The Way of Grace

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[choosethewayofgrace]

Gimme shelter

Almost two years ago, I experienced a miracle. Isolated from friends and family but unable to stay at my house any longer, I put my trust in God to find me a new home. I didn't need much... a washer/dryer would be nice. And knowing that my newly expanded, full-time work hours would necessitate rush hour travel, I wanted to be near the office.

Within a week of resolving to move, I had signed a lease on a 1-bedroom apartment. It was exactly what I needed. And although the moving process was painful and lonely, God filled that empty space with safety and love and (eventually) some furniture.

Now, for various reasons, I believe it is time to move again. And for the last several weeks I've been very stressed out about it.

Then my friend posted a story on Facebook that changed my perspective.

He is one of the few people attending to the needs of Christians in Syria right now and he shared about a woman who had lost just about everything to war, including her son. If she couldn't raise $850 (a year's worth of rent) in two weeks, she would lose her home as well.

My friend promised her that God is faithful. That He loves her. That Christians in America love her. And he and his friends would find a way to pay her rent.

It's not the first time my friend has made such a promise. And in every instance where he believed God would provide, God did provide. Less than 24-hours later, my friend had raised two year's worth of rent for this woman. He believed God would provide because that has been his experience.

And hasn't it been my experience as well?

Perhaps He hasn't provided in the ways I've asked him to or according to my desires of the moment. But as I look back at everything I've been through, He has always provided a way.

My situation is not nearly as dire as the Syrian woman's. My fretting and worrying isn't helping matters. I need to let go. Rest. Trust.

But boy, it's hard! I usually write these posts from the mountain peak as I look back down at the journey I've just traveled. Hindsight allows me to glean lessons and write about them with assurance. I can say (past tense), "I've been there and it all turned out alright!"

The fact of the matter is I'm writing this post from the midst of a valley. All I can see right now is a steep, insurmountable precipice. How can I possibly ascend it?

He whispers into my heart to be at peace, to remember we've been in worse scrapes than this! Life very often gives us more than we can handle. That's why we need God.

But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weakness, so that Christ's power rests on me. That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong. (2 Corinthians 12:9-10)

God, please give me the grace to say with conviction (future tense), "Here I am and I will be alright."

[choosethewayofgrace]

Blue hair, don’t care.

They say baseball is a game watched by old people.

And if you buy into statistics (as baseball fans are want to do), they're right. In an April article for the Washington Post, Marc Fisher ran the numbers:

According to Nielsen ratings, 50 percent of baseball viewers are 55 or older, up from 41 percent 10 years ago. ESPN, which airs baseball, football and basketball games, says its data show the average age of baseball viewers rising well above that of other sports: 53 for baseball, 47 for the NFL (also rising fast) and 37 for the NBA, which has kept its audience age flat.

Call me crazy, but I think the maturity of the average fan is part of baseball's charm. Our elders might be onto something in how they prioritize the game.

A typical (and sacred) after-dinner summer routine at my grandparents' Southern Indiana home involves Wheel of Fortune followed by the St. Louis Cardinals game. They love their team and speak of the Redbird roster with the familiarity and adoration they reserve for family friends.

Last Friday, my boyfriend's grandmother invited me to enjoy an evening at Camden Yards to see the Baltimore Orioles take on their division rival Tampa Bay Rays. A group from her senior community had organized the trek. Decked out in orange and black, we cheered on the team from the club level like a bunch of ballers. And when J.J. Hardy drove in the winning run in walk-off fashion, the whole section erupted in revelry.

Baseball might wring its hands about a supposed "youth problem," but maybe that's not a real cause for concern at all. I think a 55+ fan base is worth celebrating.

In order for generations to keep tuning in and remain faithful to their teams, something worthwhile must be occurring on that field. Eventually the youth will take note, but in the meantime let's appreciate a young-at-heart fan base that has endured through the decades.

Just know that they might not stay for the post-game fireworks. It's past their bedtime.

[choosethewayofgrace]

Lessons from the Disabled List

Turning 31 has not been kind to my body. In the past two weeks, I've strained (then re-strained) a calf muscle while running and sprained both wrists while playing volleyball.

I've always known that fitness is a gift that can easily be taken away. One day, I'm closing in on a personal best pace. The next day, I can barely walk to the filing cabinet. It's humbling, especially when I know the effort it took to get to a certain level of athleticism. The time off means a set-back in performance. And on the wrong side of 30, I wonder if I'll ever get to where I was again. Or if it's even worth it.

I've been thinking a lot about why it matters to me to be able to perform at a certain level. After all, running isn't my livelihood. I don't even compete in races. I'm realizing that it mostly boils down to vanity and pride.

When I started studying the book of Daniel with my small group, I hadn't expected to relate to arrogant, self-centered King Nebuchadnezzar. He seemed to have good reason to think so highly of himself. Some historians believe he was one of the most competent rulers the world has ever known. He built and prospered the Babylonian empire to its zenith. God himself set up Nebuchadnezzar and gave him "dominion and power and might and glory." (Daniel 2:37)

Chapter three of Daniel opens with Nebuchadnezzar commissioning a 90-foot statue of himself. What hubris! What vanity! But I, too, am building an image. I like being considered a beast in the gym. I like maintaining a certain figure through exercise. But am I finding my identity in those things?

Scripture is clear that health and fitness are worthwhile endeavors. Paul used athletic imagery to describe what the life of a believer should look like (2 Tim. 4:7). But Paul's pursuit wasn't after a world record, a gold medal, or glorious six-pack abs. Mine shouldn't be either. My identity is not based on how many miles I can run, it is in the God who has given me legs to run. I love how Beth Moore put it in session 3 of the Daniel DVD: "Don't be an image builder. Be an image bearer!"

The fall of Nebuchadnezzar is detailed in chapter four of Daniel. The king has a prophetic dream which he asks Daniel to interpret. In the dream, a magnificent tree (representing prideful Nebuchadnezzar himself) is cut down to a stump which is then bound by a band of iron and bronze. The stump is significant because it speaks to how God's discipline will extend so far, but no further. The prideful will be humbled, and the path to humility will hurt. But God will never allow us to be utterly destroyed. He will provide and protect a foundation upon which we can rebuild.

So here I am. Sidelined by my injuries. Humbled. How will I chose to respond?

Nebuchadnezzar at last acknowledged that all he had was a result of God's good providence. And that is the posture I must take. He has equipped me with a body that is often strong and healthy. But even when it isn't, I am still His.

He once gave me speed. Now He gives me rest. And we shall someday see what He chooses to rebuild on this iron and bronze-bound stump.

[choosethewayofgrace]

“Somewhere over the rainbow...”

I had lived in the Mid-Atlantic region for about six years without ever seeing a rainbow. Since this past October I've seen five.

The latest sighting occurred last night. I'd just received some disappointing news. Plans I'd carefully constructed and depended upon had been thwarted. For a moment, the world seemed bleak and dangerous. Thick, grey clouds rolled in and heavy rain began to pummel my vehicle. I didn't know what to do.

But the moment passed and the rain soon slowed to a drizzle. I merged onto an exit ramp and glanced up to the eastern sky. There, backed by grey, was a complete rainbow, stretching from horizon line to horizon line. I was reminded once again that the plans of man are futile, "but there is a God in heaven who reveals mysteries." (Daniel 2:28). He has a plan for me (Jeremiah 29:11), and it's only on Him and His plan that I can depend.

I do not believe it is a coincidence that the rainbow sightings have increased exponentially as of late. They are a reminder of the destruction I've been delivered through and the promise that all will end well. They seem to come when I'm most doubtful of my footing and most in need of surrender. They come when I'm stubborn and grasping too tightly. They come when I'm scared of an unknown future.

I'm so desperate to control my world and build a self-sufficient life that pleases me. I often need that gentle reminder that the times in my life when I've experienced the deepest joy and security are also those times I've abandoned my will to my Creator.

He paints the sky with His love for us and smiles upon Creation with the fullness of the spectrum. How rich in peace, and love, and joy His plans for the future must be!

Photo Credit: I regret that I'm not entirely sure where to source this photo. I pinned it last year, but the link is broken. Anyway, the image speaks to me because I believe faith is a free and open invitation that must be personally accepted.

[choosethewayofgrace]

Forsaken

As I reflected on the messages of Christ's crucifixion and resurrection this past weekend, I found my thoughts centered on the cross.

At church on Friday night, we examined Mark 15 and the hours of utter darkness that occurred in the middle of the day. Jesus hung on that cross in complete silence, taking the sin of the world onto his mutilated form. 2 Corinthians 5:21 says,"he made him to be sin who knew no sin." This process so disfigured Jesus that God the Father actually turned away from his Son.

"Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani," Jesus cried out, which means, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" (v.34)

In those moments, there was an impassable rift between Father and Son. Until this point, Jesus always referred to the paternal nature of God. Here, in his last gasps, broken and despised, it's as if this God were a distant, unknowable deity.

A deity who had abandoned him.

I'd never thought about how supremely alone Jesus must have felt in that moment. He must have known that all would end in Triumph. I hope he knew that. But all I do know from this text is that his spirit left the earth knowing that he had been forsaken by his Father and his God.

There are two comforts I find in this.

The first is that Jesus can relate to our feelings of abandonment, be they of the refugee child lost in a foreign land, of the bride who has discovered her husband’s infidelity, of the man who still wonders to this day why his daddy didn't stay. Jesus knows those feelings of betrayal, depression, darkness, and loss with exquisite intensity. He knows.

The second, and more triumphant, is that because of Jesus' sacrifice, he is also the last human being to ever know what it feels like to be abandoned by God.

We can know abandonment by others, but Romans 8:38-39 explains that absolutely nothing "will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord."

God will never forsake us. He is always there.

We can feel separation from Him, of course. We can turn away. We can choose another path, another god. We have free will. But God's Presence is a gift, an open invitation. And because of Christ's death and resurrection, the offer of His Presence will never go away. We need only claim it.

Saturday morning was the perfect day for a run. As I jogged around a nearby lake, my thoughts returned to the somber remembrances of Good Friday. Yet in their midst I felt a promise, and I lifted my eyes to the sky. There in the clouds resting just above the horizon, I saw a rare rainbow and gasped at the enormity of the moment.

For as God said in Genesis 9:13, "I have set my bow in the cloud, and it shall be a sign of the covenant between me and the earth."

This, a covenant secured in blood on a cross at Golgotha.

[choosethewayofgrace]

"And if I perish..."

I'm studying the book of Esther with an amazing group of women under the teaching of Beth Moore. If you've been blessed to participate in one of Beth's studies, you'll know that each session includes a DVD teaching portion accompanied by discussion and weekly homework.

This past week's DVD session covered the last two verses of Esther 4, where Queen Esther makes a crucial decision to intercede for her people in the face of almost-certain death. Although initially adamant against the idea of taking such a great personal risk, verse 16 finds her resolved: "... And if I perish, I perish."

Beth continued to pull on this thread, challenging our struggle with fear, although "do not be afraid" is the most frequent command in the Bible. She pointed to our conditional trust in God. We promise to believe in Him in exchange for His protection. We so often ask and expect Him to deliver us from our fears. And usually our worst fears never happen to us.

But sometimes they do.

Then what?

A little less than three years ago, my worst fears began to come true: my marriage was over. My first reaction was denial, and I lived in that empty place for a while. But as, little by little, more facts came to light, my second reaction (much like Esther) was to refuse to act for fear of the consequences. Eventually, I couldn't take it anymore. Leaving my marriage was a leap of faith. I couldn't know what was on the other side. The only thing (and I mean the ONLY thing) I knew was that God was going to catch me.

You know what happens when your worst fears come true? You sob until the tears run dry and your throat aches. You grow numb. You feel your heart harden and you wonder if it will ever thaw (or if you even want it to).

And then one day, you get up.

And you realize that birds still sing, the sky is still blue, and impossibly good things still happen.

"And if I perish, I perish."

"And if I am abandoned, I am abandoned."

"And if my marriage ends, my marriage ends."

And God is still God. And He is good.

PHOTO: The naupaka blossom, which grows on the beaches and mountains of Hawaii, is symbolic of lovers forever separated by heartbreak. According to legend, the gods would not allow the princess and the commoner she loved to be together, so they were sent to live apart (one to the beach, one to the mountain). There they thrive to this day, although they will never be reunited. I photographed this bloom at Anaehoomalu Bay in Waikoloa.

[choosethewayofgrace]

The Ministry of Divorce

There have been two milestones in my life that have brought me closer to God. The first was my parents' divorce. The second was my own.

Hannah Hurnard wrote about how the Christian life is defined and refined by trials and tribulations in the introduction to Hind's Feet on High Places:

As Christians we know, in theory at least, that in the life of a child of God there are no second causes, that even the most unjust and cruel things, as well as all seemingly pointless and undeserved sufferings, have been permitted by God as a glorious opportunity for us to react to them in such a way that our Lord and Savior is able to produce in us, little by little, his own lovely character.

So what is it that God is trying to teach me through divorce?

Here is what I've learned...

Divorce is messy. It's heartbreaking. The innocent get hurt. So do the not-so-innocent.

Divorce is the sudden yet slow removal from your life of a relationship that was supposed to be an anchor. It's a betrayal of the heart and of the future.

Divorce is the dismantling of a kingdom built in partnership on a foundation of promises and love. It's a veil torn asunder, a tapestry woven over years to decorate a homestead, now lying in tatters, never to adorn a wall again. Its an acknowledgement that all of the toil was in vain. It doesn't matter who was at fault. It's loss, plain and simple.

Why is it this rift that speaks to me, that draws me to God like no other trial I've encountered in my life? Why not death in the family, or the passing of friends? Why not injury? Why not broken friendships?

I suppose all of those things have pushed me to rely on God in some measure, but none so much as divorce.

I'm also not sure why marital reconciliation has not been part of my story. My parents never reconciled and God has given me extreme peace about leaving my marriage undone.

But in the midst of all of that brokenness, my story is about reconciliation. Reconciliation with my Creator and Father.

At first, it was accepting His gift of salvation as a pre-teen whose family was falling apart around her. In establishing that first relationship, I allowed Him to carry me through those rocky adolescent years after my own father moved out.

And now it is bringing me back to Faith. I never actively rejected Him during my marriage but I definitely chose other priorities. I put my faith in my marriage vows. I put my faith in my husband. I put my faith in myself to try to fix things through sheer force of will.

God said no and He smashed the idol I'd constructed. And for the first time in years I could see clearly. And I was broken. And I was hurting. And I was moved in the depth of my soul to sink to my knees and... worship.

I once had a lovely two-parent home where I felt secure and loved and safe. But I couldn't put my faith in it. It was taken away. I was left with God. He was enough.

I once had a man promise to be faithful to me, and I to him. We vowed to build a life and family together, and in some ways we prospered. But I couldn't put my faith in it. It needed to be taken away. I was left with God. He was enough.

Divorce didn't create the hole in my heart. It was always there. I tried to fill that hole with a marriage but it wasn't the right fit. Divorce was dynamite, clearing a blockage I'd created by trying to fill the void with anything but God.

"Seek ye first the kingdom of God and His righteousness..." (Matthew 6:33)

I still think very highly of marriage, but from the ashes of my own failure I've learned at least this: If marriage is ever going to work, it can't take the place of my relationship with God.

That is the ministry of divorce in my life.

[choosethewayofgrace]

Do Not Hold Back!

I wrote a New Year's post, but when the time came to hit "Publish," I hesitated.

My inner critic asked me, "Who do you think you are?" "Why do you think anyone cares what you have to say on this subject?" "What can you possibly have to say that would enhance the internet dialog on what it means to resolve?"

I listened to that critic and I didn't hit publish. I ate pizza. I watched fireworks. I toasted the New Year. And I let this post stay hidden on my computer, never to be seen by another human.

That is until I was sitting in an elevated, cross-legged position on a yoga brick in a sweltering Fells Point studio about to partake in a hot vinyasa class on New Year's Day. The instructor implored us to consider our INTENTION for the year. Shifting from pose to pose, she asked us to concentrate. And I remembered Isaiah 54:2.

Last year, it had been a foundational verse for me. I spent a great deal of time thinking about what it meant for me to live out the first part of the verse, about what it would mean for me to "enlarge the place of [my] tent," to "stretch [my] tent curtains wide." I understood it as a call to openness and vulnerability. To invitation. To community. And so 2014 was a time of intense introspection and honesty and growth, of establishing my Safe Place and being open to how it might expand. But the verse doesn't end with an open home and heart. It ends with a call to be bold:

"Do not hold back."

"Lengthen your cords."

"Strengthen your stakes."

Sweat poured into my eyes as I let my right leg fly back out of downward dog and then bend forward to almost touch knee to nose. I realized that I had only lived out half of the intention of Isaiah 54:2. This new year had dawned and I was still holding back.

What I like about yoga is admonition to be kind to yourself. To accept yourself where you are, allow yourself to be, and then push deeper. Opening to side-triangle, I considered where I was: open and introspectful, but scared. I allowed myself to be there and celebrated what it's taken to get to this space. And then I felt the burning in my hip as I adjusted my body's alignment. It was time to push deeper and begin to fulfill Part 2 of Verse 2.

I was going to have to post.

I had written about my theme song for 2015: "Rise" by Josh Garrels. I'd been playing it on loop for a few weeks, basically being the most obnoxious neighbor I could be.

Parts of the song remind me of the intro music to the John Adams miniseries on HBO. I recommend that series if for no other reason than that the opening credits are accompanied by a Celtic instrumental piece so perfect and so inspirational that it never failed to tingle my spine or fill me with patriotism.

I see 2015 a bit of a revolution for me. A time to stop holding back. To lengthen my cords and stengthen my stakes. A time to "rise."

Looking back at 2014, I'm filled with gratitude. I absolutely loved 2014. But at the same time, it was a year marked by loss and exile. I remember many times when I felt like Much-Afraid in Hind's Feet on High Places, when the Great Shepherd directed her path away from the High Places time and time again: "He was leading her away from her hearts desire altogether and gave no promise at all as to when he would bring her back."

She (and I) had to learn to trust the Shepherd's plan against all logic and reason.

He has brought me here when I did not want to come for his own purpose. I, too, will look up into his face and say, 'Behold me! I am thy little handmaiden Acceptance-with-Joy.'

So in a lot of ways, 2014 saw me in a holding pattern. Jerry Sittser sums up this experience in the epilogue of A Grace Disguised:

I had to let the old definition of the good life die first, without having enough information and certainty to form a new definition. That period of dying to the old before I had any notion of the new was hard for me. With one act of my life done and another not yet ready to begin, I felt stuck in an intermission that would never end.

I often likened my intermission to purgatory. I'm so thankful I had that time of waiting, though. My life wasn't stagnant at all. But most of the work happened below the surface, establishing root systems embedded in love, faith and community. And now the next phase of my journey lies before me and I pray for the courage to follow through.

I still have no idea what form this all will take, but I think that's part of the fun. More than anything, I trust in the final promise of Garrels' chorus:

Though they may surround me like lions And crush me on all sides I may fall, but I will rise. Not by my might, or my power, or by the strength of swords, Only through your love, My LORD, All that's lost will be restored!

[choosethewayofgrace]

A Brand New (Old) Name

"So... what are you going to do about your name?"

It's a question I've been asked more than a few times during the past year or so. At first, I deferred, wishing not to think about it. My name (at one time) carried with it many hopes and dreams. I had to endure a process of letting go of all of that, a time of grieving loss.

Gradually, I warmed to the idea of making a change. The name I'd had just didn't make sense anymore. At a Brewer's Art happy hour last spring, a friend told me about a woman who'd used each of her three divorces as an opportunity to name herself something new entirely. By the end of her life she'd gone by seven different names. Twas a whimsical idea, but it also sounded like a lot of work!

So after a good deal of internal debate I've decided to reclaim my maiden name. Besides, the concept of needing only a birth certificate to confirm my identity has a certain simplistic allure.

Now that I'm going back to my old name, I've been thinking a lot about the spiritual concept of a "new name":

The nations will see your vindication, and all kings your glory; you will be called by a new name that the mouth of the Lord will bestow. (Isaiah 62:2)

I've been revisiting Hind's Feet on High Places by Hannah Hurnard, which tells the story of a young shepherdess named Much-Afraid who answers the Great Shepherd's call to live upon the High Places. As she is (lame, disfigured, cowardly), she is utterly inadequate for such a residence. But the Shepherd has a way to transform her through a journey of surmounting a series of seemingly impossible tasks. At last his promise is fulfilled, and on the heights of the mountains he declares:

"Never am I to call you Much-Afraid again." At that he laughed again and said, "I will write upon her a new name, the name of her God. The Lord God is a sun and shield: the Lord will give grace and glory: no good thing will he withhold from them that walk uprightly." (Ps. 84:11)

"This is your new name," he declared. "From henceforth you are Grace and Glory."

The book of Hosea also tells about a glorious name change. In Hosea chapter 1, we meet a prophet's daughter with an exquisitely shameful name: Lo-Ruhamah, which means “not loved." This naming is to serve as an illustration of God's promise in chapter 2, which is later echoed in Romans 9:25, "and her who was not beloved I will call ‘beloved.’"

A name change is an allegory of the Gospel; the inception of a new identity, being transformed into a new creation. While in many ways I am taking on my old identity, I am not the same person at all.

When I left the office last week ahead of finalizing my divorce, my boss said (referring to my name change), "Next time I see you, you'll be a new person!" Then he paused and amended his statement. "Actually, you've been a new person for a while now."

And he is right. I've been refined by the challenges I've faced and the choices I've made. In fact, the process will continue. I am daily being made new and I rejoice in the promise that there is more to come. But at last the time has come to embrace my new identity in the fullness of a Facebook update. And a business card reprinting. And a trip to the MVA...

I have a lot of work ahead of me.

Photo: This card was the new name/identity I claimed at the young adult retreat last month. It's based on James 2:25, "Rahab the prostitute [was] considered righteous." This statement is a perfect encapsulation of the Gospel, that the shame of the past need not define us. "Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus..." (Romans 8:1)

[choosethewayofgrace]

"When you lose something you cannot replace..."

I've come to the thrilling and liberating conclusion that there are some losses that I am never going to get over. And that's okay.

Loss is a part of life.

To varying degrees, we experience it everyday. Maturity is often about rolling with the punches, getting back up after getting knocked down, persevering through challenge and adversity.

The inconvenience of rush hour traffic, penalty fees resulting from computer errors, miscellaneous minor disappointments... these are all experiences that can ruin a day, but we can and should get through them with our sense of self and security intact.

But what about the bigger losses? In A Grace Disguised, Jerry Sittser refers to these as "catastrophic losses." Death, divorce, abuse, getting fired... there's no recovering that which was lost. The loved one, the marriage, the innocence, the job... these things are gone forever. Sittser writes:

Recovery is a misleading and empty expectation. We recover from broken limbs, not amputations. Catastrophic loss by definition precludes recovery. It will transform us or destroy us, but it will never leave us the same.

Sittser proposes two possible outcomes when we experience such loss: transformation or destruction. If we refuse to choose one, we will inevitably get the other.

Beth Moore touched on this topic during her simulcast last month. We must accept losses. They are wounds, they will stay with us, we cannot simply let them go. But in the place of our loss it is possible to gain. In fact, Sittser's premise is that it is only through loss that we have greater capacity to gain.

Beth had asked women what they had lost that they could never have back. One answer she received was "innocence."

Oh how true. Innocence, once lost, can never be truly reclaimed. As I sat there thinking about my own loss, Beth made an interesting proposal:

"Could we trade innocence for insight?"

This losing season has been defined by the usual suspects... brokenness, darkness, sadness, fear. But it is only by walking through this harsh valley that I've gained the perspective I now enjoy.

I may have at one time felt safe and secure in my bubble of innocence, but being thrust into a perilous world has awakened me to glorious mystery. I have seen ugliness and betrayal and pain, but I have also seen beauty and grace and healing. By integrating loss into my life (embracing it, not running away from it), by taking my shame to God and letting Him transform me into a new creature, I have experienced powerful peace.

Suffering leads to growth, understanding, and greater compassion. And so I grieve my loss, but I also hope, because Jesus assures me, "Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted." (Matthew 5:4)

[choosethewayofgrace]

Sweep and ye shall find

I've never been a big fan of housekeeping. I can typically dig up a million reasons why it is better for me to sit on the couch eating popcorn and watching Big Bang Theory reruns than to deal with the growing tower of dishes in my sink. But over the past year, I've discovered the therapeutic powers of cleaning house.

A fairly common side-effect of going through divorce is insomnia. When I first moved out on my own, I met up with a friend who was well into her own divorce process. I asked her how she dealt with the sleeplessness.

"I clean," she said matter-of-factly. "If I can't sleep, I go into the bathroom and start scrubbing the toilet. It gives me a physical outlet for my swirling thoughts. Before long, I'm tired enough to fall asleep. And my bathroom is spotless!"

I recently attended the annual Beth Moore simulcast at my church. She talked at length about the parable of the lost coin from Luke 15:8-10:

Or suppose a woman has ten silver coins and loses one. Doesn’t she light a lamp, sweep the house and search carefully until she finds it? And when she finds it, she calls her friends and neighbors together and says, ‘Rejoice with me; I have found my lost coin.’ In the same way, I tell you, there is rejoicing in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.”

Beth pointed out how important it is to spiritually and emotionally clear the clutter from our lives.

"Sometimes a woman needs a clean sweep to find what she is missing," Beth said. "Sweep and ye shall find!"

Of course, Beth was referring to interior sweeping, to the condition of the heart. But I believe that the physical realm bleeds into the spiritual; that when I manage the pile of debris that's accumulated on my dining room table, I find I am better able to manage the emotions raging in my heart.

I'll never be a neat freak, but I know that if my feelings ever start to feel out of control and I'm desperate for clarity, I can always grab a broom and start sweeping.

[choosethewayofgrace]

So Many Colors In A Flower...

Lately I've felt convicted to keep an open mind. I'll be hashing out a well-picked-over wound with God when he gently requests I re-calibrate my assumptions. He did this, recently, by reminding me of lyrics penned by His great prophet, Harry Chapin.

As I pondered the message of this song, I realized that the baggage I'd been submitting in prayer was actually a lie constructed by seeing my situation through the limits of my experience. I'd essentially been thinking that all flowers were green and red, when in reality there is a whole spectrum out there. I just need to be open to the possibility that there is more. So much more.

I believe God wants us all to be open to that more. Because He is more than we could ever imagine.

It's easy to fall back on a concept of Jesus as a personal savior, a "Buddy Jesus," who comforts me in my tiny troubles. He's a sounding board onto which I can "cast all my cares" (1 Peter 5:7). But to think of him only thus is to place limits on Him, to keep Him small and tame. Loving, for sure, but not particularly powerful. In this I commit the same sin as Peter in the hours before Christ's crucifixion. I deny him.

Then Peter said, "I do not know the man." It was Peter's denial, of course ... I do not even know who he is. It was the denial that Jesus himself had predicted, and the cock raised his beak into the air and crowed just as Jesus had foretold. But is was something else too ... It was a denial, but it was also the truth. Peter really did not know who Jesus was, did not really know, and neither do any of us really know who Jesus is either. Beyond all we can find to say about him and believe about him, he remains always beyond our grasp, except maybe once in a while the hem of his garment. We should never forget that. We can love him. We can learn from him, but we can come to know him only by following him -- by searching for him in his church, in his Gospels, in each other. (Frederick Buechner, Telling Secrets)

In the Chronicles of Narnia, CS Lewis depicts Jesus as a lion, the Mighty Aslan. He is so described in The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe:

“Ooh” said Susan.”I’d thought he [Aslan] was a man. Is he -- quite safe? I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a lion”… ”Safe?” said Mr Beaver …"Who said anything about safe? ‘Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the King, I tell you.”

I am a firm believer that "All Truth is God's Truth." God isn't afraid or insecure. He knows if we refuse to grow complacent in our limited worldview and seek His face in Scripture, in nature, in community, in art, in science, in literature... we will find Him.

There are so many colors in a flower. Let us strive to see every one.

Photo: From 2008. Flowers growing out of the temple wall at the Summer Palace in Beijing.

[choosethewayofgrace]

Selah, Take A Break

My prayers have taken on a different flavor as of late. Words are not enough. Instead I pray in images, in feelings, in silence.

My church has been delving into the Psalms, using ancient poetry as a template for communion with God. Too often the Christian prayer sounds like a litany of requests and petitions. Certainly request and petition is something God welcomes, but ultimately He is sovereign. Prayer and meditation should go hand-in-hand. It's a conversation, after all. And everyone knows a one-sided conversation is the worst type of conversation. The time must come to listen, to be still.

The Psalms were at one time set to music, and as such the word "Selah" often pops up between verses. My pastor explained that this could have signified a musical interlude. When he would come to "Selah" during the sermon, he'd tell us to "take a break," "run in place for a moment," "meditate on what has just happened."

But being still is hard. Life is overwhelming. There's so much to do, so much to worry about. But our holistic well-being depends on being able to stop from time to time. Several weeks ago I attended a conference where Leslie Vernick was the keynote speaker. One point she made that struck me was that "your doing should never compromise your being."

Time, money, talents, energy... all must be budgeted. So often we refuse to budget and we lose sight of the big picture, frantically and haphazardly juggling the minutia of life. I love the imagery Frederick Buechner evokes of this phenomenon in his memoir, Telling Secrets:

If you have ever watched ants work on a bare patch of lawn, you have seen us. They scurry this way, stop, scurry that way. They labor under the weight of the crumb they carry just so far before abandoning it. They meet and part, disappear into grass and appear again or never do. Small things loom large -- the fallen leaf, the rusty nail. Large things go unnoticed -- the sky, the house, the enormous face in the air. They keep busy on their tiny errands. Life is busyness for all of us, is keeping busy. Keeping still comes harder. But stillness comes.

So, lately, my spiritual life has been about inhabiting that stillness. Sure there are times I plead my case before the Throne and wrestle with His plans for me, but mostly I sit in silence and let His Presence wash over me.

I have a little balcony with a table and chairs I purchased during a particularly efficient trip to Ikea. I'll find myself sitting out there staring at a speckled leaf fluttering in the breeze and I'll suddenly be consumed by God's promises to me.

"Consider the lilies of the field," He whispers. "How they grow: they neither toil nor spin; and yet I say to you that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. Now if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is, and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will He not much more clothe you, O you of little faith?" (Matthew 6:28-30)

There's so much freedom in praying this way, in resting in His Presence. Without agenda, there's no pressure to perform or make the words right. Because there are no words. Instead there is stillness, and faith, and trust, and peace. I believe such a prayer is an offering most pleasing.

Selah.

[choosethewayofgrace]

The Repairer of the Breach

I could have sworn I'd put a package of disposable plates in my pantry.

It was one of those absolutely silly moments that somehow made me feel exposed and vulnerable and pathetic. It was Sunday night and I was 45-minutes away from hosting the weekly small group dinner. The meal was on the stove and the apartment had just undergone my patented "guests are coming" panic clean.

And we had nothing on which to eat.

Four small, ceramic plates mocked me from their perch on the shelf. "You are such a hobo," they (accurately) accused. "Most nights you eat out of tupperware."

So after texting out a few desperate "bring plate" requests to my friends, I did what any mature, confident woman would do.

I sobbed.

I'm not exactly sure why that moment broke me, because I actually really like my life the way it is, tupperware and all (Tupperware especially. It's so convenient!). Perhaps my meltdown has something to do with the still-smoldering ruins of my former life.

You see, I used to have plates. Lots and lots and lots of plates.

But that chapter is over. Real healing has begun. My life is full of wonderful people and exciting opportunities and HOPE. But this is a process and there will be moments when the stupidest things break my heart.

In those moments where I am honest and humbled, here is the promise to which I cling:

"And the Lord will guide you continually and satisfy your desire in scorched places and make your bones strong; and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters do not fail. And your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt; you shall raise up the foundations of many generations; you shall be called the repairer of the breach, the restorer of streets to dwell in." Isaiah 58:11-12 (ESV)

This mess has meaning; I am glad for the journey. These scorched places are but the foundations of regeneration.

Do note, however, I have no intention of investing in adult plates anytime soon. I love my tupperware, damn it!

[choosethewayofgrace]

Lessons from Exodus: Faith and Obedience in the Darkest Hour

During the Lenten season, I read through the book of Exodus (40 chapters in 40 days). I've had a chance to reflect on that time and apply it to my present circumstances. I've found the concepts of deliverance and faith especially comforting when I'm tempted to despair.

You see, sometimes I play the past over in my head, wondering where it all went wrong.

But maybe it didn't go wrong at all.

Before God delivered the people of Israel from Egypt, things got worse. Moses asked Pharaoh to let the Israelites go, but Pharaoh said no. Not only could they not go, now they would have to collect their own straw to make bricks (the Egyptians had previously provided straw for this purpose; quotas remained the same, but the workload became exponentially harder).

Moses cried out to God, asking why He'd bothered to send him. We know with hindsight that God was at work, that He did have a plan to release the Israelites from captivity. But back in Exodus 5, it just seemed like God was abandoning them.

I must cling to this: that God is at work even when I don't see it. Even when my heart hurts and I'm anxious. Even when it feels like I've been rejected. That God has a plan. All that is required to see it through is obedience and faith.

The narrative is much larger than my small perspective. I have no idea what is going on behind (or below or above) the scenes .

But perhaps one day I will look back on this time as a staging-ground for a kind of deliverance... and I'll dance with tambourine raised on the banks of the Red Sea.

[choosethewayofgrace]

Sing.

I used to watch a show on the Discovery Channel called Surviving the Cut. It followed candidates in America's special forces training classes as they were weeded out through rigors and tribulations designed to instruct/develop elite warriors and discourage/break everyone else.

I'm continually inspired by human beings who rise to challenges. The men featured on the show weren't superheros. They were just guys who at some point made the conscious decision to commit to a life marked by pain and failure and persecution. Why?

Bragging rights? Brotherhood?

I doubt it. Neither of those things would make the torture worth it. Something greater must be driving them. Perhaps they accept that to live is to be in pain, to experience failure, and to face persecution. Might as well prepare as best you can.

A friend sent me a link to a commencement address given by Naval Admiral William H. McRaven at the University of Texas at Austin. In it, he details his own experience in SEAL basic training. Check it out in its entirety (very inspiring). The part that stood out to me most was the advice he gives based on how the SEAL candidates dealt with a particularly awful event during "Hell Week."

The ninth week of training is referred to as “Hell Week.” It is six days of no sleep, constant physical and mental harassment and—one special day at the Mud Flats—the Mud Flats are an area between San Diego and Tijuana where the water runs off and creates the Tijuana slue’s—a swampy patch of terrain where the mud will engulf you.

It is on Wednesday of Hell Week that you paddle down to the mud flats and spend the next 15 hours trying to survive the freezing cold mud, the howling wind and the incessant pressure to quit from the instructors.

As the sun began to set that Wednesday evening, my training class, having committed some “egregious infraction of the rules” was ordered into the mud.

The mud consumed each man till there was nothing visible but our heads. The instructors told us we could leave the mud if only five men would quit—just five men and we could get out of the oppressive cold.

Looking around the mud flat it was apparent that some students were about to give up. It was still over eight hours till the sun came up—eight more hours of bone chilling cold.

The chattering teeth and shivering moans of the trainees were so loud it was hard to hear anything and then, one voice began to echo through the night—one voice raised in song.

The song was terribly out of tune, but sung with great enthusiasm.

One voice became two and two became three and before long everyone in the class was singing.

We knew that if one man could rise above the misery then others could as well.

The instructors threatened us with more time in the mud if we kept up the singing—but the singing persisted.

And somehow—the mud seemed a little warmer, the wind a little tamer and the dawn not so far away.

If I have learned anything in my time traveling the world, it is the power of hope. The power of one person—Washington, Lincoln, King, Mandela and even a young girl from Pakistan—Malala—one person can change the world by giving people hope.

#9. So, if you want to change the world, start singing when you’re up to your neck in mud.

Hope is perhaps the most powerful force on the planet. We all experience moments when we feel completely alone, abandoned, forgotten... neck deep in "mud." There will be times when all you have in the world is a song. And if you have that song, it is enough.

Image Source: http://sunshineandpearls.tumblr.com

[choosethewayofgrace]

What's a Wonderwall Anyway?

Probably my biggest housewife fail was my utter and complete lack of decorating skills. Now that I am single, the trend continues. Perhaps its that perfect blend of thriftiness and laziness that renders my home plain and largely unfurnished. Left to my own devices, I don't mind a white wall. I feel completely at home in the sparsely appointed space I inhabit. It is not until a friend or family member casually mentions a decorating idea that I am reminded of my inferiority in this arena.

I do appreciate a well-designed space. I've been known to watch an HGTV marathon once in a while. I just feel incapable of replicating those results on my own.

But if anything can break me out of my home design rut, it's my favorite baseball team, the St. Louis Cardinals. So when a good friend gifted me with this beautiful vintage pennant, I had no choice but to be inspired.

Baby steps, right?