Adaptability, Change, and the Holidays

My senior year of college, my senior exit class for my major (youth ministry) had me take a strengths inventory profile/assessment.  The end result gave me my top five most prominent strengths.  In order, my number two result was “adaptability”.

If I had been drinking a beverage when I first received these results, it probably would have been spewed in a dramatic array over the whole of my computer screen.  “Adaptability?  Seriously?”  I cringed.  I moaned. And I laughed.  This inventory had to be mistaken.  I. Hate. Change.  My classmates and some personal evaluation helped me realize that acting in adaptability when needed and pushing forward regardless of the changes arising is in fact a strength of mine.  Life has demanded change and so I have worked around it and with it and apparently that makes me adaptable.  I ran this recently by just a coworker or two briefly who nodded and said “you go with the flow, no questions asked. You’re adaptable.” *Sigh*

Part of me still wanted to hit my head.  While I am glad it is what other people see – as I don’t want to be a person so caught up in “what isn’t” that “what IS” becomes neglected, under served, unmanaged, or missed – if I had my way, I would not choose to be adaptable.  Inside, change makes me cringe.  Without fail.  I like normalcy.  I value consistency.  In fact, I had a moment of celebration when I realized the loss of some current staff and addition of some new ones would not cause me to lose my office mailbox as it has been alphabetically placed. 

I just like when some things stay the same...

It’s a shame then that over the course of this year absolutely everything has changed.  I’ll refrain by giving labels like “for the good” or “for the bad” but everything has changed.  Or so it feels. 2011 marks the first year that has not included be as a student...since 1992!  Change. I no longer live in my parent’s home and am basically independent (minus the part where I still rely on Dad’s health insurance benefits and can’t actually move out of their home because I work a job that provides housing but my life doesn’t actually fit into my 10x10 bedroom).  Change. Oh!  I have a job.  I have been working a job I basically enjoy that doesn’t actually use my major very much for almost a year.  That’s not like before at all.  Change. My sister is married.  Change.  I have a brother-in-law.  Change.  This was the first summer in almost a decade that I wasn’t involved in ministry at Wesley Woods.  Change.  I don’t have an active cancer diagnosis for the first time since 2007.  Change.  I could keep going.  Seriously...not much in my life (minus the fact I still puke like a champ – dumb consistency) has stayed the same. 

I could have pre-anticipated such a year.  I could have because just about this time last year is when I first felt like everything I had known to be a place of stability in my life was being ripped from underneath of me.  I kept saying things like “Well, if that’s gone, at least I still have...”  as I continually reached out for other places of consistency. As a kid who grew up in a handful of places and needs both hands to recount every school, I was familiar with change and I held tight to the things that always stayed the same...

The biggest “...at least I still have...” at this point last Christmas was, well, Christmas.  For years Christmas has been getting weird.  I think it is because I am getting old.  Christmas has lost some of its magic and charm.  And ever since getting “sick” and being diagnosed the day after Christmas four years ago, a lot of the “little things” which used to make Christmas seemed to disappear.  My family was too busy and there were more important things to worry about.  But there was still something intrinsically the same about Christmas to cling to and yet, I was losing the pieces. Last year I was mourning their loss.  The hours spent on a Saturday decorating the tree and the house.  The time spent creating a mess in mom’s kitchen making candies and chocolate covered pretzels and homemade tootsie rolls.  The planning and crafting and making.  The detailed debate over what ornaments to acquire or make or find that year (I (each of us) have a specific ornament for each year so by the time I was, well, this old, I could move out and have ornaments that meant something to put on my own tree...) We would practice for church Christmas programs while watching all of the classics on TV and fighting over whether or not we had gotten through our own collection of Christmas-must-watch movies.  And when all was said and done, we would get dressed and go to Christmas Eve services and then come home and change into pajamas in time to open up presents as a family.  In the morning we would all load into the car and head to Grandpa and Grandma’s for the day.  Christmas.

But last year everything officially changed when my older sister wouldn’t be home for Christmas and so we didn’t open gifts on Christmas Eve.  We came home and nobody knew what else to do...it’s just what we always did.  And then everything changed again when Grandpa and Grandma announced the fact that it would be the last big family Christmas at their house.  Christmas was being relegated to each and their own.  And there went my last “...at least there is still...”  Christmas was gone.  Call me embittered but I am still having a hard time stomaching the change and transition as this holiday season closes in.

In fact, more things change this year.  My sister and brother-in-law won’t be home for Christmas and we won’t celebrate without them.  But they will be home later when my younger sister will be out of the country.  And there are like three services to go to after which time, undoubtedly, my brothers will watch football and my parents will fall asleep and that will be Christmas.  So what?

I don’t like change.  I don’t want to adapt this newest take on a holiday that, let’s face it, is defined by tradition – of which mine don’t really exist anymore.  And when people ask about what I’m doing for Christmas – I cringe.  I think the way things have to fall this years sucks.  And maybe I don’t want to celebrate if I can’t do it the way I want to!  The way we always have...

That would be honest.  And also immature.  Ridiculous.  And self-absorbed. 

Some things have to change.  Change is inevitable.  Nothing is going to remain permanently consistent and it’s just dumb that so much change has had to happen all in one year leaving my completely overwhelmed by “all that isn’t”. 

But if that’s all I focus on, I still miss it. Especially at Christmas time.  In the midst of everything I think I need to take place for it to feel like Christmas is the reality of the season.  Christ.  The reason a tradition of a holiday – something consistent – is the same reason God ordained certain holy days among the Israelites.  So that they wouldn’t forget. 

And here I am, forgetting.  Moping.  Moping because nothing stays the same when the only thing, the only One, that matters has never changed.  Psalm 55:19 promises that God doesn’t change.  That the same God who created the world, saved the Israelites, sent His son, performed miracles, and raised the dead...yep, same God.  Hebrews 13:7 says “Jesus is the same yesterday, today, and forever”.  Have I lost my stability? My consistency?  My normal?  Or have I just lost focus on my Rock and my Salvation?  My Security... My Peace... My Constant. 

Father God, when all around me changes... remind me that You are the Everlasting.  Help me keep my eyes on You...the One who never changes and continues to love me, just like always...

To Remember...

She was walking briskly down the street.  In a hurry...per usual.  Running late...as was becoming the new norm.  Time.  There was never enough time.  Always too much to do.  Too many things for which to keep track.  And people.  Never enough time to spare for the ones she held closest and never enough to spread adequately over those demanding it.  She shifted her bag to glance at her watch.  She had fifteen minutes at best if she were to get to work in time to have everything arranged before the rest arrived.

She looked up from her mental calculations to see a young woman.  She smiled politely and nodded her head in greeting before continuing in her hasty steps; her shoes making a steady click against the sidewalk squares.  The woman returned the nod but did not continue down the street; instead in her spot she remained although was quickly lost from view...

She paused suddenly. She felt as if the eyes of her arbitrary morning greeting were still watching her.  Considering those eyes, she also felt a sudden sense of recognition.  Her head tilted in a moment of confused pondering.  Slowly and deliberately she turned and began to walk the handful of steps back to where she saw the woman first.  The woman was still there...

She stopped and looked at the woman curiously.  “I’m sorry...” she found the words escaping her mouth almost before she knew what she was saying and long before she could retract them. “but do I know you?”  The woman responded with a similar confused yet pleasant expression but said nothing. 

She seemed not notice her companion’s silence before continuing.  “I just feel as if I know you.  You look ever so familiar.  You remind me of someone I used to know...

“Did we go to school together? High school perhaps?  Yes that seems quite possible.  I seem to remember you as one of the quiet girls? Always with your head in a book? Smart and studious? Yes!  That’s right!  Because everyone was so surprised when you spoke so well and clearly during Speech Class our senior year but no one was surprised when you were Valedictorian!”  Her excitement faded and she caught the woman’s quizzical glance.  “No, that couldn’t be it.  I would remember...

“Wait!  I was wrong!  We met in college!  You never really were in any group per se.  You were your own person, unique.  A little socially awkward perhaps.  But also witty.  Everyone was always laughing at your silly antics and comments!  That was you, right?  When you emerged as a leader, no one saw it was coming.  Didn’t know you had it in you!”  She chuckled but paused. “No, that had to have been someone else.  Someone like that I wouldn’t have to place.  I would remember...”

She shook her head and pursed her lips.  She saw the puzzled but soft look on the woman’s face and her own expression softened.  “Pardon me.  I’m not typically like this.  It’s just, just that, well...your face, those eyes.  I know you from somewhere...”  She paused.  “Do you know...?  Was it a summer of camp?  Did we counsel together perhaps?  There was one girl I seem to recall who would come alive for those weeks of camp.  Were you the one who appeared to have such a zest and a passion?  The one who got to the end of that one week and cried because she had to send her campers home to worlds she couldn’t protect or control?  No. It couldn’t be.  I wanted to be just like her.  I would know her if I saw her.  I would remember...”

A dawn of realization flashed in her eyes and she blushed briefly before leaning in just a little.  “This might be a little personal, but were you, did you, have you ever...” She collected herself before continuing. “What I mean to say is, was there ever a time in your life where it, life that it is, where it was a struggle?  Where something in your life was difficult or challenging?  Perhaps I don’t remember you and just your picture?  Maybe I prayed for you off of a list at church or something of a similar variety?  Did you ever lose someone close? Or were you ever very sick?”  She looked up and saw pain burning in the back of the woman’s eyes.  “You don’t have to answer.  I just seem to be reminded of someone who went through quite a bit.  Everyone was so proud of her strength and her courage and the way that nothing stopped her.  And I always wondered if there was more to her story than what we saw.  And yet, I hoped I could be that superhero in real life.  You know with the ability to do and be everything everyone wanted despite what was going on.  No, it couldn’t be.  Even if it were just a picture, I would remember...”

 

She massaged her brow and shook her head in frustration.  “I know!  I probably look crazy. I am going to be late for work and I suddenly don’t even care.  I still feel as if I know you.  The longer I stand here, the more I am convinced that you’re someone I not only know but should still know.  Should have kept in contact with.  I wish I could remember...

“Obviously it’s been years.  It must have been.  You are quite a bit older than I remember.  But then so am I.  It’s only a matter of time before my hair streaks gray with the crazy life I live!”  She laughed.  “And life must have been pretty crazy or busy since we talked last.  Your eyes are tired and your shoulders sag as you stand.  You almost look, weary?  As if it has been too long since there was anything to refresh your spirit and your soul.  I seem to remember you as having more fire behind your eyes.  But I guess I don’t really remember...” 

Her voice trailed off and her gaze was lost in a personal day dream.  A world all of her own.  When she snapped back to all she could catch was the sad look in the woman’s eyes.  Her own voice cracked and a tear ran down her face. “I wish, I wish I remembered.  I wish I remembered who you were and why you’re so important to me...”  She leaned into her purse to grab a tissue.  “Look at me blubbering like an idiot.  I’m sorry for taking so much of your time.  Time!  Oh my, I am going to be so late for work.  I really must go!”  She paused before rushing off again.  “If you think of it, if you remember, will you look me up?  I’m awfully busy but I would make some time...”  The words seemed to be lost as somewhere a clock began to strike the hour.  She reached out towards the woman’s face and compulsively brushed her smooth cheek.  “Goodbye, old friend.  Someday, someday I’ll remember...” 

She regained her composure and again rushed off.  Her hasty steps made a steady click as she hurried down the sidewalk. 

As the day began and the clock at the center of town put in its last and ninth chime, the street began to come alive.  From where the two women stood a shopkeeper flipped the sign in his door to “OPEN” and exited with a cloth in his hand.  He walked up to the pane of the two-way mirror windows he had installed.  “Silly kids.  Always making faces in the mirror and putting their finger prints on my windows!”  And with a steady motion he began to wipe away the latest streak.  Almost at eye level.  And almost as if someone had run her hand gently down the side of his face...

A head start on the holidays? THANKS, I think I will.

This comic has been a popular this year. Originally posted by at least four of my facebook friends. And I? I immediately fell in love with this sarcastic slap to Christmas’ face by Thanksgiving.

In all actuality, I think Thanksgiving and Christmas could be close friends. Thanksgiving holds no weight without the gift of Christmas. Let’s be real, those pilgrims knew precisely WHO they were thanking in the midst of their thankfulness. And while Christmas doesn’t NEED Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving (if nothing else and only in it’s modern display) helps to refocus Christmas on what actually matters.

But the latter, in fact, feeds the dilemma. With Christmas getting closer and closer to the 4th of July every year and with commercialism the way it is, it is only a matter of time before stores play year-round Christmas music instead of just-around-the-clock for the month of December.

And with gifts to be thought of, budgeted for, and bought. With the stores lined with the reds, greens, hollies, and gingerbreads of the seasons. With the air cold and the snow beginning to fall and the look of little kids bundled like snow bunnies making you wish for the smell of a pine tree...lit as you sip hot cocoa in front of a fire. With projects to be had and parties and engagements to fill your calendar...the sum total of the whole makes it hard not to get swept up into the list of holiday things to do. I, myself, decided to participate in the staff-wide Secret Santa at work which begins this week...and comes with the thoughts of stockings and holiday scheming. And isn’t separate from three dates to put onto my Christmas social calendar. And then it blew my mind to realize that Thanksgiving is but a little more than a week away.

I didn’t forget...but I had violated my own carnal rule. I had allowed Christmas to get in the way of Thanksgiving. There is a reason that the above turkey with some hutzpuh, telling Santa boy what’s what did more than make me chuckle. Almost yearly I go on a rant about the irony of a holiday set aside for the purpose of THANKS being sandwiched between a far too (in my opinion) hyped ‘holiday’ which glorifies self, self presentation, and demands for sweets, treats, and a thrill and another holiday which is becoming further and further removed from its roots and often is seen kneeling down to the gods of commercialism and greed. With me standing between two mirrors I’ve set up facing each other to make me look good, is it really any wonder I miss Thanksgiving in the process?

I don’t want to miss Thanksgiving. And so I thought I’d do something novel...something WalMart hasn’t quite thought up yet. I thought I’d get a head start on Thanksgiving. You know, beat the holiday rush so that I don’t have to do all of my giving of thanks on one day when the stress is high. Instead I’d like to recognize that every day and every moment leaves an opportunity for a personal holiday...where the notion of giving thanks seems like the only viable option. I considered the fact that most of my list probably sounds a lot like other people’s but also thought that if I got started now...that maybe I would have a semi-legitimate list by Thanksgiving instead of whatever was “left on the racks to wrap” so to speak by waiting to do my “holiday shopping” so late. And so, if you don’t mind, kindly take your tinsel and wrapping paper and butt out Christmas...I have some thanking to do.


I’m thankful...

For a Jesus who loves me despite my mess. Who holds me on the good days and the bad. Who knows I suck, Who knows where I stumble, Who realizes I am a massive screw up with issues too great to name...and He loves me anyway. For the salvation and the relationship that is mine despite my complete lack of deserving...

For a family that continues to be there for me hands down. For brothers that make me laugh...who fix things and find things and give really good hugs for no reason at all. For sisters who listen and talk and with whom I can be completely myself. For a mom who still cries every time I leave to go back to work and who checks in and answers all of my medical questions and who loves so intentionally on people... For a dad who leads his family and protects it...who listens to my silly questions and rants and who still wants to take care of his grown up little girl.

For friends who have taken the time to get under my skin. To see the places of brokenness that lies beneath the surface and decide that I am worth their time anyway. The ones who walk beside me. Who care, who listen, who talk, who laugh, who do life, who point me closer to Jesus, who teach me how to trust, who make me a better me.

For a job that has long days and long hours and not the world’s largest paycheck...but my needs are met. My job is never boring and it has challenged me out of my comfort zone and back into pieces of “Anika” that I forgot existed. It gives me the ability to be intentional and opportunity to love on people for no reason at all. And furthermore, I’m thankful for my coworkers. (A specific shout-out to Megan Murphy who makes me smile and whom I accidently claimed was in my blog when I meant to say “blob”. Now it’s official. :D) We’re a strange bunch and, up-close, and unlikely gathering of individuals but my coworkers encourage and propel. We try hard to be there for each other. Watching the selfless way my coworkers give of themselves in their own unique ways to our young charges, compels me.

For food to eat and a warm bed to sleep in. For the ability to shower every morning and brush my teeth every night. For legs and arms that move and eyes that see and ears that hear. For sunshine to brighten days and rain to heal the ground. For a child’s laughter and a baby’s cry. For the wisdom of someone my elder. For freedom of speech, of religion...of praise. For a tedious laundry day because I have too many clothes and giant messes because I have too much stuff. For good cups of coffee with good friends...a combination to warm the soul. For the student loans I hate paying back because I have a degree. For the scar across my neck and the faithfulness of Jesus in the story behind it.

For far more than I continue to list at this moment...but may the list I started only continue to grow and become more and more specific as the next ten days build up to the joy that is not the beginning of the holiday season but the holiday that celebrates a season and a lifestyle of gratitude and thanks.


“Gratitude is one of the most telling signs of attitude. Or maybe vice versa. The moment I take time to appreciate, the moment I realize I can’t be both bitter and thankful too...”

Applications Now Accepted

My last blog post was an honest one.  Not that any previous haven’t been honest...my last one just left me a little exposed.  It was honesty with my shield missing.  While I am not sure why I felt the need to post what initially began as personal processings, I did.  And it was freeing.  It was letting go of some false pretenses and shouting from, basically, my most public venting ground, “I’m not perfect!  In fact, I don’t even know if I’m even okay!  I don’t care if you know if it is the truth!”  It was, perhaps strangely, refreshing and revitalizing to have others text and message without solutions but with words that just basically said “me too”.  Like I wasn't alone.  And as if somehow in being honest and a little vulnerable, I had allowed others to do the same. 

That being said, I decided to be strangely honest again.  I, again, am not quite sure what posting this honesty will solve or if I really want it to accomplish anything.  And, tomorrow, I will probably regret it and the potential results but, for today, I am going to be bold.  [Bear with me through yet one more piece of following explanation...]

I have a couple key friends who challenge me. (You’re probably saying “great!  That’s what friends are for!” Correct.  But keep reading.)  They challenge me in ways that matter and encourage me to be about more and better and truer and all of those great things, but they also challenge the core of who I am.  And by challenge, I mean they do things like put up a fight against my Superman complex.  My desire to come in and save the day, to be a hero in your world when you need one the most.  I’ve come to grips, in small ways, with what it means to forgive Superman.  To forgive myself for when I can’t be everyone’s everything.  And my friends, knowing me, know that I will not easily let go of an opportunity to still act upon it.  It is part of who I am.  They don’t expect me to stop my superman complex or not rush in to save the day if at all I can. Now they just want me to be healthy about it. 

Their favorite question? It goes something like... “So, that’s fine, but who is your ‘Anika’?  Who is your superman?  Who is there like that for you?” 

I like to be rhetorical and say things like...  “You’re listening to me and you’re intentional right now, so...you?”  They have to give me at least some minor legitimacy points.  If they intend to be intentional in my life like that, they’re probably that day’s version of superman for me.  [I just chalked up my own score points, for the record.]

And yet, [here is where the next stage of honesty comes in; brace yourselves], if I am being truthful with them and myself, they aren’t enough.  Not always. 

I spent several hours talking to my best friend last week (far too late into the night and early morning hours I might add).  We started by venting a couple frustrations and I ended in an all-out ranting tirade of my life.  I wish I could say I was bemoaning world hunger and war and disease but it was far pettier a matter.  Kind of pathetic actually. And I went from rant to jealous tirade...because she made a comment about running a frustration [that had come up in our discussion] past her mentor. 

She runs a lot past me and I past her and there are not too many secrets we keep from each other...but she still has a mentor.  Someone older and wiser and grounded who knows her and knows enough of her story to be intentional.  Someone who seeks her out just to check in.  Who gives advice and counsel from a place removed from situations and her job and her immediate life based solely on what is known about her, about Jesus, about the world.  I was jealous.

I wanted one. 

Not a want like you see an awesome Crockpot on an infomercial and you consider how handy it would be and so you add it to your Christmas list in case your mom wants a great idea. You would probably use it if you had it around, after all.

No, a want that is almost more of a need.  It’s not.  Not really.  I can live without one.  But it is becoming a very real and deep desire.  Not a necessity but if I had a legit one, I feel as if I would probably question how I could live without them.  I’m at that stage in my life where I have to agree with my well-meaning friends.  I could use someone to be my ‘Anika’.  My superhero. Someone I could call on a bad day or ask to do coffee and know they would have sound advice or at least a listening ear.

My friend and I are pretty close in age, I being just a couple years older, and I trust her with a great deal and can rely on her listening ear and genuine advice but in my tirade I told her she didn’t cut it and explained why I needed more.  That I needed someone who had lived through more than I had.  Who could give advice based on life and experience.  Someone who was inside my life personally but an objective outsider to my life as a whole.  Someone I could come to grips with the fact that I could care about them and their life but for once it wouldn’t be an Anika investment or even a mutual I-feed-into-you/you-feed-into-me relationship.  Instead I would just accept the fact that this relationship would, to me, feel more one-sided...me on the receiving end.    

But I feel pretty stuck in the whole matter.  For as many young and younger people I’ve mentored for times and seasons over the years...I don’t know where to begin.  I, myself, have never actually had a mentor.  I’ve been the mentor but I really don’t know how this all works. Where does one find a mentor?  Do I send out a link to the website with the job description and let people know that applications are now available?  Do I find them or do they find me?  Should I ask for a resume and cover letter or just have them fill out the questionnaire? 

I have this list of extensive specifications (I’ve been told by peers it is fair but again, never done this.) which I feel like cancels out any I can think to be the willing and puts me into a realm of unknown which negates one of my specifics.  Sketch, I know, but true.  Hence the application (which I realize no one would actually fill out if I were to actually create it) seems like the best option.  (Can you Craig’sList something like this??).

I need someone (and when I say someone...I’m really saying someone female.  I guess I could have a guy mentor but something tells me my life would better be understood and communicated back to me by a chick) older and wiser.  Older is somewhat relative though also concrete (I’m 23, older is clearly nothing less than 24 although I would love a few more years than that, although not excessively more.  I need someone still relevant).  Wiser is a little more subjective.  And I need someone I have a connection to...I don’t want to build a relationship from the ground up so that when it gets legit and/or natural enough, mentorship can begin.  I need them outside my day-to-day life so that they can be subjective about my day-to-day life.  I need someone who will sit and listen to my life story from start to finish – potentially for hours – and possibly say little more than asking for clarifying questions or asking for more details as I got it all out...so they would have to have a base understanding of all the reasons I tick the way I do.  They need to love Jesus (given) because I can’t and won’t take life advice from someone who doesn’t but I also need someone who will challenge my relationship with Christ and feed the fact that I like to think intelligently about matters of faith and discuss things from a deeper end.  I need someone moderately accessible and someone I would feel comfortable calling with a question or asking to talk or to do coffee or texting saying “pray for me today – it’s rough”.  And I need someone who is willing to take the time on me.  Who sees me as worth the investment... 

Not a small list.  Not a small job description.  Applications aren’t actually available (of course) but I think I am on the lookout, and the prayout (that is a personal word I’ve created to describe when I begin to pray with intention about something), for that “someone”.  The someone who will be nothing more and nothing less than exactly the person God knows I need and whom He will place in my life not a second before or after the time I am ready accept it.  Yeah.  

*This might be as honest as life gets in my blog for a while.  So breathe easy, a sigh of relief perhaps. I’ll return to our normal programming soon.  It is just always a bit of a surprise if you’re going to endeavor towards my abandoned scrawls... 

An Honest Post

Just now, I thought about updating my facebook status and I desperately wanted to write the words “I miss Jesus...” into the little text box. 

“Why?” you might be asking...

Well, because of all of the things going through my mind and heart and life right now, that is the truest description.  I miss Jesus. It was the only thing I felt compelled to write.

And so now you might be asking “so why not post it then if it compels you so?”

Because, if we’re going to be honest, I probably care too much what others think.  And I have this feeling that if I had posted just that, someone would probably think I was down in the dumps or needed to be encouraged or reassured...or something. 

Something tells me, based on my past experiences, that I couldn’t write those three words without facebook messages asking me what was wrong or comments about how close Jesus was – I just needed to remember and find myself wrapped in His presence.  How much He loved me.  How much others loved me.  How I needed to take the time to connect to my Savior. 

Yep. I know.  I know all of those things. They would have all been well-meaning and true reminders.  But also not enough and not the point. 

The truth is, despite what I know and what others could remind me of, the sum whole of the situation is simply that I miss Jesus.  The statement is what it is and for the most part, it stands alone.

I miss Jesus.  I KNOW He is active and present in my life. I KNOW He loves me. I KNOW that He promised to never leave me or forsake me and so He is not really so far away.  I KNOW lots of things.  But, I still just miss Him.

I feel distant.  And He feels far away. I know He is near and I’ve watched Him bat from my corner and I’ve watched as He has shown up quite clearly through the hands and voices and ears and faces of others in my life over the last few weeks.  And still...

I miss Jesus.

Whenever I get to a point of this honest admittance, I know it is my fault.  I think about the last time I made an honest effort to meaningfully connect to the God I love and the Savior I claim...the one whom I now so desperately wish for...  I think and I know.  I know that if I’m really honest... 

If I’m honest, I can’t remember the last time I sat down with my Bible to simply connect. Not to look something up or double check a reference or do a quick bit of research but to just read the words from the One that loves me best. 

If I’m honest, I can’t remember the last time I prayed the conversational prayer that used to remind me that Christ was my best friend.  The prayer time where I could spend a two hour drive in an empty car telling Him everything in my life and the lives of all those I knew and cared about.  Where I could pause and bask in the silence and wait for His whisper.  A natural and comfortable time to talk and listen.  Instead my prayers feel like rushed attempts to beg Jesus not to leave, to show up, to hold me as I feel incapable of making it through the day.

If I’m honest, my journal – my previous default when other areas of connecting to my Jesus seemed lacking – sits nearly empty and the existing entries matter little.  Writing is dull and lacking the passion of the girl who used to figure out where God was working in her life...through her fingers.

If I’m honest, I spent some time this morning reading through some old journals and blog posts and being a little amazed and embarrassed knowing they were my words and words I couldn’t have written if I were not intentionally connected to the source.  Connected to where Jesus was at in my life. Embarrassed because I don’t think I could have written those things this morning if I tried...

If I’m honest, it is Sunday...just after noon and I am sitting in my living room in my pajamas.  David Crowder is playing from my iPod and speakers but the words seem hollow.  Worship music seems superficial.  I didn’t go to church – or make the effort to.  And if I’m really being honest, I haven’t made the effort towards church attendance since returning to the Doh this fall.  I spent a while looking for a church last spring and came up short and unimpressed.  I got it into my mind that going to a church where I left with the dry taste of stale bread crumbs...served to me in the company of strangers who didn’t care one way or the other that I was sitting next them... instead of feeling fed, was useless.  If I was only going because I felt I had to and because others thought I should, obligation wasn’t reason enough.

If I’m honest, I have a few incredible and meaningful friendships.  People who remind me verbally and physically that they love me, care for me, are proud of me, will be there for me.  But if I’m being honest, I haven’t had an incredible or meaningful conversation about matters of faith in weeks with any of them.  Jesus comes up.  But He’s not the topic or the endeavor.  I haven’t prayed with another person in as long or longer.  With church attendance all but non-existent, the meeting together of believers to encourage and propel one another in the faith and to press on toward the goal of Christ Jesus seems to also leave a gaping hole. 

If I’m honest, I know that at the root, I’m too busy.  I work long days with long hours and struggle to make time for other things that should probably matter... like sleep and laundry.  Let alone things that are really important.  I work hard to go out of my way to love and to serve and to be invested and intentional in the lives of others.  And I wake up realizing that if I were doing it for anyone but Jesus, it would be worthless – and far too exhausting – to continue.  And yet I’m reminded of a quote that states “It is possible to be so busy in service to Christ as to forget to love Him”...

If I’m honest, I’d have to admit that I’m not really trying. Quality time is my highest love language.  If I feel loved, someone has given me quality time.  If I give love – it is either a direct act or an exact outsourcing of my time.  I miss Jesus but none of my time goes to the actual pursuit of spending time together.  Of growing our relationship.

If I’m honest...I have no idea why I am being so honest or why I am about to post it.  If I’m honest, I hate the fact that this honest post will give a chance for my interested or curious world to know that not only am I not perfect (big shocker there) but that somehow I’m even less perfect than what I would hope them to think and know.  If I’m honest I would have rather have thought of something meaningful to say that might have alluded to the fact that Jesus and I are just fine.  Blossoming even.  Than have you know that I feel...stuck.

If I’m honest, I desperately don’t want to be reminded of cliché and rote answers about God’s presence and His faithfulness.  Not about things I already know.  Because I do know them – beyond a shadow of a doubt.  Jesus and I aren’t fighting.  We’re just not close.  I hate it but it is what it is as I sit and I type.  If I’m honest, I don’t desire to feel this far away from Christ but I also want it to be okay to admit that I am...without feeling like the only solution is for the distance to be immediately fixed with another easy answer. 

If I’m honest, I don’t have anything else to say but this seems like a useless way to end a spiel of so many words...

If I’m honest, really honest, I miss Jesus.  I simply miss Him.  And if I’m honest, I don’t know where to start doing anything about it...

Counter-Cultural?

The other day I made a quick run to the store after work.  Having the night off, I wanted to endeavor a quick baking project and decided to pick up my items at the local Save-A-Lot. 

I was rounding aisle seven with my cart full of four items, (My mom always taught me to start with a cart as you just never knew. Thanks Mom!), when I encountered an Amish couple...in very traditional Amish garb and with distinctive haircuts, caps, features, etc.  I’ll admit I was a little surprised but smiled kindly and politely before embarking onto aisle eight. 

I thought little of my encounter in front of the cheese and breakfast sausage section until I went to check out (now with seven items total...just enough to make the cart worth it.  See! Mom, IS always right!).  Just in front of me at checkout was the Amish couple. I fear my face registered immediately perplexed and befuddled.  I don’t suppose I stopped to consider what you might purchase if you were Amish and shopping at a Save-A-Lot in downtown Hillsdale.  But I know I wasn’t expecting to see the cashier scanning through (easily) a dozen or more bags of potato chips, four cases of soda, and a few packages of Mrs. Freshley’s brand (like Little Debbie’s) packaged baked goods. 

I am not anywhere near kidding.

As I checked out and went to my car I found myself puzzled in a strange amusement.  In my mind the equivalent and sum total of a counter-cultural people is the Amish.  In a world of technology and fashion, sex, drugs, and rock and roll – the Amish have stayed amazingly close to what they believe to be truth.  And yet, getting in my car, all I could think was “well, you don’t get much more submersed in current culture than ho-hos, ding-dongs, potato chips, cheese puffs, and off brand Mt. Dew!”

And the whole scenario has had me thinking. 

Thinking about what it really means to be counter cultural. 

If you really want to look and be different than the world...what does it look like?  Sound like? Act like?  How will the world know?  Is it really so important at all?

Romans 12:2 has the oft quoted but, I feel, poorly executed (by myself most certainly included) instructions “Do not conform any longer to the pattern of the world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind...”  To be in the world, but not of it.  Paul is pretty obvious about the fact your mind will need to be renewed.  To be counter-cultural is, after all, a whole new way of thinking. 

And Paul never implies being different from the world is going to be easy.  A verse before he “urges” his readers to offer themselves as living sacrifices, offerings of worship before God (Romans 12:1).  It will take the whole of who you are, yourself set completely aside, no longer shaped by the world around you – if ever the world is to be shaped.

Can I be counter-cultural?  Am I physically capable and spiritually willing to continually lay myself down...not so that I don’t look like the cultural around me, but so that I look more and more like the God I love?  Not just in word and claim (of course it is my desire!  But anyone can say that!), but honestly ready to live a life that is a whole new way of thinking...  Later in Philippians 4, Paul admonishes to think about whatever is true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable, and praiseworthy.  It’s a start... Or the start.  Where the things I choose to think about become my way of doing life...  

My mom used to have a small plaque on the wall that read: "Watch your thoughts, for they become words.  Watch your words, for they become actions. Watch your actions, for they become habits.  Watch your habits, for they become character.  Watch your character, for it becomes your destiny." 

I would dare to take the word “destiny” at the end and change it to “legacy”.  It will become the legacy.  The legacy you leave, the mark you place...when you leave the world, leave that job, leave a class, leave a party, leave a room.  What will the world you worked and lived among remember about you when for one reason or another, you are no longer there?

Can I live a life where I become known for my peace?  My joy?  My forgiveness? My truth?  My kindness?  My purity? My reality? My love?  Will it look anything different from the world’s claims on each?

If I really want to look and be different than the world...what does it look like?  Sound like? Act like?  How will the world know?  Is it really so important at all?

“Live in such a way that the world will be glad you did.”  -- Max Lucado


"So here's what I want you to do, God helping you: Take your everyday, ordinary life - your sleeping, eating going-to-work, and walking-around life - and place it before God as an offering.  Embracing what God does for you is the best thing you can do for him. Don't become so well-adjusted to your culture that you fit into it without even thinking.  Instead, fix your attention on God. You'll be changed from the inside out..." 

Romans 12:1-2a The Message

The Epicenter

I love the word “epicenter”.  I think it is fantastic.  The word epicenter just sounds like it has power, has energy, has intensity.  It should.

Today, I went looking for the word “epicenter”.  I realized for as many times as we talk about a certain office being the “epicenter” of a company or how a store is the “epicenter” of the mall, no one really defines it.  It is a word everyone knows – and no one can really harness.  I liked its inability to be harnessed. Because, in looking for a definition, I had a goal: I wanted to know if I could, if it was possible, to put parameters on what it might mean to be in the epicenter of where God is...

My dictionary results made my blood flow with anticipation.  Casually, any focal point of activity can be an epicenter.  The office in the company, the store in the mall...if that is where the activity is focused, it can be called the epicenter.  What would it look like to ensure I lived in such a way as to always be where God was the busiest?

However, I was soon to learn something different, something more.  The word “epicenter” is a geology term.  It refers most appropriately to the point on the earth’s surface directly above the focus of an earthquake.  Woah...How can I be connected to where the power of God is shaking the whole world?  I wanted to be where God was propelling the biggest activity – where the whole world was quaking because of the way He was hitting the surface of the earth.  I wanted to be in the middle.  I had come to a point where I found myself writing constantly, uncontrollably.  I decided it wasn’t anywhere near my answer but instead was my means to get to my Answer.  Anything to get me closer to where God was, is....  

My online dictionary research concluded with a “usage note”.  It said the geological usage was the most correct and the “figurative extensions” of the word should always be used in dangerous, destructive, or negative contexts.  Oh...

I did not want to find myself in the middle of something negative and destructive!  And yet, what I was really looking for, was the unmistakable and irreplaceable intensity of what it meant to truly follow Christ.  “He who wants to save his life will lose it...”  Sounds destructive.  “If any one would come after me, he must deny himself...”  Sounds negative.  “In this world, you will have trouble...”  Sounds dangerous.   Jesus promised things that were not all daisies and rainbows and said “this is what it means to be part of what I’m doing”?  Scary right?

I truly believe God is working inside the world I don’t understand.  Where my life is experiencing the earthquakes I cannot comprehend and leave me unable to get up off of the floor I am on, perhaps God is about to use me to be in the middle something so big, only God could have done it.  Perhaps the hurts and pains and uncertainties of this thing I think I’m living...are pieces and parts of what it means to be in the destructive and dangerous calling of what it means to be a Christ follower. 

I can be stuck on a word – legitimately or not – but in the end, it is the idea of following Christ with dangerous abandon that has my blood flowing with anticipation.  So I guess I am going to continue to be on a mission to discover.  Discover what it means to be me...to find me...to find that me caught in the epicenter...