μετανοέω: Away From Self-Reliance

It's been a frosty two months. The warm, sunshine thoughts that started the year have been frozen right over with pride and self-righteousness. I was so full of hope as I named the year. The year of μετανοέω, of turning. I hoped at the beginning that this would be a year full of leaning into my sweet Lord Jesus, a year of listening and quiet trust, of gentle fearlessness and sure power.

I made lists of things that I should do each day, each week - the mothering, the wifing, the friending, the teaching. The lists were supposed to help me steward these high callings, remember all the details, keep it all in order. It turned out that I was just making a list of things that kept me away from my God.

What I have failed to learn and live is that no amount of work will ever give me peace. There will always be more to do and I'll never feel like I've done enough. All the crossed-off lists in the world will not bring me closer to finding what I really desire.

When my life is controlled and evaluated by my lists, I rely on my own poor strength. I move from task to task joylessly, missing the holiness all around. I rely on my weak skill to be both teacher and student and fail to see the what should be learned. I assume my intentions make me good enough. I scramble through the day restless and thirsty, fearful that someone is going to notice my secret: I am not enough.

For long months, God has called quietly to me, beckoning me deeper into mystery and abundant life:

He said, "Come, and I will make you new, " and I have replied, "I am working on it, Lord."

He said, "I will give you rest," and I have answered, "I need to finish just one more thing..."

And so His voice has grown faint and I have arrived at the end of myself (again) and I look and see the ruin and fruitlessness of all that I've worked at.

Because you have forgotten the God of your salvation, and have not been mindful of the Rock of your stronghold, therefore you will plant pleasant plants and set out foreign seedlings; in the day you will make your plant to grow, and in the morning you will make your seed to flourish; but the harvest will be a heap of ruins in the day of grief and desperate sorrow. (Isaiah 17:10-11)

The things that matter most in this life cannot be framed in to-do lists. The things that matter most happen quietly in the heart. They are hidden and abstract and they can't be crossed off: love, joy, peace, faith, wonder...

Then the voice said again, 'If you are thirsty, come and drink... Are you not thirsty?'

'I'm dying of thirst,' said Jill.

'Then drink," said the Lion.

(from The Silver Chair by C.S. Lewis)

Love, deeply

A familiar ache this week: eternity in my heart longing for the filling. The words come slowly to me. It's the conversation of humanity stretching back into darkness and I simply add my groan: what do we make of all this crookedness? Fallenness shouting up and down the street and here in my heart.

The leaves change outside and I feel the guilt. My spiritual chlorophyll gone and the reds and oranges of selfishness exposed. I love with strings attached, insincere and inconstant. I want love returned or noted, at least, in some vague space. My strings snap and unravel. The days feel heavy; friendships loaded with suspicion; the old voices call to me, announcing that I've been found unworthy still, not enough. My heart walks the old, tired circle again.

And isn't it pride in me that thinks this even matters? Why waste the attention and the typeset? There are lost hearts and hungry faces that haunt me, reminding me to breathe generous gratitude. I have walked darker paths fighting fear and flesh and holding tight to dying children; this present uneasiness is light work.

I draw out these words because they are the lights on path back to Promise that I have to find again and again. The soul stirring always leads me to the Throne where I am reminded of deeper truths: the loneliness in me is not real because my Lord will never leave me or forsake me (Deut. 31:6). The darkness in me no longer has any claim because I have received the Spirit of adoption (Rom. 8:15). These clouds in my heart will pass.

Truth sanctifies and my selfish love cannot stay. I owe a continuing debt of love (Rom. 13:8) and I am heiress of the Greatest Love and there's only room for thankfulness.

A whisper: no more demands and silent expectations; stand in perfect Love.

The end of all things is near. Therefore be clear minded and self-controlled so that you can pray. Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins. (1 pet 4:7-8)

Rock What You Got

There's this song on the radio. It's not the kind of song I usually enjoy. It's pop-ish, heavy, and repetitive. But the chorus won't leave my head. It goes like this:

Rock what you got

Rock what you got

Don't ever let them make you stop

Rock what you got

Light up the lot

No one can rock the way you rock*

I've appreciated this rather quirky encouragement to boldly be the woman I was created to be in Christ. It's an extra little push away from the Fear that has defined me for most of my life. The world of my childhood defined me as the odd girl, the one to avoid, the one with problems, the one who was never-enough-of-whatever-was-wanted or way-too-much-of-what-was-unusual. The world trained me to dislike and to hide things about me that others rejected or didn't understand. I grew to become a total fake, unsure of what I liked, what I knew, where I should go. And I knew that I had to hide the fact that I was a fake. People became a real danger.

Today, with my hands raised in worship, God reminded of how far He has brought me. Timid, silent, and stiff I came to church just a handful of years ago. I had high walls to to keep everyone out and eyes for only myself. But the chisel of grace, the humility of prayer, and the power of the Word have remade me. But by the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace to me was not without effect. (1Cor 15:10)

So, what am I then? Recently, as I sat near a quiet field with a friend, far away from responsibility, I asked myself that question. Apart from what I do, who am I? These last few weeks I have tried to find an answer: I am someone who laughs (and laughs and laughs) at strange things. I have a deep, unexplainable love for words. I unendingly crave learning and I feel alive when I'm teaching. I'm entertained by simplicity. I can barely breathe without some silence in my day. I love watching birds, dissecting plants, eating cheese, making lists. All these things and more define and shape me. And each day, by grace, God continues His work in me.

I am not finished. No, not yet.

But I don't have to wait to until I'm finished. While I'm being made, I can teach what I know, share what I've learned, explain what I've seen. Instead of hiding them, I can use these quirks and these gifts to reflect the character of the creative God who knit me together.

Having then gifts differing according to the grace that is given to us, let us use them... (Rom. 12:6a)

Right here I think that Paul might be telling us, "Rock what you got." His words are twice as inspiring as the guitar-filled riffs of Superchick, though. They provide the context in which our quirks and gifts should be used.

He says before:

I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that you present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable to God, which is your reasonable service. (Rom. 12:1)

And after:

Be kindly affectionate to one another with brotherly love, in honor giving preference to one another; not lagging in diligence, fervent in spirit, serving the Lord... (Rom. 12:10-11)

Who I am and the things I love, my knowledge, my ability, and my experience are nothing if I'm not using them in service to my God. I can rock what I got all day long, but if I'm not doing it for Christ it's only noise. Lord, help me do more than make noise...

*Superchick, Rock What You Got

I Remember Her Dancing

I remember her dancing, my mother. On the lawn there with her sisters and brothers around, tapping toes and spinning in the grass, all smiles. The band played loud behind the house and we children stood and watched our parents in their happiness. And grandmother, too, joined in to the movement, laughing along. The day was golden, humming with flowers and sunshine.

Uncle sang joy into the microphone while his friend the drummer grinned to keep the dancers’ feet moving in time on the green. The sounds of these drums and strings had always been confined, in our short memories, to a garage or basement. But that day the rhythm rolled out across the yard, shaking the neighbors’ windows, telling the world that we were enjoying life.

It was perhaps the first and last time that I remember us all together in this way, before twenty-some years of life came smashing through. Before the marriages broke and the young faces moved off in anger and the addictions clogged the hearts. When I consider again the picture of that afternoon in my mind, I can see the small cracks that were already visible. After all, where was my father on that day? Why was he not there dancing, too? And even then, small and shy, why was I afraid to join in the dancing?

Sobering now to think that I am the age my mother was when she danced on that lawn in the warm sun. Holding to her sister, feet moving quick, did she have any idea where the next twenty years would take her? Could she see the cracks in the family then, the fault lines that made that picture crumble? Would she have lived that day differently?

And today, on my own day of sunshine, have I lived as if these happy moments are slipping quickly away? My children here watching me, have I drawn them out to dance with me? Where are the cracks that I should tend to? These next twenty years will come racing by. With eternity in my heart I want to chase after what God is doing, because it shall be forever.

What profit has the worker from that in which he labors? I have seen the God-given task with which the sons of men are to be occupied. He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also He has put eternity in their hearts...

I know that whatever God does,
It shall be forever.
Nothing can be added to it,
And nothing taken from it.
God does it, that men should fear before Him (Ecc. 3:9-11a, 14)

Spirit Flow

I've been asking for the Spirit, for more of Christ in me. As I cry out in spiritual thirst, I pray that the Lord may grant me a time of moving prayer or an amazing, life-changing scriptural insight. I've imagined a mystical closeness; a supernatural overflowing in my soul; an easy willingness to obey His commands.

But that's not what I'm getting. I ask and ask again for the Spirit and I am surrounded by people. My life overflows with people. Projects and events and meetings and deliveries and meals and games and movies, all full of people.

I long for the Spirit, and I'm not sure what I'm asking for. My motives are likely crooked. I'm looking for a knowledge or a power that I can wield. I ask to understand a mystery and to contain the wind, both impossible, yet promised to me. I ask and ask again. I read of Him and use His language, "fill me, rest on me, come upon me, carry me, instruct me, be poured out on me, enter me, lift me, fall on me, speak through me, gift me, give me life." This is what He has done for the saints in the past and I want to feel that sweetness, too.

As my faith leads me to ask for the Spirit, in the same breath He is come. I want to collect Him like a treasure, but He does not want a stopped bottle or a lidded jar. I cannot catch the Living Stream and the Flowing Fountain in a cup for myself to sip at will. I must keep coming back to drink. Return to Him and return again. And there are all these people.

But the manifestation of the Spirit is given to each one for the profit of all... (1 Corinthians 12:7)

What I receive in answer to my prayer for the Bread of Life and for Living Water, does not belong to me. These gifts are for the benefit of all, for the Church, for the Body of Christ. And when I ask God to come near, when I reach for the Spirit, the people always come near, too. Why would God fill me up with the Spirit if not for the benefit of those He loves? Why overflow my cup if there's no one around to collect the abundance and give glory to Christ for it all?

Even if I'm simply a conduit, this is grace to me, too. The kind of grace that forms and bends me and makes me new. For what is it I fear most in the world if not people? Rejection and abandonment have trained me to self protect. My selfish fear growls like a bear while I'm in these crowds and I want a different way.

But to keep in step with the Spirit it's necessary that my toes get stepped on, that the floors of my home feel the tread of strange feet, and that the doors of my heart open to the people God sends my way. When I choose this I am born new again and the seeming paradox - that God is strongest in my weakness- is like honey and I pray again, "Though I am afraid, please Holy Spirit, come."

The wind blows where it wishes, and you hear the sound of it, but cannot tell where it comes from and where it goes. So is everyone who is born of the Spirit. (John 3:8)

Deliver me, again

I know the Lord of all Creation was chasing after me when I was young, but His voice was unfamiliar to me. When in failure and in confusion my young heart cried, “I am broken and unworthy of love,” silence echoed a harsh agreement. I had no mother’s voice to soothe, no father’s voice to defend: a spiritual orphan.

But grace makes the unlovely lovely and I knew the voice of Christ on a deep night. His love makes me heir and beautiful. Yet...

Many days I don’t believe it and stomp through life like a troll. The Spirit beckons and I stop my ears. I stretch my heart and soul and mind and strength around projects and tasks, books and learning, intentions and thoughts. Refusing the Life that is promised to me, I settle for distraction and shallow delight, cling to worldly and evil comforts. I chase self-interest and the praises of man. I give snakes when my children ask for bread, choose loneliness. I hold back love and praise and prayer. Over and over the same powerless, faithless, loveless life.

Who will deliver me from this body of death?

The answer, thank God, is that Jesus Christ can and does. He acted to set things right in this life of contradictions where I want to serve God with all my heart and mind, but am pulled by the influence of sin to do something totally different.

A new power is in operation: the Spirit of life in Christ.
(Romans 7:25, 8:2)

Spirit, You are elusive and mysterious but I long to know You. My Lord said that it was to my advantage that He go away so that You, the Helper, would come. Trembling, I invite You in, though I do not know what I’m asking for...

Lifted Hands, Again

Pour out your heart like water in the presence of the Lord. Lift up your hands to him for the lives of your children...

[from Lamentations 2:19]

The verse that carried me those four and half years, drew me out of the drowning waters of fear and doubt and anger. God was listening when I poured my heart out like water. He saw when I lifted my hands in prayer for Graeme's fragile life. He knew the agony that crushed me in the night by Graeme's bed. The deep weariness of hospital hallways, He knew that. That long mournful release, He knew that, too.

I stand, surrounded by Graeme's life on our walls. There his paintings, here his smile. The walls give testimony to his brief walk here and for a moment my heart rails against the path we followed and I quietly moan, "Why, God, why this?"

Two years. Two years is not long enough to wear down the edges of memories. I am cut and experience the deep ache that cannot live in words. I page through cards, notes, pictures: words from a grace family that lifted me, carried me, dragged me through every worry, every test, every procedure, every recovery. These words celebrated, comforted, encouraged, strengthened, mourned and remembered.

Today, I will lift up my hands again, in thankfulness. Thank you, Father, for Graeme's sunshine smile, the dance of heaven in his eyes, and every precious breath You gave him.

Thank you for Living Hope and the coming Renewal. Thank you that our last goodbye will not last...

Claiming My Inheritance

Trembling and stiff, I poured out life into a mic, repeating the Spirit-led words of a six weeks' pondering. In the tangle of sentences and now-cried tears over past wounds a strange feeling crept over me: It was like the surprise of finding a treasure you thought was lost. I felt alive. My emotionless face was hiding the battle raging inside me between all that I fear and all that I was made for. With my final stammered words, I stepped away victorious, not because my words were fancy or profound, but because God's Word is Life and Power and He just had His way in me.

For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.

(2 Tim. 1:7 NKJV)

This resurrection life you received from God is not a timid, grave-tending life. It's adventurously expectant, greeting God with a childlike "What's next, Papa?" God's Spirit touches our spirits and confirms who we really are. We know who He is, and we know who we are: Father and children. And we know we are going to get what's coming to us—an unbelievable inheritance!

(Romans 8:15-17a, Msg)

He Will Redeem Even This

"..this happened so that the work of God might be displayed in [her] life." (John 9)

I'm not sure why my early years were difficult, but my Redeemer lives. What is done cannot be undone, but my Lord makes all things new. Now He will use it and I want to be willing, though I am slow of speech and tongue.

The LORD said to Moses, "Who gave man his mouth? Who makes him deaf or mute? Who gives him sight or makes him blind? Is it not I, the LORD ? Now go; I will help you speak and will teach you what to say." (Exo. 4)

As I open this vein of memory and the pain runs scarlet I will trust Him. I will expose these scars to the Light and the healing will flow.

Come freedom, come.

Rain in Full Sunshine

Yesterday, for a brief staggering moment, I was overcome with heartache for sweet Graeme. I saw his smile in the small child, heard his words in the bigger child, lingered over his face in the photo, and fingered his drawings in the box. It was like a downpour in the middle of a sunny day.

Then I thought of those I know who have pointed their fingers or shaken their fists at God in response to their deep loss and I ache for them and the emptiness that must eat at them. How could you even take a breath if you felt that everything was against you and all you could count on was your own feeble and inconsistent strength? Lord come close to those who have lost father, mother, friend, child, love, hope.

The rain and sunshine give life; things grow and change and this Hope does not disappoint. Jesus said He gives abundant life, not a plodding forward through the days, not a dragging crawl across the years, but life overflowing, grace and peace multiplied to those who seek Him. Though I long to see this crumbling old world renewed and these griefs pass away, yet I will choose to praise and thank the Author of my life in every chapter. He draws near and He counts our tears and we don't need more than this.

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who according to His abundant mercy has begotten us again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance incorruptible and undefiled and that does not fade away, reserved in heaven for you, who are kept by the power of God through faith for salvation ready to be revealed in the last time.

In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while, if need be, you have been grieved by various trials, that the genuineness of your faith, being much more precious than gold that perishes, though it is tested by fire, may be found to praise, honor, and glory at the revelation of Jesus Christ, whom having not seen you love. Though now you do not see Him, yet believing, you rejoice with joy inexpressible and full of glory, receiving the end of your faith—the salvation of your souls. (1 Peter 1: 3-9)

Learning to Dance

What if all my work-- the movement of my hands across the dishes, the steps from room to room, the bending of my knees to meet the gaze of a wondering child-- was all a dance? Maybe housewifery shouldn't feel like a forced rhythm of economy or a plodding-through to meet expectations. Maybe it should feel like a slow waltz with my Father.

I'm no ballerina and these movements are awkward and halting. I drag selfishness and pride and insecurity around like wrecking balls behind me. My time and effort are often given in sacrafice to the idols of Approval or Control and sometimes God's song over me is difficult to hear above the sound of the world.

If only my old eyes did not see work, and toil, and labor everywhere. I would like to look at a list of school lessons and see the Potter's hands forming the clay. A pile of laundry could lead me to the Servant of all who knows my name. In the dishes and pots and pans I could find a chance to take off the old self and clothe myself in humility and love.

In the best moments, when I pull my eyes off my own feet and follow God's lead, there is grace in my dancing. There's no fancy costumes, no disco ball, and no audience. It's just the jealous love of my God surrounding me, refining me, and pulling me closer.

“O Israel, stay away from idols! I am the one who answers your prayers and cares for you. I am like a tree that is always green; all your fruit comes from me.” (Hosea 14:8)

The Voices

It must be spreading. The voices in my head have been sneaking around the house. Hand on forehead today, Young Boy says, "I'm not good enough!" Flying out of his mouth it clearly resembles a lie and I'm quick to pull it out of the air and stomp on it.

But in my head, these impish lies run free. They sometimes escape the realm of thought and come tromping out of my mouth: "I'll never get this right," "I'm sure they don't like me," "I look like an idiot," "I sound like a dolt," "I will never be enough." The little lie-squeaks often turn to full choruses and my weak frame is crushed and I hide.

Father God, help me to hide in You. Help me to believe- to really believe- that I am loved by You and that Your love is more than enough to deal with my weaknesses and my failures. Squash these lie-makers that I have allowed in my head. Give me jump-off-the-cliff faith in Your approval of me in Christ, and teach me to stop looking for my value in other places and in other faces. No more striving. No more doubting.

Does the God who lavishly provides you with his own presence, his Holy Spirit, working things in your lives you could never do for yourselves, does he do these things because of your strenuous moral striving or because you trust him to do them in you? Don't these things happen among you just as they happened with Abraham? He believed God, and that act of belief was turned into a life that was right with God. (Galations 3:5-6 Msg)

Today's Words

Words escape me. The thoughts they come and inspire and motivate, but they aren't trapped by me on the sticky page. They float away.

Sometimes it's the voice of fear. The ideas are unoriginal, boring, not funny, too raw, unpoetic.

But I want to write something. I long to make myself knowable with these dangerous strings of letters. I want to see the picture that's painted with the syllables and the syntax. What do I look like? If I painted myself with words what would I see?

Today I would be:

Confused
Fearful
Hesitant
Unsure
Foolish
Disappointed
Weak
Hiding

But my broad dark strokes would include some splashes of light, for even in this mire I find that I am hopeful. And grateful. And faithful. Hopeful because God who began this work in me will continue until the end (Phil 1:6). Grateful for the unforced grace that allows me to keep company with the King (Mat 11:28). And Faithful to wait on the Healer who will help my unbelief (Mark 9:24).

Now God has us where he wants us, with all the time in this world and the next to shower grace and kindness upon us in Christ Jesus. Saving is all his idea, and all his work. All we do is trust him enough to let him do it. It's God's gift from start to finish! We don't play the major role. If we did, we'd probably go around bragging that we'd done the whole thing! No, we neither make nor save ourselves. God does both the making and saving. He creates each of us by Christ Jesus to join him in the work he does, the good work he has gotten ready for us to do, work we had better be doing. (Ephesians 2:7-10 Msg)

The Oil of Joy for Mourning

Today would have been Graeme's 6th birthday. This morning, Chase sang "Happy Birthday" while Ian danced along. I spent some time remembering special moments and fingering small mementos, working to figure out what to share in this post.

My prayer to God a month ago was that He would redeem my grief. Not because it's heavy or burdensome but because that's what He does. He's a life-giver, a redeemer, a maker-of-new-from-the-old. So, here is my old grief, redeemed, renewed and made over into something life-giving:

According to Luke, while my Lord walked this dusty earth, He entered a synogogue and stood to read. He began, "The Spirit of the Lord is upon me..," and the hearts and minds of the listeners heard their God speaking to them again through the prophet Isaiah:

“The Spirit of the Lord GOD is upon Me,
Because the LORD has anointed Me
To preach good tidings to the poor;
He has sent Me to heal the brokenhearted,
To proclaim liberty to the captives,
And the opening of the prison to those who are bound;
To proclaim the acceptable year of the LORD,
And the day of vengeance of our God;
To comfort all who mourn,
To console those who mourn in Zion,
To give them beauty for ashes,
The oil of joy for mourning,
The garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness;
That they may be called trees of righteousness,
The planting of the LORD, that He may be glorified.”

Such sweet words for those who are acquainted with the brokeness and death of this wearisome world (wouldn't that be all of us?). Lord, turn these ashes into beauty. Take this death and swallow it up with life.

“Most assuredly, I say to you, he who hears My word and believes in Him who sent Me has everlasting life, and shall not come into judgment, but has passed from death into life. Most assuredly, I say to you, the hour is coming, and now is, when the dead will hear the voice of the Son of God; and those who hear will live.”

Literary Wanderings: George MacDonald #10

Re-rebuke. Living, active, dividing, judging sword...

Good intentions have never been enough. My own self-discipline, limping from poor choices, cannot pull me up. Grace alone will get me through this day. George understands...

6.
From sleep I wake, and wake to think of thee.
But wherefore not with sudden glorious glee?
Why burst not gracious on me heaven and earth
In all the splendour of a new-day-birth?
Why hangs a cloud betwixt my lord and me?
The moment that my eyes the morning greet,
My soul should panting rush to clasp thy father-feet

10.
With every morn my life afresh must break
The crust of self, gathered about me fresh;
That thy wind-spirit may rush in and shake
The darkness out of me, and rend the mesh
The spider-devils spin out of the flesh--
Eager to net the soul before it wake,
That it may slumberous lie, and listen to the snake.

Watch ye, for ye know not when the master of the house cometh, at even, or at midnight, or at the cock-crowing, or in the morning; lest coming suddenly he find you sleeping.
Mark 13:35, 36

Spaciousness

I can't tell you how much I long for you to enter this wide-open, spacious life. We didn't fence you in. The smallness you feel comes from within you. Your lives aren't small, but you're living them in a small way. I'm speaking as plainly as I can and with great affection. Open up your lives. Live openly and expansively! (2Corinthians 6:11-33 Msg)

The beginning of a new school year and an over-abundance of tomatoes and green peppers has led me to some serious self-absorption. The number of things that I need to accomplish on any given day has increased two-fold in the last three weeks and all the while I'm still feeling the pressure of the daily 'should-do's' (exercise, structure activities for my toddler, pray more, organize this, sort through that, etc.). I'm feeling as though I've left the narrow way (or the ancient path) and have run smack into a tree.

But God's word, the always living and active, double edged sword, has exposed my rebellion, shown me the truth, and is continuing to train me to live God's way. "Chin up," the Spirit says. "Way up." Normally I would respond with furious list-making activities, attempting to force myself into some kind of pretzel of self-discipline. This time I'll try quiet contrition and refreshing intimacy with my God.

This is me in my 'thinking pose'.*

So if you're serious about living this new resurrection life with Christ, act like it. Pursue the things over which Christ presides. Don't shuffle along, eyes to the ground, absorbed with the things right in front of you. Look up, and be alert to what is going on around Christ—that's where the action is. See things from his perspective. (Colossians 3:1-2 Msg.)

*I found it quite difficult to put a (not very good) picture of myself in this blog entry. I generally don't like posting images of myself anywhere, and certainly not in entries on the topic of upheaving self-focus. In the end I decided to go with it because 1) Chase said I should, 2) I was contemplating a more spacious life around the time the photo was taken and 3) I really like my green shirt.