This year, I am wearing shades of blue because they are beautiful, and sometimes you need to wear beautiful colors so that every time you look down you are lifted up. I have no idea if this is an appropriate seasonal color liturgically. It's probably not secularly, either, because I am not wearing spring-y pastel blues, weak and watered down. I am wearing dark, rich jewel tones: peacock, teal, turquoise.
I am celebrating Easter by going to church on Saturday at a place that is not my local church. It is more than half an hour away, and the drive was crowded, the roads oddly packed. The day started out wet and sloppy, but by now it is bright with sun and 10 degrees warmer than the professional weather guessers predicted. Water from the thaw runs in the gutters, pools around the grates, rages onto convergence points, carries away trash and newly uncovered flower clusters hidden for this day when I am celebrating resurrection and new life.
One year, I wrote a poem about Saturday and how wretched the day before Easter must have seemed to all of the people who loved Jesus. Today, I doubt I could be in that same somber, sober place. There is too much light and warmth and the stink of new life everywhere.
Tomorrow, the weather guessers tell us, it will be cold and miserable and dark and snowy. This sanctuary will still be bright with all of its windows, and early service attendees will be blinded if there is sun. I hope there is sun because I think we all need a good spring blinding to remind us it's not all winter.
Showing posts with label prayer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label prayer. Show all posts
Friday, April 12, 2013
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Renting as a spiritual discipline
I miss living in a house. I miss the sound the furnace makes when it turns on as I sprawl on the floor under a blanket above one of the vents. I miss knowing the temperature is not controlled by the people below me blasting their heat they don't have to pay for until I'm in shorts and a t-shirt with all my windows open enjoying a balmy 83 degrees indoors as the snow falls outside. I miss not having to turn up a DVD or music to block out the raging domestic arguments around me at night when I'm trying to unwind. I miss control, silence, solitude, ownership of space.
House prices are decent right now. My credit is excellent. I could find a good place if I wanted. I could have my control, silence, solitude, and ownership of space. But the economy is still a little rocky. Layoffs are happening; there is no job security, and I'm crippled and exhausted and in debt from being crippled and retraining myself to get a job despite being crippled. It's probably not a good time to purchase a home.
But when will be a good time? When will I be safe enough? When will I be comfortable enough?
Maybe it's better to rent because it means I am not comfortable, not safe, not in control, not "owning" a place. Maybe that reality can be seen as a reflection of the one where we are strangers, aliens, pilgrims passing through, peregrinating, as St. Augustine called it. Every mortal life is but a breath, and all that, but we are to be even less attached because we know this place isn't home. It's not our destination; it's our journey, etc.
I long for rest, but I won't find it here, won't find it in the control, silence, solitude, and ownership of space here. That's all an illusion.
As a renter on a month-to-month lease, I am in an enviable situation. I am flexible; I can be mobile should I be needed or should I find a more stable job elsewhere. Wherever I am, I should be content.
Maybe until I am, I need to keep renting to remind myself that I don't belong here, that my real home is where my heart is, and my heart is with God even if I'm in this crappy apartment building listening to her yell at the toddler again and again as I have the AC on because it's warm enough for my allergies to prohibit opening the windows, but folks still have their heat on below me. Some days it's a really good thing to know that this is not my home.
House prices are decent right now. My credit is excellent. I could find a good place if I wanted. I could have my control, silence, solitude, and ownership of space. But the economy is still a little rocky. Layoffs are happening; there is no job security, and I'm crippled and exhausted and in debt from being crippled and retraining myself to get a job despite being crippled. It's probably not a good time to purchase a home.
But when will be a good time? When will I be safe enough? When will I be comfortable enough?
Maybe it's better to rent because it means I am not comfortable, not safe, not in control, not "owning" a place. Maybe that reality can be seen as a reflection of the one where we are strangers, aliens, pilgrims passing through, peregrinating, as St. Augustine called it. Every mortal life is but a breath, and all that, but we are to be even less attached because we know this place isn't home. It's not our destination; it's our journey, etc.
I long for rest, but I won't find it here, won't find it in the control, silence, solitude, and ownership of space here. That's all an illusion.
As a renter on a month-to-month lease, I am in an enviable situation. I am flexible; I can be mobile should I be needed or should I find a more stable job elsewhere. Wherever I am, I should be content.
Maybe until I am, I need to keep renting to remind myself that I don't belong here, that my real home is where my heart is, and my heart is with God even if I'm in this crappy apartment building listening to her yell at the toddler again and again as I have the AC on because it's warm enough for my allergies to prohibit opening the windows, but folks still have their heat on below me. Some days it's a really good thing to know that this is not my home.
What to do when you find out
Someone in my small group was talking about how he's not sure what to do when he finds out about the brokenness in other people that he's never encountered before. He's a sunny soul, and he's a bit slammed upside the head when he discovers others have had so many clouds and so much bad weather, and the things he says can hurt them without him even knowing it. And that this is considered insensitive and makes other people angry, as if they can realistically expect everyone else to know all about all their triggers and never accidentally press them. What is he supposed to do, never open his mouth because anything he says can and will be used against him by the other people he is trying to interact with? This could paralyze him, but he is a sunny soul, so he just kind of keeps going. Not a bad plan, actually. Sometimes that sun is what attracts the souls covered in freezing rain. And sometimes it's not.
A friend of an old classmate recently posted this piece about what Christians should know about interacting with those who have suffered from "religious abuse". At its heart, it is really a kind (but angry) explanation of how what Christians often say (usually knee-jerk statements usually unfiltered by a fully thinking brain) can be disrespectful and hurtful to those who've been injured by religion in the past. Know these things, don't be that person, respect me and my negative experiences by engaging me with your whole being, not just your Christianese platitudes meant to dismiss me or make it all better: that's what this piece is about.
I'm glad I had the chance to read this article. It brings up a lot of questions. I'm curious about the working definition of psychological religious abuse, in particular, because the line between abuse and growing up in a family that had religious beliefs you didn't agree with and now repudiate is really blurry to me. What is abusive and what is merely insensitivity or well-meaning religious dedication? (These questions interest me because I've been reading so many other articles in the past few years about how parents should stop stressing about ruining their kids and just do their best to love them.)
I guess this article doesn't change the answer I would give this person in my small group or the way I live: know that this is true and others are broken and jagged in ways you don't know, and go on, trying always to understand, to think before speaking, and to speak thoughtfully in love. I prefer avoiding people anyway, so I don't talk to them much, and I tend to just keep my mouth shut around people I don't know (leaving the awkward foot-in-mouth times to happen around those I'm more familiar with), but for those who like to interact with people, your chances of offending them by being ignorant are higher. Be conscious of body language, ask for clarification, ask for forgiveness, learn from each mistake. Just keep going and loving people, even when you inevitably hurt them. And pray for them. (Just don't tell them about it because that's a communication stopper. :) And pray for you, too, that God will help you be sensitive and fully engaged with each person you encounter, that He will give you wisdom.
How do you cope with the fact of other people's hidden triggers? How do you live knowing that your edges can cut other people without you knowing it?
A friend of an old classmate recently posted this piece about what Christians should know about interacting with those who have suffered from "religious abuse". At its heart, it is really a kind (but angry) explanation of how what Christians often say (usually knee-jerk statements usually unfiltered by a fully thinking brain) can be disrespectful and hurtful to those who've been injured by religion in the past. Know these things, don't be that person, respect me and my negative experiences by engaging me with your whole being, not just your Christianese platitudes meant to dismiss me or make it all better: that's what this piece is about.
I'm glad I had the chance to read this article. It brings up a lot of questions. I'm curious about the working definition of psychological religious abuse, in particular, because the line between abuse and growing up in a family that had religious beliefs you didn't agree with and now repudiate is really blurry to me. What is abusive and what is merely insensitivity or well-meaning religious dedication? (These questions interest me because I've been reading so many other articles in the past few years about how parents should stop stressing about ruining their kids and just do their best to love them.)
I guess this article doesn't change the answer I would give this person in my small group or the way I live: know that this is true and others are broken and jagged in ways you don't know, and go on, trying always to understand, to think before speaking, and to speak thoughtfully in love. I prefer avoiding people anyway, so I don't talk to them much, and I tend to just keep my mouth shut around people I don't know (leaving the awkward foot-in-mouth times to happen around those I'm more familiar with), but for those who like to interact with people, your chances of offending them by being ignorant are higher. Be conscious of body language, ask for clarification, ask for forgiveness, learn from each mistake. Just keep going and loving people, even when you inevitably hurt them. And pray for them. (Just don't tell them about it because that's a communication stopper. :) And pray for you, too, that God will help you be sensitive and fully engaged with each person you encounter, that He will give you wisdom.
How do you cope with the fact of other people's hidden triggers? How do you live knowing that your edges can cut other people without you knowing it?
Friday, February 22, 2013
Losing a friend
It was at the beginning of a comment, the offhanded phrase that left me stunned at its unexpectedness from that quarter: I don't believe in God any more. I was off balance all day, literally; I kept catching myself on walls and desk corners. Whenever there was a quiet moment, I was melancholy, more deeply saddened than I would have thought, at this loss. We will remain casual friends who knew each other better once, but something is different now, like a missing tooth.
I asked what led her to that decision, and the answer was reason. She found herself with some new premises and realized that if she believed them, logically she couldn't believe in God. This seemed weird to me because it's not really how I'm set up, but when I thought about it in relation to her, to how she operates, it made sense. She has always been a person of fact over emotion and logic over experience. It makes sense that thinking logically led her away from the God of the Old Testament who surely seems a being of emotions (many of them negative).
I am reading Ezekiel right now, and there are definitely times where I feel the cultural gulf and the discomfort of an alien way of thinking. I read certain passages and think, well, this part probably really offends this group of people. I wonder, how do I reconcile this? Then I go to bed and pray for people.
Perhaps this means I am an intellectual coward, someone too afraid to dig in mentally because I think my faith will be lost on the path of reason. Perhaps it means something else entirely. Perhaps it means that I am able to see the Old Testament as story told by man about God in a different way than she does. Perhaps it means I can divorce what the New Testament God says from what He says in the Old Testament (which took place in very different times). Perhaps I don't really know what it means but am glad for it anyway.
I find myself wondering what she thinks of the God of the New Testament. I understand how people read these two collections and think there must be two different beings involved because the one in the Old Testament doesn't seem much like the one in the New Testament at all. In the New Testament, He is embodied, walking among us, teaching different things about how we are to live our lives, and then there are letters from those who knew Him and/or those who followed his teachings. And then there's Revelation (equally as mind-blowing as Ezekiel).
Anyway, I found myself thinking about how we refer to people who no longer believe in God. They have "strayed from the path" or "lost their faith." At first I thought I didn't like these phrases; they are Christian cliches, almost devoid of meaning. A former classmate of mine has refused to ditch Christian cliches as worthless and has chosen instead to study them and remake them into meaningful communication again, to find and redeem them. In the interest of following her example, I decided to do the same, and I realized that even though people usually say these cliches as an end (as if once you are lost or strayed, you are as good as dead), I think they really could be seen and used as hopeful. If they have been on the path, there is a possibility they could find their ways back; if they are lost, they can be found.
I pray it may be so.
I asked what led her to that decision, and the answer was reason. She found herself with some new premises and realized that if she believed them, logically she couldn't believe in God. This seemed weird to me because it's not really how I'm set up, but when I thought about it in relation to her, to how she operates, it made sense. She has always been a person of fact over emotion and logic over experience. It makes sense that thinking logically led her away from the God of the Old Testament who surely seems a being of emotions (many of them negative).
I am reading Ezekiel right now, and there are definitely times where I feel the cultural gulf and the discomfort of an alien way of thinking. I read certain passages and think, well, this part probably really offends this group of people. I wonder, how do I reconcile this? Then I go to bed and pray for people.
Perhaps this means I am an intellectual coward, someone too afraid to dig in mentally because I think my faith will be lost on the path of reason. Perhaps it means something else entirely. Perhaps it means that I am able to see the Old Testament as story told by man about God in a different way than she does. Perhaps it means I can divorce what the New Testament God says from what He says in the Old Testament (which took place in very different times). Perhaps I don't really know what it means but am glad for it anyway.
I find myself wondering what she thinks of the God of the New Testament. I understand how people read these two collections and think there must be two different beings involved because the one in the Old Testament doesn't seem much like the one in the New Testament at all. In the New Testament, He is embodied, walking among us, teaching different things about how we are to live our lives, and then there are letters from those who knew Him and/or those who followed his teachings. And then there's Revelation (equally as mind-blowing as Ezekiel).
Anyway, I found myself thinking about how we refer to people who no longer believe in God. They have "strayed from the path" or "lost their faith." At first I thought I didn't like these phrases; they are Christian cliches, almost devoid of meaning. A former classmate of mine has refused to ditch Christian cliches as worthless and has chosen instead to study them and remake them into meaningful communication again, to find and redeem them. In the interest of following her example, I decided to do the same, and I realized that even though people usually say these cliches as an end (as if once you are lost or strayed, you are as good as dead), I think they really could be seen and used as hopeful. If they have been on the path, there is a possibility they could find their ways back; if they are lost, they can be found.
I pray it may be so.
Monday, February 18, 2013
There is no going back, only forward
There's a man in my small group who is older than me and is one of those sunny, happy, jolly, slightly oblivious people very much like good-natured, adolescent puppies. When some of us begin talking honestly about the flaws in our church, it makes him sad. His wife says that before he met us, he was unaware that our church had any warts. And that is okay. I think it is just fine for him to see and praise the positive things in the church, to be so focused on what he can do to help that he doesn't notice that things aren't even close to perfect. People that see the church like he does are necessary to keep the church body from exploding under the forces of cynicism and discontent (or continue to splinter until every building was its own denomination). Frankly, I sort of envy him his way of looking at the church. I wish I could go back to the time when I was that positive about the church. I liked myself and the church better back then.
I want to go back before I thought that my church was too big to be a family, too wealthy and suburban to give a crap and organize to help hurting and broken people in need inside the body and in the surrounding community.
I want to go back to the time before I tried to make a difference and got involved and became a member and tried to fit into the communion of the saints even though it was more like the brunch at the country club, before I tried to improve things and got stonewalled or tried to participate but couldn't stand the crappy Baptist choir CCM after all that glorious Latin in the mini-cathedral at my previous doctrinally unsound church, before I joined a small group of very nice young ladies who were single and very nice and as bland as a Scandinavian casserole and so shy and slow about saying anything real or honest that I just couldn't take it anymore, before I gave up on attending Sunday services at all, before I despaired of ever being able to minister in any biblical way in my local body and accepted that "leading" a small group of quirky, interesting people was all I was going to get from this fellowship.
I want to go back to the time before I picked my current church because the doctrine they preached was acceptable to me and would pass muster with my alma mater in case I got the chance to try to teach there and because it was so big that no one would bother me when I snuck into the back always late and dressed shabbily and no one even noticed me because there were just so many people who attended and because it didn't demand anything of me when I had absolutely nothing left to give from the bottom of my well of chronic pain, exhaustion, and discouragement.
I want to go back to before I had to leave the beautiful neo-Gothic church with the amazing organ and the outstanding chancel choir, before the organist got booted even though she was incredibly talented and passionate because she was "too high-church" for the powers-that-be, too invested in beauty and the meaning of rituals to let things slide, before I realized that I couldn't stay in a place where they preached doctrine that just didn't jive with the Bible as I interpreted it.
I want to go back to before college, where the church choices were limited and terrible for shy folks without vehicles, before it became somewhere I went because I didn't want demerits, before it became a soul-sucking experience you survived, so you could go to Sunday lunch in the cafeteria, which was always excellent.
I want to go back to how I saw my church before all those crazy, passionate, Jesus freak college kids got older, before they took down all the lovely and rough art created by congregation members, before they redecorated so things looked expensive and fancy (including the chairs), before everyone grew up and moved away, and there were only strangers there.
I want to go back to the time before I had to avoid my best friend because she didn't want anyone else to know we hung around a lot outside of school and church, before our pastor committed adultery, before I realized that the other churches in our town treated ours with derision because it was founded by a bunch of fumbling college kids who got saved in the Jesus movement and tried to follow the Bible by making a church, man, because they were so in love with Jesus and His people.
I wish I were back in that time before I knew too much, back when church was just a good and safe place full of adopted, extended family who loved to sing and praise the Lord for hours and pray for my mom for years while she was dying and make terrible pasta dishes for us when she was in the hospital and just generally generously help each other.
I want to go back.
But the only way out is forward and through.
And I was not called to be successful, just to try, to keep trying, to keep going and never completely lose hope in this beautiful, messy, too-human, flawed, filthy, in-the-process-of-redemption body of which I am part whether I really like them or not. (Family is always like that.) Sometimes, it's just really hard.
Maybe it's a good thing that I am pathologically incapable of quitting forever. Maybe that just means I grind myself down faster against the rough edges of the folks around me.
Maybe it means I long for heaven, for future perfection, for complete redemption that much more. Some day. Hope. Keep walking forward, one foot in front of the other. Be glad when when people walk beside me. Be gracious when they fall and trip me and send me sprawling (and pray they do the same when Ifall). Don't spend too much time looking back. Walk on.
I want to go back before I thought that my church was too big to be a family, too wealthy and suburban to give a crap and organize to help hurting and broken people in need inside the body and in the surrounding community.
I want to go back to the time before I tried to make a difference and got involved and became a member and tried to fit into the communion of the saints even though it was more like the brunch at the country club, before I tried to improve things and got stonewalled or tried to participate but couldn't stand the crappy Baptist choir CCM after all that glorious Latin in the mini-cathedral at my previous doctrinally unsound church, before I joined a small group of very nice young ladies who were single and very nice and as bland as a Scandinavian casserole and so shy and slow about saying anything real or honest that I just couldn't take it anymore, before I gave up on attending Sunday services at all, before I despaired of ever being able to minister in any biblical way in my local body and accepted that "leading" a small group of quirky, interesting people was all I was going to get from this fellowship.
I want to go back to the time before I picked my current church because the doctrine they preached was acceptable to me and would pass muster with my alma mater in case I got the chance to try to teach there and because it was so big that no one would bother me when I snuck into the back always late and dressed shabbily and no one even noticed me because there were just so many people who attended and because it didn't demand anything of me when I had absolutely nothing left to give from the bottom of my well of chronic pain, exhaustion, and discouragement.
I want to go back to before I had to leave the beautiful neo-Gothic church with the amazing organ and the outstanding chancel choir, before the organist got booted even though she was incredibly talented and passionate because she was "too high-church" for the powers-that-be, too invested in beauty and the meaning of rituals to let things slide, before I realized that I couldn't stay in a place where they preached doctrine that just didn't jive with the Bible as I interpreted it.
I want to go back to before college, where the church choices were limited and terrible for shy folks without vehicles, before it became somewhere I went because I didn't want demerits, before it became a soul-sucking experience you survived, so you could go to Sunday lunch in the cafeteria, which was always excellent.
I want to go back to how I saw my church before all those crazy, passionate, Jesus freak college kids got older, before they took down all the lovely and rough art created by congregation members, before they redecorated so things looked expensive and fancy (including the chairs), before everyone grew up and moved away, and there were only strangers there.
I want to go back to the time before I had to avoid my best friend because she didn't want anyone else to know we hung around a lot outside of school and church, before our pastor committed adultery, before I realized that the other churches in our town treated ours with derision because it was founded by a bunch of fumbling college kids who got saved in the Jesus movement and tried to follow the Bible by making a church, man, because they were so in love with Jesus and His people.
I wish I were back in that time before I knew too much, back when church was just a good and safe place full of adopted, extended family who loved to sing and praise the Lord for hours and pray for my mom for years while she was dying and make terrible pasta dishes for us when she was in the hospital and just generally generously help each other.
I want to go back.
But the only way out is forward and through.
And I was not called to be successful, just to try, to keep trying, to keep going and never completely lose hope in this beautiful, messy, too-human, flawed, filthy, in-the-process-of-redemption body of which I am part whether I really like them or not. (Family is always like that.) Sometimes, it's just really hard.
Maybe it's a good thing that I am pathologically incapable of quitting forever. Maybe that just means I grind myself down faster against the rough edges of the folks around me.
Maybe it means I long for heaven, for future perfection, for complete redemption that much more. Some day. Hope. Keep walking forward, one foot in front of the other. Be glad when when people walk beside me. Be gracious when they fall and trip me and send me sprawling (and pray they do the same when Ifall). Don't spend too much time looking back. Walk on.
Monday, December 31, 2012
Bringing good out of bad
I contemplated this as the ten year anniversary of the injury that started it all came and went, bringing no Mayan Apocalypse with it.
Happy New Year.
"To the limited extent that I suffer, I want that suffering to be productive, to bring about holiness and a purity of character. I am grateful that the Bible is honest about the bad in this world: the bad is bad. Too often Christians seem to want to say that because God allows suffering, that suffering is somehow good in itself. This is not true; God is good, but sin and suffering are not. They are not what God intended for this world and they will not be there in heaven. But God does have the power to bring good out of bad (which is not the same as saying that a bad situation is inherently what God wants), and He is able to work in all things (good, bad and ugly) for the good of those who love Him (Rom 8:28)." - Tanya MarlowI choose to believe this.
Happy New Year.
There are no unanswered prayers
Why is it, do you suppose, that in evangelical Christian sub/culture, we seem to believe that the only answered prayer is one where we get what we want? As if the completely reasonable answers of "No" or "Wait" (which really sound the same practically speaking) are not actually legitimate answers for God the Father to give His children when we ask for something we, in all our finitude, want.
It's in songs, in church sermons, even in the words of some of my favorite contemporary bloggers. It makes me so very sad. Do we really believe that God just ignores some of our requests for some reason? That He's not listening? Where did this traditional view of things come from?
Any insight you have would be appreciated.
Friday, October 19, 2012
Lord, teach us to pray (Part II)
So I stand here panting from the effort of figuring out what to say, silent in another hour of need.
What I want to pray is,"God, please don't let me lose my job in the layoff the day before I talk to the surgeon. God, I know I complain about the arm and how much simpler things would have been if something was just ripped/broken/torn and repairable, but I think maybe I take that back in this case. God, please don't let me need surgery. Please don't let this be torn or worn away or dented. Please don't let this be arthritis." So many things I am asking for.
"What I want is for this to go away quickly because the magic cure to this one thing--God, please, just this one damn thing--exists, and I can afford it, and I'm not allergic to it, and it won't make things worse, and my inability to heal quickly due to exhaustion won't matter, and then this will be over, and I can go back to concentrating on the pain in my arm and my jaw and my foot and my wrist and my shoulder and my knees. Please, Lord, aren't those things enough?"
There are so many people who have it worse, and I feel like a jerk for praying for me instead of them. "What should I be saying, God? Please tell me." These are some of the things I consider saying.
Instead I stand silent on the official prayer channel.
What if I once again pray for the wrong thing? (And then get what I pray for?) But what if I just need to pray one more time for the answer to be yes? Is it sinful for me to wonder if it's like that parable about the old woman getting justice because she kept at that corrupt judge, or was that the point of the parable "always pray and never give up." But this is a young woman and a righteous God, and how do I know if what I ask for is justice or just selfishness? And maybe I'm supposed to just be whimpering help, but it feels like a cop-out, like laziness, like weakness, like failing.
"Lord, teach us to pray," one of His disciples said. Oh, please, God, please. Amen.
What I want to pray is,"God, please don't let me lose my job in the layoff the day before I talk to the surgeon. God, I know I complain about the arm and how much simpler things would have been if something was just ripped/broken/torn and repairable, but I think maybe I take that back in this case. God, please don't let me need surgery. Please don't let this be torn or worn away or dented. Please don't let this be arthritis." So many things I am asking for.
"What I want is for this to go away quickly because the magic cure to this one thing--God, please, just this one damn thing--exists, and I can afford it, and I'm not allergic to it, and it won't make things worse, and my inability to heal quickly due to exhaustion won't matter, and then this will be over, and I can go back to concentrating on the pain in my arm and my jaw and my foot and my wrist and my shoulder and my knees. Please, Lord, aren't those things enough?"
There are so many people who have it worse, and I feel like a jerk for praying for me instead of them. "What should I be saying, God? Please tell me." These are some of the things I consider saying.
Instead I stand silent on the official prayer channel.
What if I once again pray for the wrong thing? (And then get what I pray for?) But what if I just need to pray one more time for the answer to be yes? Is it sinful for me to wonder if it's like that parable about the old woman getting justice because she kept at that corrupt judge, or was that the point of the parable "always pray and never give up." But this is a young woman and a righteous God, and how do I know if what I ask for is justice or just selfishness? And maybe I'm supposed to just be whimpering help, but it feels like a cop-out, like laziness, like weakness, like failing.
"Lord, teach us to pray," one of His disciples said. Oh, please, God, please. Amen.
Friday, October 12, 2012
Standing silent in the armory, crying (out) (Part I)
I used to pray a lot to arm myself when facing "battles." I would pray all the time during volleyball, basketball, racquetball, and softball games, concert performances, plays, presentations, the science fair; whatever the battle, I prayed for help and victory. As I've dealt with chronic pain, there have been days where all I could muster was a whimpered help to God every few seconds. I think back then, God was always very aware of what I wanted.
Now I am afraid to pray like that, like a selfish, demanding brat. I want, I want, I want, please, please, please, me, me, me. And so I don't pray as much. There're still a lot of whimpering helps as I add new pains to my total, but I don't know that I consider this quality time in communication with God.
I am so afraid of praying for the wrong things that I just don't pray much at all unless specially called upon.
There is too much pain in me. I have asked for it to be removed (this cup, this thorn in the flesh), and the answer so far has been no (or, charitably, not yet), and I am tired of praying the "wrong" thing, tired of hearing no, wait, not yet, no. Tired of not knowing what to pray to get a "yes."
And so I am silent.
And so is He.
I am afraid to want the wrong things. I was so glad when my arm wasn't fractured, when nothing big was torn, when the nerves weren't ripped. But now that I float in a sea of uncertainty that will remain unresolved because I am at the mercy of OWCP, sometimes I think maybe I shouldn't have prayed, "Let it not be broken, let it not be torn, let it not be ripped." As if praying these things led to this result. As if my pain is somehow my fault because I asked for the wrong things and God did what I asked just to spite me. The pain interrupts sleep, which makes it hard to think, and I am so unreasonable sometimes I can hardly stand it.
Continued next post . . .
Now I am afraid to pray like that, like a selfish, demanding brat. I want, I want, I want, please, please, please, me, me, me. And so I don't pray as much. There're still a lot of whimpering helps as I add new pains to my total, but I don't know that I consider this quality time in communication with God.
I am so afraid of praying for the wrong things that I just don't pray much at all unless specially called upon.
There is too much pain in me. I have asked for it to be removed (this cup, this thorn in the flesh), and the answer so far has been no (or, charitably, not yet), and I am tired of praying the "wrong" thing, tired of hearing no, wait, not yet, no. Tired of not knowing what to pray to get a "yes."
And so I am silent.
And so is He.
I am afraid to want the wrong things. I was so glad when my arm wasn't fractured, when nothing big was torn, when the nerves weren't ripped. But now that I float in a sea of uncertainty that will remain unresolved because I am at the mercy of OWCP, sometimes I think maybe I shouldn't have prayed, "Let it not be broken, let it not be torn, let it not be ripped." As if praying these things led to this result. As if my pain is somehow my fault because I asked for the wrong things and God did what I asked just to spite me. The pain interrupts sleep, which makes it hard to think, and I am so unreasonable sometimes I can hardly stand it.
Continued next post . . .
Friday, October 5, 2012
Adopting embryos: Y'know, I don't even know what to think about this
Possibly the only thing here that didn't totally creep me out here: 'These
are image-bearing persons who are endowed by their Creator, not by their
“usefulness” with certain inalienable rights. Opening our hearts, and
our homes, and sometimes our wombs, to the least of these is a
Christ-like thing to do.' I guess I would still suggest that Christians prioritize adopting currently-born children and teenagers around them who desperately long for a home and a family. As Christians, we really aren't doing a very good job at this whole "looking after widows and orphans" thing, leaving aside this idea of adopting embryos.
On a related note, I have to say that every time I read an article about the tens of thousands of dollars people spend trying to get pregnant while so many kids sit around now waiting for families, I get pretty irritated. I don't talk about it much because I'm usually told that I just don't understand since I am not a person who is looking for another person to have children with. Maybe this is true, but I do understand cold, hard, numbers, and I think I have a basic understanding of stewardship. I guess that's why I can't fathom why people think it's a better use of their God-given resources to desperately try to get pregnant while abandoning the orphans in their communities.
I'm told I don't understand the desperation of women who can't get pregnant, like Hannah and Sarah and Elizabeth. This is true. However, they prayed, as far as I know, and didn't spend thousands of dollars to get their babies. (This might not be true. Maybe they did sacrifice extravagantly while praying over the years. I guess the Bible just doesn't mention that, so I can't really know.)
Sometimes you get a baby, and sometimes you don't. Sometimes a terrible person who doesn't want kids and mistreats and raises them badly gets to easily have lots of babies, and you, a decent person, do not. That is the cold, hard truth of the matter.
I don't understand why this is so devastating when, as I have mentioned, there are plenty of parent-less kids around who want parents. If you want children to love and care for and raise, there are plenty out there waiting desperately for you right this very minute!
I am told that this is not really the point. I guess I just don't understand what the point is.
As I said, I don't talk about this much. It doesn't seem helpful or really sensitive to toss off around people who might be having fertility issues because I really don't understand their pain at all (which does not invalidate that pain). But I guess I think it does need to be said, to be tossed out into the sea of possibilities and ideas because maybe it's something someone really needs to hear, and maybe it could change the life of a child somewhere waiting for a parent and a home, especially since some states are staring to make it illegal for single people to adopt.
On a related note, I have to say that every time I read an article about the tens of thousands of dollars people spend trying to get pregnant while so many kids sit around now waiting for families, I get pretty irritated. I don't talk about it much because I'm usually told that I just don't understand since I am not a person who is looking for another person to have children with. Maybe this is true, but I do understand cold, hard, numbers, and I think I have a basic understanding of stewardship. I guess that's why I can't fathom why people think it's a better use of their God-given resources to desperately try to get pregnant while abandoning the orphans in their communities.
I'm told I don't understand the desperation of women who can't get pregnant, like Hannah and Sarah and Elizabeth. This is true. However, they prayed, as far as I know, and didn't spend thousands of dollars to get their babies. (This might not be true. Maybe they did sacrifice extravagantly while praying over the years. I guess the Bible just doesn't mention that, so I can't really know.)
Sometimes you get a baby, and sometimes you don't. Sometimes a terrible person who doesn't want kids and mistreats and raises them badly gets to easily have lots of babies, and you, a decent person, do not. That is the cold, hard truth of the matter.
I don't understand why this is so devastating when, as I have mentioned, there are plenty of parent-less kids around who want parents. If you want children to love and care for and raise, there are plenty out there waiting desperately for you right this very minute!
I am told that this is not really the point. I guess I just don't understand what the point is.
As I said, I don't talk about this much. It doesn't seem helpful or really sensitive to toss off around people who might be having fertility issues because I really don't understand their pain at all (which does not invalidate that pain). But I guess I think it does need to be said, to be tossed out into the sea of possibilities and ideas because maybe it's something someone really needs to hear, and maybe it could change the life of a child somewhere waiting for a parent and a home, especially since some states are staring to make it illegal for single people to adopt.
Friday, April 22, 2011
House hunting for the emotionally detached
.
I've heard it said that if people were only allowed to ever have one car, they would be very careful about what they bought and how they maintained it, and that's one good way to look at marriage. Hmmmmm.
I'm looking for a condo to buy, so I can cut my monthly housing payment in half while building equity, taking on an enormous debt, and not broiling every winter watching my rent rise in heat waves from out of my open window.
The loan guy at my credit union said, "Don't buy something if you don't really fall in love with it because you'll be stuck with it for years."
This gave me pause. Are houses like people? Because if they are, chances are good that I won't fall in love with any house I look at.
I'm somewhat practical. I care if everything will fit and if I can adapt around the space. Thus has it always been. It's true that a mortgage gives weight to the space. You are agreeing to pay for it for a time nearly equal to how long you've already been alive (but intending to at least double your payments to get the sucker paid off faster), and that's quite different from signing a yearly lease even if you intend to stay for years. That questionable stain in the bathroom is harder to accept if you know you'll be looking at it for 15 years.
If I wait until I fall in love, I may be waiting forever, too long since my lease is up in July. If I settle, I could end up allergic to the house or having all sorts of wonky problems I can't anticipate, and I'll still have to deal with them years later (in theory).
On the plus side, if I don't fall in love, I can't have my heart broken when someone else buys the dumb thing out from under me while I wait to hear back from the school I've applied to teach at . . .
Lord, please give me peace and wisdom and only attainable housing crushes in the correct state. Amen.
.
I've heard it said that if people were only allowed to ever have one car, they would be very careful about what they bought and how they maintained it, and that's one good way to look at marriage. Hmmmmm.
I'm looking for a condo to buy, so I can cut my monthly housing payment in half while building equity, taking on an enormous debt, and not broiling every winter watching my rent rise in heat waves from out of my open window.
The loan guy at my credit union said, "Don't buy something if you don't really fall in love with it because you'll be stuck with it for years."
This gave me pause. Are houses like people? Because if they are, chances are good that I won't fall in love with any house I look at.
I'm somewhat practical. I care if everything will fit and if I can adapt around the space. Thus has it always been. It's true that a mortgage gives weight to the space. You are agreeing to pay for it for a time nearly equal to how long you've already been alive (but intending to at least double your payments to get the sucker paid off faster), and that's quite different from signing a yearly lease even if you intend to stay for years. That questionable stain in the bathroom is harder to accept if you know you'll be looking at it for 15 years.
If I wait until I fall in love, I may be waiting forever, too long since my lease is up in July. If I settle, I could end up allergic to the house or having all sorts of wonky problems I can't anticipate, and I'll still have to deal with them years later (in theory).
On the plus side, if I don't fall in love, I can't have my heart broken when someone else buys the dumb thing out from under me while I wait to hear back from the school I've applied to teach at . . .
Lord, please give me peace and wisdom and only attainable housing crushes in the correct state. Amen.
.
Friday, March 11, 2011
March is a good time for New Year's Resolutions: cripple, heal thyself (lots of random thoughts)
I figure as long as you focus before Daylight Savings Time changes, that's fine, right? :)
The focus of this year is healing right now. Doctor visits, physical therapy, not beating myself up as much about being crippled, etc. I have this amusing idea that since I'm not working two jobs right now, since I'm not where I (think I) want to be, since I've dropped so many things (and can barely hold on to what I have), maybe I should stop dwelling on these failures and see what kind of healing I can do with the down time I have right now.
One doctor told me he thinks I could get better than I am, but it would have to be serious rehab. "It would be another full time job," he told me. "That's the kind of effort it would take. Like Joe Mauer!"
The last time I tried to hold down two full time jobs was probably a certifiable near-disaster.
But I am so tired of being in pain. If there is any chance I can improve, I should probably take it, even if it ends again in failure because then, in my failure, I can say I really did try because, you know, that may have a slight effect, like ibuprofin . . .
Problem: God alone knows if the federal office of workers' compensation programs would pay for that kind of rehab.
It's hard to imagine that there was once a time when I really didn't want Jesus to come back really soon because there was so much I wanted to do here (not including the whole injury and derailment of life as I knew it, of course).
Are we there yet?
No.
Are we there yet?
No!
One foot in front of the other. Stay near a wall at all times in case you start to feel light-headed. Always have a hand on the stair railings (the good hand, or at least whichever one is working [better] today).
Someone must be carrying me because it's been a long time since I could carry myself.
This, too, shall pass. Eventually.
The focus of this year is healing right now. Doctor visits, physical therapy, not beating myself up as much about being crippled, etc. I have this amusing idea that since I'm not working two jobs right now, since I'm not where I (think I) want to be, since I've dropped so many things (and can barely hold on to what I have), maybe I should stop dwelling on these failures and see what kind of healing I can do with the down time I have right now.
One doctor told me he thinks I could get better than I am, but it would have to be serious rehab. "It would be another full time job," he told me. "That's the kind of effort it would take. Like Joe Mauer!"
The last time I tried to hold down two full time jobs was probably a certifiable near-disaster.
But I am so tired of being in pain. If there is any chance I can improve, I should probably take it, even if it ends again in failure because then, in my failure, I can say I really did try because, you know, that may have a slight effect, like ibuprofin . . .
Problem: God alone knows if the federal office of workers' compensation programs would pay for that kind of rehab.
It's hard to imagine that there was once a time when I really didn't want Jesus to come back really soon because there was so much I wanted to do here (not including the whole injury and derailment of life as I knew it, of course).
Are we there yet?
No.
Are we there yet?
No!
One foot in front of the other. Stay near a wall at all times in case you start to feel light-headed. Always have a hand on the stair railings (the good hand, or at least whichever one is working [better] today).
Someone must be carrying me because it's been a long time since I could carry myself.
This, too, shall pass. Eventually.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
5 ways to survive the holiday season alone
I think it's definitely progress that I didn't really get mad when I saw yet another "Holidays are awful if you're not dating/married/surrounded by family, but keep a stiff upper lip" article. I mean, I guess it's progress that I'm not totally disgusted with it. I admit that there are people out there who aren't alone by choice, and maybe this article will really help them out. See? Progress. Maturity.
I did laugh though, when all the banner ads were for dating services. Um . . . I laughed a lot.
For all those who wish they could be with their various loved ones over the holidays and can't for whatever reason, I'm praying for you.
I did laugh though, when all the banner ads were for dating services. Um . . . I laughed a lot.
For all those who wish they could be with their various loved ones over the holidays and can't for whatever reason, I'm praying for you.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Celebrating a song I like
I've complained about songs that are theologically irritating to me, so I figured I should praise songs that I find to be theologically excellent.
"No Matter What" by Kerrie Roberts is a great song. It emphasizes something that's important but maybe not emphasized enough. It's best encapsulated by a quote from the chorus.
Amen, sister.
I feel like our prayers are often a tad anemic. Or maybe "incomplete" is a better word. We pray that God will take away the trial, the pain, the difficult or unfair circumstance or situation. And we get angry when He doesn't, as if it's His job to make our lives comfortable and easy. What kind of love is that?
(That's from Job, but I remember it because it's from a song by Brent Bourgeois.)
People talk about trusting in the promises of God. When they said it to me as I was going through a rather long and drawn-out trial, they said it in a way that indicated that the promises of God were for ease and comfort (which they aren't). And this song really talks about why.
So much of the song is quotable that I just advise you to read all the lyrics. But I can't resist one more bit.
Again, amen. So take a listen, and think about the words and maybe pray them. There's a lot of truth here. I'm so glad God made music.
"No Matter What" by Kerrie Roberts is a great song. It emphasizes something that's important but maybe not emphasized enough. It's best encapsulated by a quote from the chorus.
"I know You can find a way to keep me from the pain,
but if not
I’ll trust you
no matter what."
Amen, sister.
I feel like our prayers are often a tad anemic. Or maybe "incomplete" is a better word. We pray that God will take away the trial, the pain, the difficult or unfair circumstance or situation. And we get angry when He doesn't, as if it's His job to make our lives comfortable and easy. What kind of love is that?
"Naked I came from my mother's womb,
and naked I shall return.
The Lord gave;
the Lord has taken away.
Blessed be the name of the Lord."
People talk about trusting in the promises of God. When they said it to me as I was going through a rather long and drawn-out trial, they said it in a way that indicated that the promises of God were for ease and comfort (which they aren't). And this song really talks about why.
So much of the song is quotable that I just advise you to read all the lyrics. But I can't resist one more bit.
"Anything I don’t have
You can give it to me,
but it’s OK if You don’t.
I’m not here for those things . . ."
Again, amen. So take a listen, and think about the words and maybe pray them. There's a lot of truth here. I'm so glad God made music.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
What to pray for
I read a really convicting quote in the last chapter of Crazy Love
."We try to set our lives up so everything will be fine even if God doesn't come through."
It's true for me.
Right now, my family can help support me financially, but I feel like they shouldn't have to. I feel like I must find a Job that pays a living wage somehow, even though I'm not qualified because of my disability, even if I have to fudge truth about my capabilities or take a Job that will cause me too much physical pain because if I don't, I'll just keep failing more and more financially until I have to declare bankruptcy. I want to get a Job, so I don't have to rely on their help, so they don't have to sacrifice for me anymore. Whenever my situation hits me hard, I find myself praying for that magical Job that will make things right.
Sometimes I feel like those prayers to God for that magical Job situation are my trust in Him. They are certainly my parents'. "God will provide a Job," they say, "you just have to keep trying." This makes me feel like if the Job doesn't materialize, it's my fault for not trusting enough or something, for not doing the right things.
Other times, I feel like this insistence we seem to have that God owes us a good job or prosperity of any kind is foolish and arrogant. God does not exist to make me happy and comfortable. God does not have to provide me with a miraculous Job in order to stay God or win my favor and trust. At least, it shouldn't be that way. People who believe in Him are starving to death, being tortured, and dying for Him, and they don't feel that He owes them anything more. So I feel guilty when I pray specifically for the Job, like I'm saying, if you just give me this thing, then I can take care of the rest.
It's messed up.
I don't think I can ever go back to that place of worry-freeease and comfort, if I was ever there in the first place. I've never really been in it, now that I think about it. My mom was deathly ill. My Dad lost his job when I was a kid. I struggled to get out of college debt-free; I was always concerned about there not being enough money. It's not like this is new to me. I have always had to rely on "things working out" in order to stay afloat financially. I feel like I already learned that lesson. But if the job never materializes, does it mean I haven't learned the lesson right (or the right lesson)?
What this crappy, painful, out-of-control situation (that started with my injury at work and subsequent dumping by the responsible party [US government] and currently disabling chronic pain and basic unemployability) has made me do is rely on God to get me through the day, every day. From the hauling myself out of bed exhausted every morning to the crawling back in and all the sleeplessness therein, the Lord's name is to be praised. Not very chipper and poetic, as Psalms go, but maybe I can make it work.
I don't think that I will forget this reliance on God just because I get a great job with health insurance and a competent, reasonable boss who appreciates my work and gives me great performance reviews. I don't think I will forget that it is in Him that I live and move and have my being if the pain goes away. I think this lesson is part of me, ingrained in me forever.
But if getting these things would make this understanding go away, then I have to pray that God won't give me those things. (This is why you shouldn't pray dangerous prayers, like, "God, bring me closer to You no matter what," unless you really understand what they entail. :)
So what am I supposed to be praying for again? I feel like my standard, "helpmehelpmehelpme" or "pleasegetmeoutofthis" aren't specific and personal enough. Any suggestions?
Friday, March 19, 2010
Today she told me, "Don't give up."
Can she somehow tell how much I want to? Maybe it's a good thing I haven't gotten any of those government jobs.
If I did get offered a good government job, I think I would give up on this dream of teaching college. I would keep writing, I think, because I can't stop, but I wouldn't have to feel guilty about not being published, wouldn't have to keep submitting things or worrying about submitting things because if I'm not trying to get a teaching job by being published (since I can't get any experience), then I don't need to be published. That would be several loads off my mind. Is this laziness?
I would have more time to read and maybe try to see how I could use my love of reading and writing to help foster kids. I could try other dreams, be open to unexpected, new dreams and opportunities. Of course, I would think of myself as a quitter, but the bills would be paid, and I would be more at peace, so the trade-off would be worth it, right?
In Bebo Norman's song "Pull Me Out," there's a line I really love about not knowing if your troubles are a test about holding on or letting go. How do you tell the difference between being stubborn and being tenacious?
I don't think that success is necessarily the criteria because God doesn't promise us success. Is this about my heart? About my attitude? I don't know. Can contentment and ambition live with each other?
Sometimes, you don't get what you want until you stop reaching. A lot of married couples have said that sort of thing recently. "I stopped looking, and then I found him/her." Other happily ended stories are about dogged pursuit. Some sad stories are about not knowing your own limits; others are about giving up too soon. How do you know which situation you're in?
Am I getting more comfortable here in limbo, avoiding the smugness of knowing, of clearly seeing in hindsight?
Today, again, I pray my usual prayer, "Please help me, God." At least, I'm pretty sure that's the right prayer, no matter what the situation.
If I did get offered a good government job, I think I would give up on this dream of teaching college. I would keep writing, I think, because I can't stop, but I wouldn't have to feel guilty about not being published, wouldn't have to keep submitting things or worrying about submitting things because if I'm not trying to get a teaching job by being published (since I can't get any experience), then I don't need to be published. That would be several loads off my mind. Is this laziness?
I would have more time to read and maybe try to see how I could use my love of reading and writing to help foster kids. I could try other dreams, be open to unexpected, new dreams and opportunities. Of course, I would think of myself as a quitter, but the bills would be paid, and I would be more at peace, so the trade-off would be worth it, right?
In Bebo Norman's song "Pull Me Out," there's a line I really love about not knowing if your troubles are a test about holding on or letting go. How do you tell the difference between being stubborn and being tenacious?
I don't think that success is necessarily the criteria because God doesn't promise us success. Is this about my heart? About my attitude? I don't know. Can contentment and ambition live with each other?
Sometimes, you don't get what you want until you stop reaching. A lot of married couples have said that sort of thing recently. "I stopped looking, and then I found him/her." Other happily ended stories are about dogged pursuit. Some sad stories are about not knowing your own limits; others are about giving up too soon. How do you know which situation you're in?
Am I getting more comfortable here in limbo, avoiding the smugness of knowing, of clearly seeing in hindsight?
Today, again, I pray my usual prayer, "Please help me, God." At least, I'm pretty sure that's the right prayer, no matter what the situation.
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