or paper towels so you don't have to clean real plates. Or you just start eating next to the trash can so you can throw away all the scraps you don't eat immediately.

I know, it's this disease I've let go way beyond out of control. Then, there's the whole decision making process about life. I have trouble deciding because what if it's the wrong choice or the not-perfect decision? Like, what if I choose the wrong degree if I do grad school? What if I choose the wrong career or temp job? (I know, temp jobs, there is no such thing as a perfect one).

So this week I decided to deem this year, September 2010 to next September 2011 as the Year of Failure. The year when I try all sorts of things that I don't think I'm going to do perfectly or things that are going to be messy, and just deal with it.

Today was a great beginning. I made pancakes. I know, not a big deal, but those can be extremely messy (powder, raw eggs, milk, etc). Well, I managed to spill 2 cups of milk ALL over the counter just like a 5 year old. I died laughing at the irony. I actually did laugh out loud. To top it off, I burned two pancakes. And guess what, I survived. I'm still breathing, the kitchen managed to get clean, and I had a great brunch.

Above is a picture of my pizza for late lunch. I thought I did so well with pancakes, why not try a pesto pizza. Homemade pesto. I've never used a food processor. I think I jumped the gun a bit going from breakfast foods to homemade sauces. Naturally, this pizza was a fail. It tasted like what every kid thinks of when they hear spinach. Gag me. I managed to swallow two pieces.

I hope you enjoy my new experiment. Look for more attempts at failure to follow.

An Intimidating Love

"Lespwa Fe Viv: By Hope We Live"

I sat at lunch talking with a good friend of mine from Houston. We talked about a lot of things, but one thing caught my attention. We mentioned how terrifying relationships can be, not just with people but even with God.

It’s like there’s this offering of a perfect love that we live our lives searching for. One we don’t have to earn, we don’t have to prove ourselves for, we don’t have to win. But that’s what’s scary. Everything else in life we have to earn. Sometimes, even the approval of our friends. And so the free love of a God that we have never seen or understood before, that’s not easy to trust. Especially when all other love we’ve ever experienced usually leaves us hurt, scarred, or just wishing for something more.

“If everything comes down to love

Then just what am I afraid of”

I like these lyrics by Addison Road. They make sense. I believe, feel free to disagree, that everything does come down to love. That we’re all searching for one answer to similar questions, how can I be loved or who will love me or how will I be loved. Maybe you do disagreee, but when I think about my motives during the day, a lot of what I say or do (or don’t say and don’t do) is because I want to be loved.

So if life comes down to love, what are we afraid of? A love we don’t understand, a love that, to us, is incomprehensible and therefore, almost intimidating. Maybe that’s where faith comes in. Our searching for love shows that we have hope in a love that quenches our craving. I guess faith is the step forward towards God that I have to take, hoping He won’t fail me like everything and everyone else. I like that. Here’s to hoping you take a step in faith towards an intimidating yet wonderful love today.

“Everything rides on hope now

Everything rides on faith somehow

When the world has broken me down

Your love sets me free”

-Addison Road

August 28th, Glory of a Better Story

I haven’t been writing because I haven’t been back to the street. Someone asked me the other day if there really is a street named Glory Lane. There really is. This isn’t a metaphor. I just stumbled upon it one day in the middle of one of my therapeutic runs. And every time I go, I learn something, or don’t, but I meet God. In the midst of chaos, pain, joy, all of it.

And I think He wants that from us. He won’t beg for it or force it. I like that. But He waits. The patient kind of waiting. Not the foot-tapping-mad kind of waiting your parents would do when you wouldn’t come in for dinner on time.

As for running, I continue to. I’m actually training for a triathlon in October. I was reading Donald Miller’s A Million Miles in a Thousand Years. I’ve mentioned him before and his book that asks each of us to live a better story for our lives. In his book, he realizes he’s just existing in life. That he’s kind of a boring guy. He mentions that it doesn’t take much to live a better, more thrilling life, you just have to try.

Well, I’m still trying to figure out I’m doing this part of my life, so I decided to live out a good story while I try to learn what it is I’m looking for. That’s where the triathlon comes in. Since about April or May, I’ve wanted to do this. A sprint tri, the shorter distance ones, but still insanely hard.

Oct 17^th I will be running 3.1 miles, swimming 250 meters, and biking 16 miles. Right now, I’m at 6 miles running, 0 meters swimming, and maybe 4-6 miles biking. I have an incredibly long way to go. But I’m kind of excited.

If you’re like me, in the middle of transition and not quite sure where the next step is, I encourage you to put something in front of you. Like a marathon, or if you’re a little more level headed, a half marathon. My friend in LA is stuck in a job that she hates and loves at the same time, and is almost to the point where the hateful parts aren’t making any of it worth her time. But she needs to pay off loans, etc. So she put something in front of her. She called me up today so excited I could feel the energy through the phone. She’s doing something totally different than what I thought of. She’s volunteering time for a domestic abuse hotline that requires 40 hours of intensive training and a once a week, 5 month commitment. By the time she’s done, she’ll be a certified domestic abuse counselor, which happens to be extremely helpful with her job.

That’s a great idea, too. You can even drag someone else in to your making-a-better-story plan. Tonight I took one of the kids I’m living with to the lake to watch the sunset. Not a typical thing we do. She got to watch the sun literally sink down second by second until it disappeared. We thought it was pretty cool. Nothing huge and earth shattering, but something that makes for a better story when the day is done rather than sitting on the couch watching the tv til bed time.

I think we naturally find glory when we try to write a different or better story for ourselves. And the end goal is incredibly glorious: to sit with God at the end of life, watching a slide show of pictures of my life and my stories...and learning the meaning behind them and the depth or just enjoying reminiscing. A place with no guilt, no condemnation, but love, joy, and lots of oohs and ahhs and knee slappin' laughter.

August 14th, Scripts

Me and my team in Haiti on a weekend trip to Jacmel.

Back from my reading and writing boycott. Just needed to clear my head so I can figure out some things. Like, what am I doing with my life.

I'm willing to bet I’m not the only one with this question. And after talking to some wiser (older) friends, I think this is a question we run in to more than once or twice in our lives.

I went running a couple weeks ago, and took a long walk break on Glory Lane. It was H-O-freakin-T. But it gave me a chance to think about all the things our family, friends, and culture tell us about how to live life and what to do with it. These are things we sometimes end up believing even without realizing it. For example…

“You’re 22, and…single?!” (You should be married by now)

“You’re how old and still in school?” (When are you going to grow up)

“You mean, you’re not using your degree?” (When are you going to get a real job)

“So, you’re a missionary/youth pastor/work with a church?” (That’s why you’re not driving a BMW Z93282312156)

“You have a kid, and you live in an apartment?” (All good parents provide a backyard for their children)

“I can’t do lunch tomorrow. Remember, I work.” (When are you going to get a full time job and pull your weight in the world)

“Where are you living now?” (When are you going to settle down)

I’m sure you could add your own to the list. And I think it’s wise to sit down and look at the things (Stephen Covey calls them “scripts”) we grew up hearing, because sometimes we soak them in subconsciously, and some of them can end up make us miserable.

I started to settle in the past year, thinking I was going to live in Texas the rest of my life, get married, and have kids, mainly because that’s what most of my friends were doing, it’s what my family expected (minus the Texas part), and what society says is the next step for a 20something. When I started thinking like this, allowing other peoples’ scripts to mold my life, I began to suffocate. I kind of choked myself out of my life and lived other people’s expectations.

With lots of running, I’ve gone back and erased these scripts and written my own. So that I’m the one making the decisions and controlling my life, not someone else with their own standards.

I think what happens is people become dissatisfied and disappointed with their lives that they decide to run someone else’s. I can say this because I did it. I tried to run my roommate’s life and one of our intern’s by telling them what they could wear for work, what they should eat, and how they should manage their time. It sounds like I could have been giving them well-intentioned advice. I wasn’t. I was just miserable with myself. If I couldn’t manage the chaos in my life, then micromanaging someone else’s would make me feel like I had some sort of control over something.

And now, after going back and looking at these scripts...I know that living in Texas for the rest of my life isn’t my idea of fun, and I’m ok with saying that and owning it.

And, I don’t want to be married right now, and I’m not going to let society send me in to a panic stricken search for mister right because something must be wrong with me if I am 25 and don’t have a husband to give back massages to and cook for.

I almost started searching for a house to buy a year ago. Because I settled in to believing my job as a female is to host people, feed them, and entertain. I do love this type of stuff. But I’m not going to do it because it’s expected of me, because I "have" to. After being in Haiti, I learned that I LOVE sleeping outside, in a tent, that I can do without a house. While I can, I think I will. I bought a hammock the other day and intend on sleeping in it tonight, falling asleep to shooting stars and waking up to the sunrise.

My encouragement to you, no matter what your age or life stage, is to look at the scripts that you were raised with. Some are great, some are not. Some are good, but they’re not who you are, or maybe it’s just not the right season. Buying a house is awesome, but it’s not for me right now. Plus, it’s fun to totally break out of a mold and experience some new things. Two weeks ago, I met an 18 year old who is taking a year between high school and college to live overseas. A year ago, I met a man who has had more than ten different jobs in his life time and has some amazing stories to go with it, involving marrying his Eastern European bride and saving her from oppression in her country.

So...What are some scripts you’re living just because someone else wrote them for you? How would you rewrite it, if you want to?

Stuff Christians Like

While I'm on my writing and reading vacay, here's something fun for you to read. Especially check out the archives, find ones that sound interesting, read, and laugh.

July 28th, Glory, Pain, and Joy

Port au Prince, Haiti

Interesting past few days. A hard past few days. I’ve been reading a really good book Anne Lamott’s Traveling Mercies. She talks about her life, and she’s had some hard stuff happen. I think I have a bleeding heart. I’ve been accused of it before. But I had a hard time reading some of her stories because I felt her pain.

Then, today, I had the chance to meet some people downtown with some really interesting stories. Sad stories. Some of them living in the consequences of their choices or past. But I still felt compassion for them.

I had already been running this morning, but after hearing some of the stories and reading Anne’s, I had to run again. More questions. The cool thing was I felt oddly comfortable around these people whose stories were totally different than mine. I had the chance to love on them because most people don’t. And I loved doing that.

But I had to run. I don’t know how to handle feeling other people’s pain. I don’t know how to hand it over to God to take care of. I don’t know but maybe I’ll learn that down the road. For now, I’m relying on Will Smith and Eva Mendez’s hilarious performance in Hitch to distract my thoughts.

And running. It distracts my thoughts. Because the music I listen to takes me back to some good memories.

And, sometimes, it oddly helps me process stuff that’s hard or stuff that matters. But when I do, I sweat out all the tension. Or maybe the tension goes from my heart to the muscles in my legs. Diffused tension. I like that theory. Maybe it transfers from my neck and shoulders (from carrying the weight of the world with my bleeding heart) to my quads and calves.

So yeah, today I ran to the street sign. I had a hard time looking it in the eye. Glory. After hearing some painful stories. Glory, pain, and joy are really hard to reconcile. I’ll have to get back to you on that…

July 21, Why Jesus is Bass Ackwards

I let a few weeks slide by. I honestly haven’t wanted to write even though I’ve been running. The cross country team I help coach has been training in the mornings, so I go with them and sneak off to the neighborhood for a few quiet moments on Glory Lane.

I don’t know what it is. But I’m not the only one. I’ve surveyed lots of friends about this. We avoid writing during uneasy, uncomfortable moments in life. For me, I don’t want to write because when I do, my questions come to the forefront, and I have to deal with them. And I have lots of questions. Especially since being in Haiti. Why is there poverty? Why does God allow it? Is He still good if He allows people to go hungry? Am I bad for not fixing that? Am I supposed to fix it? Change the world? Can I? Why do I feel guilty for all I have? Should I not feel guilty? Should I feel guilty when I don’t feel guilty? Do I sell everything I own or give it away to the poor and live in a tent? I actually might not mind that. Living in a tent. But don’t ask me to give away my childhood blanket or my Mac.

I do wanna tell you one thing I learned in Haiti.

Giving is selfish.

You heard me right.

You’ve probably kept up with my blog. I’ve struggled with hope and joy. A lot.

But when I gave my time, my energy, my presence to those who needed it most, I got what I needed most: a spirit of hope, a filling of joy, the felt presence of God which we so long for and crave. And I can’t explain how it happened. But when Jesus says it is more blessed to give than receive, he’s pretty much right.

Now if you asked the Haitians, they would probably tell you they were blessed to have a dry place to sleep for the first time in four months. I can contend with that. They received something physical.

But they gave us something eternal. Hope, joy, and love. And they didn’t even know we needed it.

And it gets crazier. When we received these eternal things, we wanted to give it right back to them. We were like overflowing glasses of ice cold water that spilled over to them, to the orphans, and anyone around us. Their faces reflected the satisfaction found in ours. And I think Jesus was in that reflection, too. Hope, joy, and love flooded Grand Goave in June. In a place where water can be scarce, the living water Jesus talks about was a tsunami that had hit us. All because we gave. Or received. Or both.

July 6: Transforming Glory

30 days in Haiti. 30 days without running. I missed it, and I missed my street signs. But man, I experienced a lot and learned a lot. My Facebook fan page will have most of my stories there.

I went running again for the first time last night. 7:45pm, 90ish degrees, 50% humidity. Perfect. The sun was starting to set. When I started off, my legs felt like jello…I couldn’t quite figure out how to keep them going. It was almost as if I had to relearn my striding and pace again.

It didn’t take long though. It felt so good to be back on my path. I’m sure I started off too fast, but I didn’t care. The only thing that ached were my arms from inner tubing during 4^th of July weekend at the lake. I only ran about a mile and a half, but that’s probably all I could handle.

I turned down the street just before Glory Lane and something kinda came over me. Excitement? I took off. I like to reserve my energy because in the back of my head I’m always thinking “As far as I go out is the same distance I have to come back”. Not today. I was excited. About a street sign.

But that sign represents so much. Months of struggles, questions, battles…and it all led up to my trip, this trip. Just 30 days ago I was looking at this sign thinking, “I don’t know what I’m diving in to…”. Now 30 days later, and here I am, staring at the same sign, speechless at the experiences and lessons learned.

My contemplative, sentimental moment was quickly interrupted by some birds flying above me. And I traveled back to that day on the trail when a bird flew right in front of me. Look at the birds, free and unfettered, not tied down…, careless in the care of God. And you count far more to him than birds.

That took me back to the time I came here so stressed about the details of my life, and God brought that verse to my memory when two birds flew right over me on the street.

And now? The details? There are so many. I don’t know where I’m going to be in just a few months. There are chances to go back to Haiti. There are chances to start a new job. I want to go back to school, I’d love to spend time volunteering at Children’s Hospital here in Dallas. So many options. And for once, anxiety is gone for now. I have stressful moments, and I don’t doubt anxiety will creep back in. But being out of my typical routine for a month pulled me out of being stuck and taught me how to dream again.

It wasn’t just that I was in a third world country. That had a lot to do with it. You start questioning everything you do or think when you realize how well off you are compared to those in Haiti. But then you realize how fortunate they are because they have to live in community with others and in reliance on others.

May 27

I’m fallin apart, barely breathing, with a broken heart, that’s still beating… The music by Lifehouse I listened to while running tonight.

Lots of questions, lots of heartache from the past year and a half, lots of confusion. Usually I rush to find answers to my questions or to ease the chaos. I think I finally threw my hands in the air tonight. I can’t escape any of it. I can’t hide from any of it. And I can’t act like life-for all of us-isn’t a battle. I think I may have quit fighting against all of it. Not in a bad way. But I’ve stopped trying to run from it. Instead, I’m here. In Texas. With fears, struggles, a midlife crisis that came 15 years early. And still hanging on to my faith. My friend said the people he respects the most and wants to be like are the ones who don’t deny that faith, hope, life are every day battles.

Tonight’s run was good. It was hot, but I got to run through some sprinklers on Heaven Drive. Words would hardly describe how amazing it felt. I think I had just finished running 4ish miles, in the mid 90’s, 50% humidity. The sun was bright. It hadn’t started to cool off yet, and I don’t think I realized how blistering it was until I hit the sprinklers. The moment the stream of water shot me in the face, I gasped at the coldness of it. I went through another one, hitting me in the back. I turned around and went through them again like a kid. Call me crazy, but I couldn’t stop smiling and I even laughed at myself as I did it, getting almost completely soaked.

May 26

Some days I feel like I’m just holding on. To hope, to faith.

May 25

May 25, 2010 Day 63

The broken clock is a comfort…lyrics to a really good song by Lifehouse, and along the lines of my thoughts during my run tonight. And it was a good night to run. Just barely humid, but a hint of heat. With a breeze that kept me cool. In the shade, I could smell the just cut grass.

Do you remember what tonight smelled like for you? Someone’s perfume or cologne? decaf coffee? sweaty children? What about the scenes from the day? I had the image of the sun setting behind a hill near a path where couples and families were walking with their dogs. Slowly. Enjoying life.

I’ve had a week to think about what it means to slow down and enjoy life. It’s hard to do. Remember when I said everyone should experience what it’s like to sit and wait for several hours? That was easy, for me.

The first three days of vacation in May were like stapling jello to a tree. When I stopped doing life at 100mph, I was a bit overwhelmed. Convincing myself that sitting still was ok, near impossible. I kept thinking “Have I done everything I need to for work? What student do I need to call? What’s next?” Oh wait. Right. Vacation.

I think I realized how bad off I was when I went to the farm last Wednesday, day 3 of my vacay, and couldn’t enjoy riding. I didn’t even ride. I felt panicked at the idea that I had to be doing something but I had nothing to do. It’s like when I’ve run a really long distance and then stop and my legs feel like they should still be running. I buried my face in one of the pony’s manes. I didn’t know I’d let it get this bad, my overworking, my anxiety, letting time control my life.

Today, I have nothing I have to do. And that’s ok with me. Actually, I’m starting to like it. I think I’d like to retire soon. Not really, but I’ve learned a lot. I think I have a new perspective on how I can take charge of my time instead of it taking charge of me. An priceless lesson, I think.

The broken clock is a comfort. I wonder what would happen if I paid less attention to time anyway. Wonder what would happen in your life if you paid less attention to time. When you break for lunch, how often do you look at your watch? When you spend time with someone you love, are you constantly aware of the time? What if our clocks are more of a hindrance? I used to go to the coffee shop to write and read, and every 3-5 minutes I would check my cell phone for the time and messages. I remember one time I looked at the clock, put it down, read a sentence from my book, and picked up my phone again to check the time. I realized I had a problem when the numbers hadn’t changed. Less than 60 seconds I checked the time twice. I don’t wear a watch when I run because I constantly check it.

I think it’s a health precaution. To slow down. To pay less attention to time. I can’t tell you what that looks like for you. Different strokes for different folks, but enjoy your week. Slow down. Remember the smells, sights, and sounds. You’ll find you kinda get drunk on life because there is so much to take in and enjoy.

Back from Haiti

Hey friends, I am back from Haiti, with lots of stories, pictures, videos, and new things to write about. And a new street sign I found in Haiti. Updates soon, and more on my Facebook page.