So.
For those of who don’t know...and honestly wouldn’t necessarily have a reason to (as all of this has happened in the last four weeks and those weeks included the holidays, for mere baseline example)...I spent last week at a “working interview”. The long story short is that I came into contact with the director at Camp Michindoh’s Outdoor Education School JUST before Christmas – inquiring about an opening I had been made aware of and looking for a job description. Some baseline correspondence, an exchange of my resume and a phone call later and I was set up for an interview...a working interview. Meaning I moved into Michindoh for a week where, for all practical purposes, I pretended I worked there and became acquainted with the program and staff as both sides evaluated whether or not we were right for each other. And so the real story begins...
The fact of the matter remains; I was never quite sure what to do with the idea of being part of the Outdoor Ed. program. The idea intrigued me, the possibilities excited me, the potential was worth pursuing. And, let’s face it; they were one of very few e-mails that didn’t respond to my inquiry with “thank you for your interest BUT...” However, I was also unsure. Me, teaching outdoor skills and science classes? Me, the one who hates to be cold and ran away from the idea of elementary education some time during junior year of high school? Me, committing to a camp completely separate from the one I had been affiliated with for the last 14+ years? Me?
Except here’s the thing (and really where this story finds its merit): I promised to be faithful.
Faithful to wherever God was leading. Wherever He was directing. For whatever that might mean.
As I ended last summer without a plan after a summer of searching, it was my answer and direction. I asked God what was next and He told me to just be faithful. I promised to keep my eyes open for where I believed Him to be leading and to follow open doors until I felt like they were shut, locked, boarded, or inaccessible. More than one path and perusal has led to a shut door. For at least one other instance, being faithful meant seeing where the door had been open for me to walk through but was being blocked off in other ways.
And so, despite my lingering uncertainty, I took hold of the present excitement and moved forward. Forward into a week at Michindoh with an experience I could not and did not know how to anticipate.
Everything considered, from a practical point of view, the week went well. I found myself capable, the situation plausible, the environment welcoming. Camp was camp and it felt natural. I was, in general, enjoying myself and was impressed with both the program and the staff. Still, my personal anxiety ran high and I was ill at ease inside. This bothered me as there was no trigger to my warring internal madness.
Except for the fact that I knew that my “outsider” status had me as more than just a visitor. Michindoh was on display as I sought to put myself as a player in their world and I was equally, if not even more, on display as they evaluated me for the same task. At the end of the day I was not only unsure but I was uncertain and uneasy. I was capable but I didn’t care. I didn’t have passion for the mission or the ministry. Like an XL sweatshirt, I fit into it but it didn’t really fit me and if I was being honest, I didn’t want the job.
My reasons might be another story because there was a problem...want it or not, I really had no reason to say no. Without a formal job offer, I was considering where I stood if the decision was up to me. All of my personal life-evaluating questions came back positive. I had no qualms (other than the fact I HATE the cold and I spend several hours outside every day) and I was having a good week...but I also had little desire to take the job. The very simplicity of this dilemma began to consume my thoughts. My analytical mind wanted reasons and certainties and clarity. All of which were lacking. (The internal debate was quite a bit more complex and pulled with a great intensity)
I wanted something official, obvious. Did I take the job? Did I move home? When friends were told about the week I was spending and said they’d be praying I made requests for two things: peace and discernment. I hated the fact that I wanted things I felt like were given promises and they were the two things I most felt lacking. I wanted God to give me a stop light red or a flashing green beckoning to where He was at...where He wanted me...the decision He would bless. “Speak louder!” I told God on Wednesday. “Nothing is coming in clear!”
Frustrated, out loud I questioned: “Just yes or no, okay? Am I supposed to be here? Should I move back home?” In the depths of who I am – I felt like Jesus was shrugging His shoulders. With an indifferent look my response to both was “meh”. Not yes, not no, “meh”. The answer was the one I wanted the least yet fit in with my inability to articulate basic want in either direction. “Meh?? What does that mean??” But I knew what “meh” meant...or at least the answer seemed fairly obvious. We give the “meh” answer when the answer isn’t actually yes and is technically no but we still allow it...
Meh.
So I wasn’t really supposed to be either place? But I could be. I had the “if you wish” answer for whatever my choosing. I only had two options. So it had to be one of them – I had to make the choice. After some talks with Jesus, I took this to mean that neither place was what He had in store for me. But He was also waiting to reveal whether or not a door number three existed and so I was to stake claim on a decision and be faithful in that choice as I continued to seek what and where door number three might be. After way too much inner turmoil (more than necessary for sure)...I chose ‘no’. If I wasn’t going to be doing the ministry I loved (whatever that actually is...) in a place I felt specifically called (wherever that actually is...) then I my-as-well go home to my own bed at night.
After that decision – which only I had only officially stated to myself and texted to those two or three in on my mental turmoil – was square dance night. I had made my choice but I still had a day left to my week commitment and if you know me, you know about my commitments. I may have been done but I would give it my all for the time I had left. (In summary...) I was...ridiculous. I used to have a real goofy side which has been shoved down for the “my life has to be serious right now” phase I’ve been through in the last 3+ years. Camp has been one place it still comes out from time to time and with the ho-down, it did. What did I have to lose? I made up my own motions to popular songs and asked 5th grade boys to be my partners and generally made a fool of myself. Enters re-decision phase one: I was reminded I do enjoy kids (even if they aren’t my teenagers) and have fun doing life – especially the silly – with them.
Re-decision phase two is actually quite a bit more important. If significantly cheesier. Our square dance numbers of twangy “Cotton-Eyed Joe” and “I Saw the Light” were interrupted by more traditional and known numbers (to which I made up my own “dance” moves). While dancing with one particularly embarrassed (to be seen with me) 5th grade boy, our three-man staff band started playing Bon Jovi’s “Living on a Prayer”. As the song played and I sang and danced and did the Virginia Wheel along...I was struck by this song where these two people loved each other enough to support each other’s dreams...knowing together they had enough. First the one and then the other declares in the chorus that with a clasped hand, they can make it regardless of what befalls. Living on prayers takes reckless abandon. Taking hold of the hand on the other end is trust.
Choosing either choice (to take the job I was formally offered or to move back home) was going to take reckless abandon. Neither of them had me “making it”. Neither of them were the big plan nor purpose God has in store. Neither choice made sense. But I had to make one and to be faithful in it was going to prove trust. God and I had a big convo about trust at the end of November. Here and now He was saying, “take my hand and prove that you trust Me. If I am for you, who can be against you? The fact you have Me is already more than you need. Make a choice in the reckless abandon of faith and trust and I will continue to work in and through you for My glory...”
When it all came down, I decided I was more afraid to take the job than to move home (hence ‘no’ was the easy choice) – because I was afraid of failing and not measuring up and not being good enough and not being as passionate as I should be about what I was doing. But I also realized Michindoh was a deliberate channel for my energies with specific things and people to invest in...regardless of its disconnect from long-term desire. So I told them ‘yes’. I am more confident in this decision than I was in saying no and I look forward to the adventure that will make up my next six months (I’m committed only through this season, the first part of June).
More so, however, I look forward to seeing how God will use this stepping stone (which seems to be one to the side, rather than forward) to move me towards what He has for me next. And when THAT comes, may I respond with a similar but greater reckless abandon...where I’m willing to go without question to where He is. And may I continue to develop and prove the trust I so wish to claim...by taking His hand and knowing that the love He has for me is a lot and even if I’m just living on a prayer (which some days I feel like I am)...together Jesus and I will make it, (I swear). Find me faithful...
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Thursday, January 20, 2011
This Will Be My Epitaph – “I Tried Hard” (Week 4)
I haven’t had much time to even think about blogging in the last many days.
Let alone journal.
Let alone spend time with my devo.
Let alone spend time in my Bible.
Let alone spend any meaningful time with Jesus.
But with the realization that the week was coming quickly to a close...with my “blogging challenge” soon to be an apology note...I came across an interesting document.
Actually, I went looking for it on purpose.
It is my “Missional Eulogy”. During the first semester of my senior year of college I was in the final communications class of my minor when the assignment was to either write for ourselves a personal mission statement...or a eulogy. A eulogy being what others would say about how you lived your life and mission statement dictating how you would like to live your life. I asked for permission to combine them. My argument was that you should endeavor to live life reflecting the things you would want to be most true when you were gone. I wrote it terms of what I hoped would someday be said of me.
Who thought I’d use it again! I dug it out today as I attempted to make some life decisions. I couldn’t decide (and in fact have still not made a solid decision and have switched it to the complete opposite side with certainty, resolve, and clarity several dozen times). Something drew me back to my old assignment and I looked to see if I would find either choice contradicting my pre-established mission. It read:
Realizing only the short years I have lived and recognizing I can never be certain of the days left...
May it be said of me that I was a creation which knew and reflected her Creator. Just as a painting shows the heart of the painter, so may everything I do be an outsourcing of Christ’s work in me.
May I live as the friend, the daughter, the sister, the friend, the stranger who laughed often, listened intently, responded authentically, smiled genuinely, cared deeply, and loved unconditionally.
May I be known as the girl who lived honestly in her brokenness, free of masks which hide the reality and block out the Light which desires to flow out of me.
May others know me as one easy to trust, natural to confide in, ready to support, willing to lend a hand.
May my life speak to a call to “be a servant first and last.” Laying myself aside in humble obedience to my God and neighbor.
May I be the one eager to put on my armor to stand in line to help fight others’ battles. To become the protector of their worlds as little is harder than going up to fight and standing alone.
May I come to be the speaker and the writer whose words impact, motivate, influence, compel and change.
May I act and be known as the girl who functions out of perseverance, who “tries hard”, who gives her all and more than she has to every situation.
May that perseverance reflect a strive to utilize and conquer over every trial and every suffering. And together may they develop a strength of character which falls to hope. May hope drive everything I do.
I realize this week’s topic says “epitaph” (I’ll get there in a moment)...which is not the same as a eulogy...but I saw the two connected. They are both things I want to be true of me long after I have the opportunity to make a difference. I want them to drive the way I live my life.
In terms of my epitaph (tombstone inscription), my younger sister will easily note that it exists in the words above. I laugh and joke that I simply want written “I/She tried hard.” (Amelia finishes our joke by claiming she wants an arrow to my headstone with the words “me too”).
I try hard.
When I commit to something, I never commit half way. I want to give past what I have to give. In work, in family, in friendships, in endeavors, in my relationship with Jesus. Sometimes I fail (I hate to fail). But I often do (especially in terms of my relationship with Jesus and I hate that most of all). But I don’t want my success to be on my tombstone, just my attempt. Despite my perfectionist tendencies, the phrase “they can’t fault you for trying” has some merit in my life.
Because if I’m always trying...
Then I’m not giving up.
And if I’m not giving up...
Then I’m persevering.
God doesn’t ask me to be strong (or good or perfect or make the right decision 100% of the time), He asks me to be faithful. Always faithful. And in the faithfulness – which is so much harder than I can explain in a blog paragraph – I am to persevere. But it is not an end in its own.
Perseverance comes out of suffering and brings hope
(Romans 5:3-5/James 1:3)
Perseverance should always be an endeavor of love
(1 Corinthians 13:7)
Perseverance is worth boasting about
(2 Thessalonians 1:4)
Perseverance in the right areas saves
(1 Timothy 4:16)
Perseverance encourages
(Hebrews 10:19-25)
Perseverance takes endurance with eyes on THE prize
(Hebrews 12:1-2)
Perseverance is a refiner and finisher
(James 1:4/1:12)
Perseverance prohibits ineffectiveness in life and ministry
(2 Peter 1:5-9)
Perseverance is rewarded
Revelation 2:2,3,19)
When I run out of days to fill and breaths to take, I hope I’m known as one who “tried hard”, who persevered. I hope I live life in such a way as to be worthy of the words I some day want said of me. To be worthy of calling I have received (Ephesians 4:1)...by the One who wishes to be glorified in me and I in Him. May my perseverance bring to fruition every desire for goodness as I seek the face of the One who looks into mine (1 Thessalonians 1:11-12)
Let alone journal.
Let alone spend time with my devo.
Let alone spend time in my Bible.
Let alone spend any meaningful time with Jesus.
But with the realization that the week was coming quickly to a close...with my “blogging challenge” soon to be an apology note...I came across an interesting document.
Actually, I went looking for it on purpose.
It is my “Missional Eulogy”. During the first semester of my senior year of college I was in the final communications class of my minor when the assignment was to either write for ourselves a personal mission statement...or a eulogy. A eulogy being what others would say about how you lived your life and mission statement dictating how you would like to live your life. I asked for permission to combine them. My argument was that you should endeavor to live life reflecting the things you would want to be most true when you were gone. I wrote it terms of what I hoped would someday be said of me.
Who thought I’d use it again! I dug it out today as I attempted to make some life decisions. I couldn’t decide (and in fact have still not made a solid decision and have switched it to the complete opposite side with certainty, resolve, and clarity several dozen times). Something drew me back to my old assignment and I looked to see if I would find either choice contradicting my pre-established mission. It read:
Realizing only the short years I have lived and recognizing I can never be certain of the days left...
May it be said of me that I was a creation which knew and reflected her Creator. Just as a painting shows the heart of the painter, so may everything I do be an outsourcing of Christ’s work in me.
May I live as the friend, the daughter, the sister, the friend, the stranger who laughed often, listened intently, responded authentically, smiled genuinely, cared deeply, and loved unconditionally.
May I be known as the girl who lived honestly in her brokenness, free of masks which hide the reality and block out the Light which desires to flow out of me.
May others know me as one easy to trust, natural to confide in, ready to support, willing to lend a hand.
May my life speak to a call to “be a servant first and last.” Laying myself aside in humble obedience to my God and neighbor.
May I be the one eager to put on my armor to stand in line to help fight others’ battles. To become the protector of their worlds as little is harder than going up to fight and standing alone.
May I come to be the speaker and the writer whose words impact, motivate, influence, compel and change.
May I act and be known as the girl who functions out of perseverance, who “tries hard”, who gives her all and more than she has to every situation.
May that perseverance reflect a strive to utilize and conquer over every trial and every suffering. And together may they develop a strength of character which falls to hope. May hope drive everything I do.
I realize this week’s topic says “epitaph” (I’ll get there in a moment)...which is not the same as a eulogy...but I saw the two connected. They are both things I want to be true of me long after I have the opportunity to make a difference. I want them to drive the way I live my life.
In terms of my epitaph (tombstone inscription), my younger sister will easily note that it exists in the words above. I laugh and joke that I simply want written “I/She tried hard.” (Amelia finishes our joke by claiming she wants an arrow to my headstone with the words “me too”).
I try hard.
When I commit to something, I never commit half way. I want to give past what I have to give. In work, in family, in friendships, in endeavors, in my relationship with Jesus. Sometimes I fail (I hate to fail). But I often do (especially in terms of my relationship with Jesus and I hate that most of all). But I don’t want my success to be on my tombstone, just my attempt. Despite my perfectionist tendencies, the phrase “they can’t fault you for trying” has some merit in my life.
Because if I’m always trying...
Then I’m not giving up.
And if I’m not giving up...
Then I’m persevering.
God doesn’t ask me to be strong (or good or perfect or make the right decision 100% of the time), He asks me to be faithful. Always faithful. And in the faithfulness – which is so much harder than I can explain in a blog paragraph – I am to persevere. But it is not an end in its own.
Perseverance comes out of suffering and brings hope
(Romans 5:3-5/James 1:3)
Perseverance should always be an endeavor of love
(1 Corinthians 13:7)
Perseverance is worth boasting about
(2 Thessalonians 1:4)
Perseverance in the right areas saves
(1 Timothy 4:16)
Perseverance encourages
(Hebrews 10:19-25)
Perseverance takes endurance with eyes on THE prize
(Hebrews 12:1-2)
Perseverance is a refiner and finisher
(James 1:4/1:12)
Perseverance prohibits ineffectiveness in life and ministry
(2 Peter 1:5-9)
Perseverance is rewarded
Revelation 2:2,3,19)
When I run out of days to fill and breaths to take, I hope I’m known as one who “tried hard”, who persevered. I hope I live life in such a way as to be worthy of the words I some day want said of me. To be worthy of calling I have received (Ephesians 4:1)...by the One who wishes to be glorified in me and I in Him. May my perseverance bring to fruition every desire for goodness as I seek the face of the One who looks into mine (1 Thessalonians 1:11-12)
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Week 3 - "My Superhero/Person I Most Admire"
I initially looked at this week's topic and paused, my face in a contorted question. How did I answer this question?
My first thought was to be super cliché and say “Jesus!” And it would be true. Jesus is my superhero – and far more. In some ways I feel like I do Him a disservice by putting Him in a category like “superhero” and somehow disconnect His saving abilities from the redemption and love and ultimate sacrifice by which our understanding of “superhero” could and should be blown away.
Not to mention...this topic is connected to the person I admire most.
And then I sighed deeply. I still didn’t have a good answer. Actually, I had no answer at all. Not because there is no one I admire. On the contrary, I just couldn’t pick.
People and faces began to flash through my mind. I smiled thinking about some of my personal world’s most favorite people. And I had a dangerously hard time trying to elevate one above the other to create an “admired most”. Of all of people of whom I am the self proclaimed president of fan clubs, I decided that I couldn’t decide...
The people I most admire are all unique and different individuals. The things I admire in each vary from person to person. However, of the fact I admire them...they all seem to share some key characteristics...
- They are present. Let’s face it...I’m president of fan clubs of people who I might only know in passing or watch from a distance and am compelled by the lives, character, hearts, endeavors... but those who I admire most are real people in my real life. I most look up to the people with whom I have the opportunity to interact.
- It’s intentional. Selfishly, some of the people I most admire are also the ones who appear to have a vested interested in my life. They encourage me, pray for me. They feed into me in a way that stems from friendship and relationship. They push me closer to God. They are there when I need them...sometimes before I can even get up the courage to ask.
- Whether it be sarcasm, puns, unfortunate jokes, quirky isms, ironic stories, shared humor, remembered times together... They make me laugh. We laugh together.
- There is “something more”. Always more. Those I admire are deep and complex people. I could spend a lifetime (hopefully it is so) getting to know people, realizing I have barely skimmed the surface of all things which run true...
- They love people. They value people. Their lives are in ways both big and small about service because they know life isn’t about only them.
- They love Jesus. Most of them far more than life itself. And it shows. Their passion is contagious and compelling. I am propelled in my walk with Christ simply because I see theirs.
- There is a restless but holy discontent which says what ‘is’ is also not what it could be. They are looking to be found more faithful, to follow God more closely. They have visions and dreams about what could be if lives were lived in radical obedience – whatever that might mean, whenever it might mean it...
And that might be my short list.
I know I have to be careful not to put others on pedestals they neither want nor deserve. They are as human as I. I know the state of my own heart and how much work is still being done...remodeling, light construction, some massive overhauling...in attempts to be more like Jesus. I know how much I would hate to be pedestal-ed in the midst of my own “sinful disease” and if “no one is good, no not one” (Psalm 14:3/53:3, Romans 3:12) then no matter how much I admire them for reasons big and small...I can never put them on display. I follow Jesus first (1 Corinthians 1:12-13) and not man. Christ isn’t divided and so the only people I can follow are the ones already in line following Jesus.
And yet, for that same reason, I also I don’t think this admiration is wrong. You see I truly believe that “inasmuch as one pushes you closer to God, he/she is your closest friend.” To admire (via dictionary definition) is to “to regard with esteem, respect, approval, or pleased surprise”. And the more time I see where people are admired in scripture – the more I see that they can have my approval because they already have God’s. (Not just approval or worth as a person but a mark of respect upon the work they are doing and the lives they are living).
Paul starts his letter to the Ephesians, Philippians, Colossians, Thessalonians (1 and 2), and Philemon specifically in thanksgiving for their work, their love, their faithfulness, their steadfastness, their generosity, their strength in furthering the Gospel and building the Church and encouraging fellow believers. He gives shout outs in many letters to those he knows by name for any number of similar reasons.
Paul admires them. He regards them in high esteem because for as much as he seeks to encourage and refresh them, they are oft noted for their care and encouragement of Paul himself. He sees the living Christ working in and through them.
Admiration comes with this idea of looking up to another person...watching in awestruck wonder as I find myself compelled to follow Jesus in such a fashion as I see. Perhaps what stands out most clearly of my short list are the attributes of the God I admire most found in those I admire most...
Thank you for being people I admire. Who walk with the mark of Christ on their lives...who compel me towards a richer, deeper, truer, more authentic and more obvious relationship with my Superhero...the Superhero of superheroes. May I find myself in a place where my life too is worth admiring...not for my own sake (heaven forbid I be admired for something in my own right) but so that together we may have “the eyes of our heart enlightened...that we may know the hope to which we have been called, the riches of the glorious inheritance in the saints and His incomparably great power for us who believe...” (Ephesians 1:18-19)
My first thought was to be super cliché and say “Jesus!” And it would be true. Jesus is my superhero – and far more. In some ways I feel like I do Him a disservice by putting Him in a category like “superhero” and somehow disconnect His saving abilities from the redemption and love and ultimate sacrifice by which our understanding of “superhero” could and should be blown away.
Not to mention...this topic is connected to the person I admire most.
And then I sighed deeply. I still didn’t have a good answer. Actually, I had no answer at all. Not because there is no one I admire. On the contrary, I just couldn’t pick.
People and faces began to flash through my mind. I smiled thinking about some of my personal world’s most favorite people. And I had a dangerously hard time trying to elevate one above the other to create an “admired most”. Of all of people of whom I am the self proclaimed president of fan clubs, I decided that I couldn’t decide...
The people I most admire are all unique and different individuals. The things I admire in each vary from person to person. However, of the fact I admire them...they all seem to share some key characteristics...
- They are present. Let’s face it...I’m president of fan clubs of people who I might only know in passing or watch from a distance and am compelled by the lives, character, hearts, endeavors... but those who I admire most are real people in my real life. I most look up to the people with whom I have the opportunity to interact.
- It’s intentional. Selfishly, some of the people I most admire are also the ones who appear to have a vested interested in my life. They encourage me, pray for me. They feed into me in a way that stems from friendship and relationship. They push me closer to God. They are there when I need them...sometimes before I can even get up the courage to ask.
- Whether it be sarcasm, puns, unfortunate jokes, quirky isms, ironic stories, shared humor, remembered times together... They make me laugh. We laugh together.
- There is “something more”. Always more. Those I admire are deep and complex people. I could spend a lifetime (hopefully it is so) getting to know people, realizing I have barely skimmed the surface of all things which run true...
- They love people. They value people. Their lives are in ways both big and small about service because they know life isn’t about only them.
- They love Jesus. Most of them far more than life itself. And it shows. Their passion is contagious and compelling. I am propelled in my walk with Christ simply because I see theirs.
- There is a restless but holy discontent which says what ‘is’ is also not what it could be. They are looking to be found more faithful, to follow God more closely. They have visions and dreams about what could be if lives were lived in radical obedience – whatever that might mean, whenever it might mean it...
And that might be my short list.
I know I have to be careful not to put others on pedestals they neither want nor deserve. They are as human as I. I know the state of my own heart and how much work is still being done...remodeling, light construction, some massive overhauling...in attempts to be more like Jesus. I know how much I would hate to be pedestal-ed in the midst of my own “sinful disease” and if “no one is good, no not one” (Psalm 14:3/53:3, Romans 3:12) then no matter how much I admire them for reasons big and small...I can never put them on display. I follow Jesus first (1 Corinthians 1:12-13) and not man. Christ isn’t divided and so the only people I can follow are the ones already in line following Jesus.
And yet, for that same reason, I also I don’t think this admiration is wrong. You see I truly believe that “inasmuch as one pushes you closer to God, he/she is your closest friend.” To admire (via dictionary definition) is to “to regard with esteem, respect, approval, or pleased surprise”. And the more time I see where people are admired in scripture – the more I see that they can have my approval because they already have God’s. (Not just approval or worth as a person but a mark of respect upon the work they are doing and the lives they are living).
Paul starts his letter to the Ephesians, Philippians, Colossians, Thessalonians (1 and 2), and Philemon specifically in thanksgiving for their work, their love, their faithfulness, their steadfastness, their generosity, their strength in furthering the Gospel and building the Church and encouraging fellow believers. He gives shout outs in many letters to those he knows by name for any number of similar reasons.
Paul admires them. He regards them in high esteem because for as much as he seeks to encourage and refresh them, they are oft noted for their care and encouragement of Paul himself. He sees the living Christ working in and through them.
Admiration comes with this idea of looking up to another person...watching in awestruck wonder as I find myself compelled to follow Jesus in such a fashion as I see. Perhaps what stands out most clearly of my short list are the attributes of the God I admire most found in those I admire most...
Thank you for being people I admire. Who walk with the mark of Christ on their lives...who compel me towards a richer, deeper, truer, more authentic and more obvious relationship with my Superhero...the Superhero of superheroes. May I find myself in a place where my life too is worth admiring...not for my own sake (heaven forbid I be admired for something in my own right) but so that together we may have “the eyes of our heart enlightened...that we may know the hope to which we have been called, the riches of the glorious inheritance in the saints and His incomparably great power for us who believe...” (Ephesians 1:18-19)
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Week 2 - "Most Serious Injury"
So week 2 marks the second calendar week and the first real week of my own ironic blogging challenge. I drew out my list of “pre-determined topics” and decided with the year just beginning, I was going to go in order for a while. I scrolled to number one and read “the story of your most serious injury”. I did a half chuckle and sighed. “That’s a long story...” I told my teddy bear/friend, Sophie. The timing is also a little ironic as it is first on the list and so by happenstance coinciding with its own anniversary.
The fact remains; I have many injuries to choose from. “Oops! I’m sorry!” was my catchphrase all through junior high and high school. I was/am a fantastically clumsy and not very coordinated child. I’ve had broken toes and sprained...well everything. I broke my ankle. And my foot. I had my knee in an immobilizer for close to 8 weeks. My wrist has been broken. Tendons have been near-torn in my thumb/hand. I accidently pierced my nose and my foot has been run over by a car. But my best and most serious “injury” is probably also the most intentional. And marked by a seven inch scar that is beginning to fade. It is from when I was cut in the throat...
I was in a gang...
Actually, that is a lie. A straight up lie. But a good story. Almost as good as the fact I was “mugged by an old lady in a WalMart parking lot who stole my carmex” (my contribution). I have also been attacked, jumped, raped, suicidal, and the holder of both a crooked pink necklace and a “kickin’ tattoo”. None of these are the truths but they get some serious creativity points!
My injury is in fact the wound which turned into a scar but it is the result of two expert surgeons and two fantastic surgeries which removed, in total, my thyroid and 32 lymph nodes in my neck and sternum. January 2011 marks three years since surgery one and the adventures associated with having thyroid cancer.
My scar and I...we’re attached. It’s hard not to be. Seeing as it sits on my person. It tilts to the side and curves upward. I call in my “second smile”...I’m always smiling even when I frown. When it first became mine, it was covered in crusty gauze and bandages and outlined in a yellowing bruise. It was hideous and I was embarrassed. If people saw it, I would have to explain...they would know. It was winter and I got in the habit of wearing my scarves pretty much around the clock. But a bumpy red line doesn’t hide well forever and I got over awkward stares, peculiar questions, and my own distaste. I am so used to seeing it when I see it in the mirror – sometimes I don’t see it at all. And after many adventures, many stories, and a fantastic journey Jesus and I went in during the course of its life and cause, I think I can honestly say I would miss it if it were to go missing.
That’s the story, the short version, behind my most serious injury. But it s also only the physical story, really. I love the fact that behind every scar (seen or unseen, physical or emotional or mental or affective or...) is a story. There is always a story behind a scar. And when God is allowed to be part of the picture, an even bigger story emerges. Scars fade but never disappear; they are the reminders of pain and the promise of healing. They stand in the place of a wound... Some healer cleaner, nicer, prettier than others depending on the injury and the care but come with a story. My scar holds an intense story – of grace and redemption. Of God showing up in unlikely places and faces. Of a bumpy journey through one of life’s “unthinkables”. Of God’s faithfulness. His love. His sustenance. More than anything, I think it has shown me that the story I hold is not my story at all. God’s story is interwoven into mine and as a result mine into His. I become part, a piece, a snapshot, a hangnail in a piece of the ultimate story running from creation to today.
And therefore, my story isn’t mine. Which means that I have to be faithful in sharing it from time to time. I want my story to about Jesus and so I don’t have the right not to give evidence to where I’ve been and where He’s taking me. I want to live my life to make God known... This, Jesus, is the story behind my scar. 1 Peter 3:15 tells us always to have answer for the reason we believe. I had a discussion not too long ago with one of my young mentorees who stated: “I do believe, I do...but I was asked why the other day and I couldn’t come up with answer. It sucks you know, because faith doesn’t make sense – it’s not supposed to because it’s faith but then I feel like there is no answer I can give that justifies my faith.” I nodded slowly and said “I can’t defend my faith. I fail every time. And when I realize my own ability to state ‘why’ fails...I just tell my story...”
Furthermore, God wants to use our stories. 1 Corinthians 1:4 gives us instructions to comfort as we ourselves have been comforted. We take the places God has led and taught and held and share it. Even the most sheltered, curiously un-jaded amongst have a story – and as any good English teacher would tell you, a story must include a plot. We all have scars. Inside, outside, upside down...and it only takes realizing where God has been working in and through those scars with or without permission. May God continue to get the praise for the places you’ve been. May you allow Him to redeem you and the stories behind your scars..
“Praise the LORD, my soul; all my inmost being, praise his holy name. Praise the LORD, my soul, and forget not all his benefits—who forgives all your sins and heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the pit and crowns you with love and compassion...” Psalm 103:1-4
The fact remains; I have many injuries to choose from. “Oops! I’m sorry!” was my catchphrase all through junior high and high school. I was/am a fantastically clumsy and not very coordinated child. I’ve had broken toes and sprained...well everything. I broke my ankle. And my foot. I had my knee in an immobilizer for close to 8 weeks. My wrist has been broken. Tendons have been near-torn in my thumb/hand. I accidently pierced my nose and my foot has been run over by a car. But my best and most serious “injury” is probably also the most intentional. And marked by a seven inch scar that is beginning to fade. It is from when I was cut in the throat...
I was in a gang...
Actually, that is a lie. A straight up lie. But a good story. Almost as good as the fact I was “mugged by an old lady in a WalMart parking lot who stole my carmex” (my contribution). I have also been attacked, jumped, raped, suicidal, and the holder of both a crooked pink necklace and a “kickin’ tattoo”. None of these are the truths but they get some serious creativity points!
My injury is in fact the wound which turned into a scar but it is the result of two expert surgeons and two fantastic surgeries which removed, in total, my thyroid and 32 lymph nodes in my neck and sternum. January 2011 marks three years since surgery one and the adventures associated with having thyroid cancer.
My scar and I...we’re attached. It’s hard not to be. Seeing as it sits on my person. It tilts to the side and curves upward. I call in my “second smile”...I’m always smiling even when I frown. When it first became mine, it was covered in crusty gauze and bandages and outlined in a yellowing bruise. It was hideous and I was embarrassed. If people saw it, I would have to explain...they would know. It was winter and I got in the habit of wearing my scarves pretty much around the clock. But a bumpy red line doesn’t hide well forever and I got over awkward stares, peculiar questions, and my own distaste. I am so used to seeing it when I see it in the mirror – sometimes I don’t see it at all. And after many adventures, many stories, and a fantastic journey Jesus and I went in during the course of its life and cause, I think I can honestly say I would miss it if it were to go missing.
That’s the story, the short version, behind my most serious injury. But it s also only the physical story, really. I love the fact that behind every scar (seen or unseen, physical or emotional or mental or affective or...) is a story. There is always a story behind a scar. And when God is allowed to be part of the picture, an even bigger story emerges. Scars fade but never disappear; they are the reminders of pain and the promise of healing. They stand in the place of a wound... Some healer cleaner, nicer, prettier than others depending on the injury and the care but come with a story. My scar holds an intense story – of grace and redemption. Of God showing up in unlikely places and faces. Of a bumpy journey through one of life’s “unthinkables”. Of God’s faithfulness. His love. His sustenance. More than anything, I think it has shown me that the story I hold is not my story at all. God’s story is interwoven into mine and as a result mine into His. I become part, a piece, a snapshot, a hangnail in a piece of the ultimate story running from creation to today.
And therefore, my story isn’t mine. Which means that I have to be faithful in sharing it from time to time. I want my story to about Jesus and so I don’t have the right not to give evidence to where I’ve been and where He’s taking me. I want to live my life to make God known... This, Jesus, is the story behind my scar. 1 Peter 3:15 tells us always to have answer for the reason we believe. I had a discussion not too long ago with one of my young mentorees who stated: “I do believe, I do...but I was asked why the other day and I couldn’t come up with answer. It sucks you know, because faith doesn’t make sense – it’s not supposed to because it’s faith but then I feel like there is no answer I can give that justifies my faith.” I nodded slowly and said “I can’t defend my faith. I fail every time. And when I realize my own ability to state ‘why’ fails...I just tell my story...”
Furthermore, God wants to use our stories. 1 Corinthians 1:4 gives us instructions to comfort as we ourselves have been comforted. We take the places God has led and taught and held and share it. Even the most sheltered, curiously un-jaded amongst have a story – and as any good English teacher would tell you, a story must include a plot. We all have scars. Inside, outside, upside down...and it only takes realizing where God has been working in and through those scars with or without permission. May God continue to get the praise for the places you’ve been. May you allow Him to redeem you and the stories behind your scars..
“Praise the LORD, my soul; all my inmost being, praise his holy name. Praise the LORD, my soul, and forget not all his benefits—who forgives all your sins and heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the pit and crowns you with love and compassion...” Psalm 103:1-4
Just Like Always
How could I admit my deepest secrets?
Why is there not more freedom in a life confessed?
If truth releases the bondage of a prisoner,
What is this weight upon my chest?
I weep as reality sets in
The certainty of my actions
Causing me to tremble inside and out...
What have I done?
Where do I go?
If I’ve been given such forgiveness,
What now causes me to doubt?
And He holds me.
He holds me close.
He holds me tight.
And He holds me just like always.
Just like always.
In His arms my world is set to right.
Stuck in the abyss
Of unsettling questions.
Burdened under the pressure
Of remorseful regret.
I cry harder knowing
The battle is but started;
And wonder if only,
If maybe,
There is hope for me yet...
And He holds me.
He holds me true.
He holds me dear.
And He holds me just like always.
Just like always
In His arms I run out of reasons to fear.
Does confession bring mercy?
Is grace found in the places that most hurt?
Does redemption come in surrender?
Is strength found in something I don’t possess?
Does there come an end to my broken offering?
Jesus, do you love me in midst of this mess?
And He holds me.
He holds me tight
He holds me close.
And He holds me just like always.
Just like always...
He won’t let me go.
Why is there not more freedom in a life confessed?
If truth releases the bondage of a prisoner,
What is this weight upon my chest?
I weep as reality sets in
The certainty of my actions
Causing me to tremble inside and out...
What have I done?
Where do I go?
If I’ve been given such forgiveness,
What now causes me to doubt?
And He holds me.
He holds me close.
He holds me tight.
And He holds me just like always.
Just like always.
In His arms my world is set to right.
Stuck in the abyss
Of unsettling questions.
Burdened under the pressure
Of remorseful regret.
I cry harder knowing
The battle is but started;
And wonder if only,
If maybe,
There is hope for me yet...
And He holds me.
He holds me true.
He holds me dear.
And He holds me just like always.
Just like always
In His arms I run out of reasons to fear.
Does confession bring mercy?
Is grace found in the places that most hurt?
Does redemption come in surrender?
Is strength found in something I don’t possess?
Does there come an end to my broken offering?
Jesus, do you love me in midst of this mess?
And He holds me.
He holds me tight
He holds me close.
And He holds me just like always.
Just like always...
He won’t let me go.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Bring it On...Or Not.
So begins another year.
Or so I’ve been told.
I’ve never really quite understood the New Year’s celebrations. Are we celebrating the fact we’re entering a new year? Or perhaps the fact we survived the last? Why do we need a “January 1” mark to commemorate new starts and fresh beginnings? Why do people spend endless dollars and time in preparation to recognize the second that we’ve entered a new full rotation of the sun?
In addition, I’ve never quite understood New Year’s resolutions and the heightened awareness of one’s own inadequacies that seems to come so naturally with the “December 31” inscription. In terms of the former, perhaps I am merely embittered by the fact that of all of the years I’ve made “resolutions”, they have either been unrealistic, unhealthy, or downright silly...and even if they weren’t (my NYR for 2010 was to learn how to dream...), I still spend the next 12 months pondering over my list and I get to the end disappointed that, of all my accomplishments, I’ve checked nothing off. In terms of the latter, well...I already have a heightened awareness of my own inadequacies and really don’t need a special day.
And so, I was ready to slide into 2011 like it was yet another beginning to another week. No big. I was until someone this morning began making small talk with a curiously cliché question...
“So. Are you ready for the new year?”
Honestly? Everyone says this. Yet it struck me peculiarly. And by “struck”, I imply that I felt like I was about to be hit. I locked my knees and tightened my jaw and tried not to cringe as the posture of my insides took on that of a nervous pull-back, a flinch. I was bracing myself to be slapped by the answer I was supposed to produce.
“Anika, what you so afraid of? Stop being stupid!” I whispered to the whimpering girl in my head during the momentary pause. I took a deep breath, smiled a forced but sweet smile and replied “I hope so...” as I sought to understand why I was so suddenly distraught.
Tonight...I got it. As I washed my face and brushed my teeth, I looked into my tired eyes and stated simply “I’m exhausted.” Sleep and I have been fighting, or so it appears. (I wish Sleep would have sent me a memo...instead the thing just doesn’t shows up and expects me to get the hint!) The exhaustion seemed logical...but it ran deeper than just my achy muscles, dark bags under my eyes, and slouching stance. Something in the depths of who I am just felt unbelievably...tired.
In the Emperor’s New Groove (a personal fave, btw), there is this clip where Kuzco and Pacha are tied to a log cascading down a roaring river. Pacha has a view that our talking llama friend does not and nervously utters “uh-oh” at which point Kuzco responds casually “don’t tell me, we’re about to go over a huge waterfall...” “Yep.” “Sharp rocks at the bottom?” “Most likely.” And then, with a look of profound determination. “Bring it on.”
As I was trying to register my tired life and shielded fear in the mornings basic inquiry, I realized this is the first year I’m not walking into a new year with the same prospects (a cascading fall and sharp rocks) and the same determination. If you know me and even part of my story, my last few years have been doozies! And I’ve gotten to the beginning of January, pinned up my new calendar and, with my eyes zeroed in on the sharp rocks I was already awaiting, I would proclaim “bring it on.”
I went from 2006 into 2007 with an excited passion.
And I fell in love with Jesus and with ministry. I stepped out of my personal comfort zone. I got sick. I scheduled a surgery. I was diagnosed with cancer. How is that for “bring it on”?
I went from 2007 into 2008 with a stubborn determination.
I had major surgery. I went to school full time and battled a unique diagnosis all my own. Jesus and I fought and pondered and wept. I lost friends. I disconnected from passion. I found Jesus waiting in and past my stubborn resolve. I was re-diagnosed. I had another surgery. I took on life as a loner. I traveled to Nashville. I made big plans. How’s that for “bring it on”?
I went from 2008 into 2009 with adamant but hardened resolve.
I fought medically induced depression. I discovered I was stuck with an indefinite cancer diagnosis. I looked at college and life and vowed to just “get through”. I rediscovered hope. I spent three weeks in Uganda. I developed seizures from a medication that led me to three specialists. I moved into an apartment with four girls I didn’t know. I became a resident assistant. I found back camaraderie. I was forcefully dragged to the ER for a tennis ball sized ovarian cyst that had doctors assuming my appendix needed to come out. I studied my brains out to be the best college senior ever. How’s that for “bring it on”?
I went from 2009 into 2010 with a curious anticipation.
I was ready for something new. I wanted to learn how to dream. I got ran over by a car. I spent 10 days in Puerto Rico doing ministry with and being ministered to by phenomenal teammates. I didn't sleep as I studied my brains out. I graduated college – with honors and a humbling and undeserved award. I worked a summer job and uncovered my love for ministry once again in odd ways. I made new and spritually rich friends. I waited for God to reveal big plans. God and I decided it was time to work through my best kept secrets and deepest wounds. I received 13 letters of various varieties turning me down for various jobs. I lived with my parents in a town I don't like. I found myself far away from the people I needed most. How’s that for “bring it on”?
Bring it on? Oh yeah. But I can’t do it any more.
And so I go into 2011 with a whimper. Bracing myself against another huge and tumultuous year. “Please no more waterfalls! No more rocks! For as much as the ride down has been a rush, please, can’t we just coast this year? Maybe buy a raft? I’m not looking for anything extreme...I don’t need a yacht...I just am sick of holding my breath waiting for the rushing waves to give me a chance to come up for air. I am resilient, but not impenetrable...those rocks are leaving me battered and raw. I’m so tired. Please...”
I know that if I were being candid (mostly with myself) I would cite how God has guided faithfully and protected surely. It's been His strength, not mine. I could and should note how those tumultuous years have challenged my perceptions, questioned my relationships, confronted my fears, called out my need for control and lack of surrender, redefined life as I know it and have left me closer to the One who loves me the most. I’ve learned. I’ve grown. I’ve changed. Jesus loves me despite my most profound shortcomings. I wouldn’t trade those “bring it on” years in for anything...
But this year, right now, I don’t want to “bring it” anywhere. I know my obstinance isn’t the faithful response. It’s not the good Christian response. I know, in fact, that it shows a great deal of pride and great lacking of both surrender and trust. I know this isn’t the evaluated and “right answer” response. It’s not the response of girl who is known for taking life (which comes at her like a charging bull) by the horns. I know it falls short and as I fade from January 2nd into January 3rd and already watch the days slip past, I realize I walk into 2011 offering little. Little to the God I have repeatedly told could have it all – all my life and all of me. I can only pray that God will take this worn out, washed up, poor excuse of a faithful follower and use her in spite of herself...
Or so I’ve been told.
I’ve never really quite understood the New Year’s celebrations. Are we celebrating the fact we’re entering a new year? Or perhaps the fact we survived the last? Why do we need a “January 1” mark to commemorate new starts and fresh beginnings? Why do people spend endless dollars and time in preparation to recognize the second that we’ve entered a new full rotation of the sun?
In addition, I’ve never quite understood New Year’s resolutions and the heightened awareness of one’s own inadequacies that seems to come so naturally with the “December 31” inscription. In terms of the former, perhaps I am merely embittered by the fact that of all of the years I’ve made “resolutions”, they have either been unrealistic, unhealthy, or downright silly...and even if they weren’t (my NYR for 2010 was to learn how to dream...), I still spend the next 12 months pondering over my list and I get to the end disappointed that, of all my accomplishments, I’ve checked nothing off. In terms of the latter, well...I already have a heightened awareness of my own inadequacies and really don’t need a special day.
And so, I was ready to slide into 2011 like it was yet another beginning to another week. No big. I was until someone this morning began making small talk with a curiously cliché question...
“So. Are you ready for the new year?”
Honestly? Everyone says this. Yet it struck me peculiarly. And by “struck”, I imply that I felt like I was about to be hit. I locked my knees and tightened my jaw and tried not to cringe as the posture of my insides took on that of a nervous pull-back, a flinch. I was bracing myself to be slapped by the answer I was supposed to produce.
“Anika, what you so afraid of? Stop being stupid!” I whispered to the whimpering girl in my head during the momentary pause. I took a deep breath, smiled a forced but sweet smile and replied “I hope so...” as I sought to understand why I was so suddenly distraught.
Tonight...I got it. As I washed my face and brushed my teeth, I looked into my tired eyes and stated simply “I’m exhausted.” Sleep and I have been fighting, or so it appears. (I wish Sleep would have sent me a memo...instead the thing just doesn’t shows up and expects me to get the hint!) The exhaustion seemed logical...but it ran deeper than just my achy muscles, dark bags under my eyes, and slouching stance. Something in the depths of who I am just felt unbelievably...tired.
In the Emperor’s New Groove (a personal fave, btw), there is this clip where Kuzco and Pacha are tied to a log cascading down a roaring river. Pacha has a view that our talking llama friend does not and nervously utters “uh-oh” at which point Kuzco responds casually “don’t tell me, we’re about to go over a huge waterfall...” “Yep.” “Sharp rocks at the bottom?” “Most likely.” And then, with a look of profound determination. “Bring it on.”
As I was trying to register my tired life and shielded fear in the mornings basic inquiry, I realized this is the first year I’m not walking into a new year with the same prospects (a cascading fall and sharp rocks) and the same determination. If you know me and even part of my story, my last few years have been doozies! And I’ve gotten to the beginning of January, pinned up my new calendar and, with my eyes zeroed in on the sharp rocks I was already awaiting, I would proclaim “bring it on.”
I went from 2006 into 2007 with an excited passion.
And I fell in love with Jesus and with ministry. I stepped out of my personal comfort zone. I got sick. I scheduled a surgery. I was diagnosed with cancer. How is that for “bring it on”?
I went from 2007 into 2008 with a stubborn determination.
I had major surgery. I went to school full time and battled a unique diagnosis all my own. Jesus and I fought and pondered and wept. I lost friends. I disconnected from passion. I found Jesus waiting in and past my stubborn resolve. I was re-diagnosed. I had another surgery. I took on life as a loner. I traveled to Nashville. I made big plans. How’s that for “bring it on”?
I went from 2008 into 2009 with adamant but hardened resolve.
I fought medically induced depression. I discovered I was stuck with an indefinite cancer diagnosis. I looked at college and life and vowed to just “get through”. I rediscovered hope. I spent three weeks in Uganda. I developed seizures from a medication that led me to three specialists. I moved into an apartment with four girls I didn’t know. I became a resident assistant. I found back camaraderie. I was forcefully dragged to the ER for a tennis ball sized ovarian cyst that had doctors assuming my appendix needed to come out. I studied my brains out to be the best college senior ever. How’s that for “bring it on”?
I went from 2009 into 2010 with a curious anticipation.
I was ready for something new. I wanted to learn how to dream. I got ran over by a car. I spent 10 days in Puerto Rico doing ministry with and being ministered to by phenomenal teammates. I didn't sleep as I studied my brains out. I graduated college – with honors and a humbling and undeserved award. I worked a summer job and uncovered my love for ministry once again in odd ways. I made new and spritually rich friends. I waited for God to reveal big plans. God and I decided it was time to work through my best kept secrets and deepest wounds. I received 13 letters of various varieties turning me down for various jobs. I lived with my parents in a town I don't like. I found myself far away from the people I needed most. How’s that for “bring it on”?
Bring it on? Oh yeah. But I can’t do it any more.
And so I go into 2011 with a whimper. Bracing myself against another huge and tumultuous year. “Please no more waterfalls! No more rocks! For as much as the ride down has been a rush, please, can’t we just coast this year? Maybe buy a raft? I’m not looking for anything extreme...I don’t need a yacht...I just am sick of holding my breath waiting for the rushing waves to give me a chance to come up for air. I am resilient, but not impenetrable...those rocks are leaving me battered and raw. I’m so tired. Please...”
I know that if I were being candid (mostly with myself) I would cite how God has guided faithfully and protected surely. It's been His strength, not mine. I could and should note how those tumultuous years have challenged my perceptions, questioned my relationships, confronted my fears, called out my need for control and lack of surrender, redefined life as I know it and have left me closer to the One who loves me the most. I’ve learned. I’ve grown. I’ve changed. Jesus loves me despite my most profound shortcomings. I wouldn’t trade those “bring it on” years in for anything...
But this year, right now, I don’t want to “bring it” anywhere. I know my obstinance isn’t the faithful response. It’s not the good Christian response. I know, in fact, that it shows a great deal of pride and great lacking of both surrender and trust. I know this isn’t the evaluated and “right answer” response. It’s not the response of girl who is known for taking life (which comes at her like a charging bull) by the horns. I know it falls short and as I fade from January 2nd into January 3rd and already watch the days slip past, I realize I walk into 2011 offering little. Little to the God I have repeatedly told could have it all – all my life and all of me. I can only pray that God will take this worn out, washed up, poor excuse of a faithful follower and use her in spite of herself...
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