March 15, 2012
Vision and Questions for the Future
“Let me explain– No, there is too much. Let me sum up.” (Name that movie!)
It’s a long story that I’ve shared bits and pieces of, but the summary is that Adam and I have been seriously praying about the possibility of going overseas for two years to do ministry. We’ve sent in our applications so that we can talk with the organization, find out more about the opportunity, and go from there. (Incidentally, the application is part of the reason for the lack of block posts lately: too much other writing for the application and school!)
Ever since we started the application process we’ve been blindsided by a bunch of reasons NOT to go. We’re still processing them, trying to discern if any of them are God saying “Wait” or if they’re just life being life, or the enemy being the enemy, or what. It’s exhausting and discouraging, but also a good lesson in trust and learning to listen to the Father. We’re really in limbo so I can’t say what’s going to happen, but if I don’t at least mention it now and we do decide to go, you’ll all think it came out of thin air, so I’m mentioning it!
At any rate, that’s not the real point of this post, just the background. Here’s the point: I get prayer updates from someone doing ministry in a dangerous part of the world, and they recently had some people visit the region to see about maybe coming to minister there. This was in a recent update from my friend, and it just about made me cry, because I can so relate! I can’t share my friend’s name, but they gave me permission to post this. If you’re in the same boat, I hope it’s encouraging to you, too!
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“Some call them vision trips. Others say they’re survey trips. Whatever the name, it’s all about breathing the air, walking the ground, and wondering if you could do it. Could you make this move? Could you live here, in this stranger than you’ve ever imagined place? It’s about putting your real self and your shimmering dreams before others you may have met only through email, if at all. It’s about listening to what’s said and what’s left unsaid. Its about pushing back the doubts and fears and straining to hear our Father’s voice.
“I am always awed at the courage of vision-trippers. It’s a journey of pure faith; flying face-forward into the abyss. It’s knowing that you’re called but wondering who, if anyone, will receive you. And if they do receive you, will they be glad for it? Will you find a home with the little band, the team you’ve agreed to join? Will you make good decisions? Do you really know who you are? Are you ready? And if you do come, will anyone back home support you? Will people really pray? Will they give? Will they remember you? Will it be enough? And who said you could do this, anyway? Who said you had anything to give? Why don’t you just stay home? Isn’t there enough work to be done there? And how could you take our grandchildren so far away? What about your career and your retirement – and a hundred other challenges?
“This is why I’m always awed at the faith of vision-trippers. These are folks who’ve started the journey. Who’ve stood up and bravely said; ‘I want to go.’ They have some partners who’ve said; ‘I believe in you.’ Who pray and give – who invest in the brave dream that’s not yet been fulfilled. They’ve completed applications and joined an organization. They’ve prayed their hearts out and started counting the cost. They’ve stepped headlong into a spiritual battle the likes of which they’ve never experienced before. The enemy rises up in rage. “Who do you think you are!?!” With weapons of doubt and fear, he would stop us in our tracks if God were not with us. This is why I love vision-trippers. I love their sheer courage and trembling faith. The next steps are clear; join a field-team, raise support and go. If you know any such people, cheer them on. Celebrate their journey. Enjoy the overflow of their faith.”
July 1, 2010
The Journey
I sat in a far corner of the bustling terminal, dressed in pants and a long cotton coat in spite of the stifling heat. The most amazing thing, however, was the scarf covering my hair and wrapped around my shoulders. I’d been waiting long months, months full of endless preparations, worry, details, communication, and tears. Now, at long last, I had arrived in the airport in Dubai, pulled that scarf out of my suitcase and carefully placed it on my head. It was like becoming someone else.
The exhausted knot of worry in my stomach was accompanied by a leaden feeling that seemed to slug through my veins. I was terrified. Through the entire lonely trip I’d felt distant and removed, like I was watching myself in a movie. I found myself repeating an inner monologue as though I was commenting on my life from outside.
What am I doing? I’m not brave! Why am I here? What was I thinking? I can’t do this. I’m not…brave.
It was like I’d had delusions of grandeur and suddenly realized they’d gotten me in way over my head. Was I really here, and really about to go there? It almost seemed hilarious to me, like a farce. What EVER made me think I could do this?
But, like a robot, I had packed my suitcases, walked though airport security, boarded one plane, then another, then another, until suddenly I found myself on the other side of the world, with burqa-clad women bustling around me, listening numbly as the swirling tones of Arabic carried through the humid air, staring up at spiraling mosque turrets and quickly lowering my gaze from the prying eyes of dark-skinned, turbaned men.
One more plane, and the long, exhausting hours of sitting and rumbling would be over. One more plane to board, and I’d be there. The place I’d prayed over, agonized over, longed for. Afghanistan. I was going.
What was I thinking?
Before I knew it I was staring out the plane window as we took off. It was final now—terrified or not, I was being hurtled towards Afghanistan. Where was the excitement? How many years had I ached to be right where I was now, about to step onto Muslim land? But all I felt was numb inadequacy.
Hello, Lord, I said, reaching for that connection, desperate to know I wasn’t alone. It was like grabbing for a rope and pulling, trying to get closer to my anchor, wanting to feel the tension on the line that meant God was on the other end of it.
After an hour that felt like minutes we started our decent, and I reached up to make sure my headcovering was in place. It was going to take a while to get used to this. I pulled my camera out and held it at arms-length, forcing a brave smile. Click, and it was real. Me, in a headcovering, flying into Afghanistan. Exhausted, grimy, unsure, but going.
I looked out the window. The clouds were beginning to wisp away, letting green smudges melt through. The smudges became more clear, rising up to form gray-green mountain ranges, then sinking down into flat, bright green fields. This was it: my first sight of a place I’d prayed for for so long. Tiny, weather-beaten houses began to dot the landscape, and I felt a quiver go through me, like a spark of light in a dark room. The land continued to take shape; I could see fields, houses, people, roads. The flicker began to spread, sending warmth gently from my heart down to my fingertips.
Afghanistan. It was here. I was here.
Suddenly the fear seemed to be dripping and mingling with the slowly pulsing beat of excitement. I grasped that excitement with amazement. At last, there it was! Suddenly I felt again what I’d felt for years—a longing, broken-hearted desire to touch this place, to step onto the ground with light and truth. To see the darkness shattered. In that moment my heart broke with the overwhelming feeling that I was loved and not alone. I could feel his hands around my heart, infusing the broken pieces with love and strength and momentum. Cradling my heart above this place I’d ached for so long, ready to let the pieces fall like seeds in the desert.
The plane landed, and I gathered my things, checked my head covering and walked to the door. I stepped outside, walked down the steps, and put my foot on the ground.
I was here. Afghanistan.
June 19, 2010
True Story in a Bookstore
We get all sorts of strange requests at the bookstore I work at, people who saw a book a year ago on the shelf by the window and can’t remember its title or author or what it was about…and want us to find it for them. Most of the time they’re nice, and it’s a rewarding treasure hunt if we can semi-miraculously find what they’re talking about. One particular story stands out to me, though.
Right before Christmas I asked a 40-something year old man in a business suit if I could help him find anything. He rubbed a hand on the back of his neck and hesitated for a second before saying,
“Well, I have kind of a weird request. I’m looking for a book, and I don’t remember the title of it. My mom just passed away, and she was reading it.”
I told him I was so sorry, he thanked me and offered a few more details about the book. “I think the author was a man; it had a picture of a man on the back, and the cover was blue. I think it was a New York Times Bestseller.”
That was enough information for me to know where to start, so I walked him over to a shelf and picked up a Nicholas Sparks book with a misty blue cover.
“This one, maybe?”
“Oh my goodness,” he said softly, reaching for it. “That’s it. She was reading it when she passed away. I wanted to give a copy to each of my siblings.”
It was then that the title of the book hit me and I couldn’t stop a soft exclamation of “Oh!” He looked at me as I covered my mouth, not wanting to state the obvious poignancy. I’d never read the book and had no idea what it was about, but it seemed a surreal book to be reading during your last few days with your family. He still had a confused look, and at last I managed, “The title….”
He looked down at the book again, and realization dawned. He breathed a little laugh and shook his head. “Wow. That didn’t even occur to me.” He was quiet for a minute, smiling a soft, sad smile. “Thank you so much,” he told me. “This means a lot. I can’t believe we found it.”
I smiled, told him I was so glad to help, that my husband’s grandmother had just passed away and we were grieving too. He smiled back and thanked me again, told me again how much it meant, and walked away with five copies in his arms: one for each sibling, a small memento of their mother and her last days.
The book was called The Last Song.
June 11, 2010
Transparency
I couldn’t think of anything interesting to write tonight, so I was searching through my quotes file when I found this. It’s a bad, bad, BAD example of “poetry” (please accept my humble and heartfelt apologies to the entire genre for using that term to describe it) but it still resonates with me.
Transparency
At last I stop, I crumble, and let all the pieces fall.
Transparent at last, a broken, watermarked soul.
There has to be more you want from me;
Some strength You’ve given me to play a part in this eternal vision
That dances with searing steps through my consciousness.
Why don’t You pick me up and dust me off and turn me into a
Blazing mirror of Your glory that flashes into the darkness?
But I’m no shining mirror; instead I’m a lump of broken clay,
And I can feel the cracks painfully traveling through me
How can I hold any of Your majesty in this state?
I am desperately trying to hold the pieces together,
Trying to protect this shiny pretext from realty.
Then a searing ray of dazzling light shoots from nowhere.
I see it dancing through the cracks and piercing deep into the darkness.
It staggers me in wonder as its brilliant, glorious beams escape,
And I realize this light has burst from behind this crumbled, cracked façade,
No longer bound by all of me that was in the way until I was torn asunder.
Like Gideon’s jars smashed to pieces, I’m broken,
But the light is revealed, and it envelops me and dances majestically
As I suddenly realize that transparency
Is only a measure of how much light I allow to travel through me.
My desperate attempts to hold the pieces of my pretence of perfection together
Have only kept the real glory from shooting into the darkness.
This shattered, broken, dusty lump of clay
Is a perfect example of all You can do with nothing.
I realize why I’m clay—so that the surpassing glory will obviously be Yours.
It must be You, it must.
Oh, Father, I need You. No one else has the words of life.
“But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, so that the surpassing greatness of the power will be of God and not from ourselves; we are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not despairing; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying about in the body the dying of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our body… Therefore we do not lose heart.” 2 Corinthians 4:7-10, 16
Copyright T.H., January 16, 2007
May 22, 2010
A New Saga
It may be a little bit dramatic, but I can’t help thinking that tomorrow will begin a new saga of my life. Hopefully, prayerfully, oh-PLEASE-fully, it will involve some “margin.” Last Friday I officially finished/survived/collapsed at the finish line of my term of full-time work and full-time school at the same time. I was able to get everything done, but it left me with NO margin. No time to make new friends, be involved at church, cook meals, sleep, or deal with unforeseen issues (for example, I just about had a breakdown when Knightley needed to be taken to the vet last week, right in the middle of my big research project.)
One of the things that has been the most distressing to me is that I’ve felt like I haven’t been able to “be a wife.” I don’t want to get into a big discussion of women’s roles here, and please don’t misinterpret me and think I subscribe to the “barefoot in the kitchen” model. But, what I will say is that it was very distressing to me to head off to work leaving a half-folded tower of laundry, a floor carpeted in dog hair, and a note for Adam that there was canned soup in the cupboard (“Oh and could you please clean the toilet because you’re so wonderful?”), and then come home and immediately lock myself in the office with my textbooks (and my bowl of soup). Adam, wonderful man that he is, very graciously picked up my slack, cleaning the house and even cooking. But it still made me feel frustrated, stressed and unfulfilled.
I always knew I wanted to be a wife and mother (among other things) but I’ve actually been a little surprised by how fulfilling I find the “homemaking” tasks the feminist movement has made sound so negative. I kind of thought other things would fulfill me and the homemaking stuff would just be work that had to get done. But not only am I realizing how much satisfaction I get out of crafting our home, what has been more apparent of late is how UNfulfilled I feel when other life demands keep me from being able to actively create our home environment. I can’t say I get big kicks and giggles vacuuming or cutting the fat off chicken breasts for dinner. But, I love the total affect. I love when the place we come home to at night, the place that envelops the most personal and cherished parts of our lives, can be described with words like restful, warm, nourishing, created, orderly, inviting, etc.
The shocking takeaway? God knows what He’s talking about. (Whoa!) No matter what the world tells us, His instructions for roles are GOOD ideas. Ideas that fulfill us and bring us peace. And, here I have to give credit to my amazing mom, because I’ve spent my whole life watching her beautiful illustration of what this looks like.
So, after many talks with Adam, we decided it was time for me to cut back to part-time at work. I should note that the reason we’re able to do this is because wonderful Adam is working two jobs right now to provide for us. I feel a little scared and a little guilty: scared because this involves both a pay cut and an hours cut, and guilty because part of me is still saying, “You’re just too lazy to be able to handle it all.” But, I’m holding on to two truths: first, God has been INCREDIBLY faithful to provide for us financially. Adam’s second job was just dropped in his lap, for example. And second, I believe God is happy with my desire to take care of Adam and our home, and if this is what He’s asking me to do, He’ll take care of burdens I can’t shoulder.
And last but not least, not only will this allow me to oversee my little home domain again, but it will also give me time to be involved in other things that fulfill me, like ministry and (dun dun dun!) THIS BLOG!! So let the new saga begin, and may I protect it a little better from now on.
August 18, 2009
Death By Rearview Mirror
It must have been a rather contradictory sight: me, in my black stiletto heels, wide-leg slacks, and chunky jewelry, stepping out of a hunter green S10 pickup with a camouflage steering wheel cover. But when you gotta get to an interview, you gotta get to an interview. (Much thanks to Nate for graciously loaning me Kermit, his “hick truck,” by the way!) What’s wrong with my car, you ask? Just one tiny detail: the rearview mirror fell off and is swinging dejectedly from its wire, face down.
Should I go into detail about our three-and-counting attempts to fix it? I think the thing has lost its will to live, or at least its will to be attached to the windshield. Interestingly enough, this happened to me with my last car, too. It has gotten me thinking about perspective, though. How would you drive if you couldn’t look backwards? I’ve spent a lot of time this summer looking backwards and inwards. Both can be good things, but I’ve gotten almost obsessive about it as I’ve tried to figure out my weird life circumstances and how I am (or am not) dealing with them.
Corrie Ten Boom said “If you look at the world you will be distressed; if you look within you will be depressed; if you look at Christ you will be at rest.” I’ve experienced all three of those realities lately. My unemployment and the uncertainty of our future has definitely been distressing, and as I’ve desperately tried to figure out how to answer the constant question, “How are you doing?” I’ve felt almost depressed at times. I feel like God has been quietly calling me again and again to stop worrying about everything else and pay attention to Him. It’s a constant mental battle to bounce my thoughts off my worries and say, “Oh, hi, God. How are You doing? Fine? Oh, okay, I guess everything must be fine with my life, too. You haven’t freaked out yet.” It’s almost like how when you’re fasting, hunger pangs remind you to keep praying. I’m trying to train myself to use my pangs of introspection, worry, or whatever as reminders to acknowledge God’s presence and sovereignty and interest in my life. As reminders to REST. Some days my thoughts seem like a ping-pong ball bouncing between the two extremes.
Another interesting fact about the dangling mirror is that, were I to drive with it swinging there, there’s a good chance it would bash me in the face. I’m pretty sure that a wrong perspective has about the same effect.
July 14, 2009
The Breakdown–Part 2
I don’t know why I’ve had such a hard time writing this post. Maybe (probably) because I don’t fully get it yet. There’s no “Ba-da-bing! God fixed it!” ending yet. But since I don’t feel like I can blog about anything else until I finish this, and since I’m afraid I’ve made some of you wonder if I’m on the brink of losing it completely (ha), I’d better finish it!
So, that said, “Good morning, class; today I’m giving you a pop quiz! <deep, evil laugh of evilness>” Question One: Find the common denominator: “What if I’m doing something wrong? What if I’m sinning? What if I’m not listening to Him? What if this is my fault? What if I’m being lazy? What if I can’t do it?”
I spend a LOT of time trying to dissect those questions, or similar ones. It was my brilliantly astute husband who once pointed out (during my tirade of similar fears), “There are a lot of ‘I’s’ in those questions.” That hit me like a ton of bricks—I’d never thought about that before. His point was that I’d been worrying so much about myself and my actions that I’d lost my focus on Christ.
I tend to be terrified of my own weaknesses and sin nature. That kind of sounds like a spiritual thing, but it isn’t; not when I get so fixated on my own weaknesses that I stop being fixated on the Lord. If the definition of an idol is anything I put before God, then I’m actually idolizing my sin nature by acting as if it’s more powerful than God’s ability to convict me, guide me, even rescue me. If He wants me to walk rightly even more than I do—and I know He does—why would I worry that He’d give me the cold shoulder when I ask Him if I’m doing anything wrong?
That also comes back to a misunderstanding of sin and fellowship. I thought for a long time that my sin broke my fellowship with God—that He wouldn’t help or listen to me if I was in sin. But that didn’t make sense to me, mainly because that would create an impossible cycle. I can never get out of sin without His help, but if He won’t help me or fellowship with me until I’m not sinning, how can I stop?
Years ago one of my favorite teachers at the Bible school, Rick Barth, pointed out to me that what breaks our fellowship isn’t just sin, but our refusal to agree with God that we’re sinning (confess). He convicts me and shines His light on my sin, and I either agree with Him and stay in the light, or I refuse to listen to Him and then, when the light becomes too uncomfortable, I, MYSELF step out of His light and fellowship. It’s not that God will only tolerate me so far before He’ll shun me in order to punish me. He’s always there to gently show me my sin and urge me to walk in the new life He’s given me—it’s ME who either listend or turns away.
This also touches on how deeply I feel like God’s acceptance of me and willingness to work with me is based on my performance. I know in my head that it isn’t, that He views me in His son and has told me to boldly come to His throne of grace for help. But I still want desperately to be “doing good,” and I’m afraid sometimes my view of Him is warped enough to think He’ll abandon me if I don’t keep doing well. I forget He loved me while I was still an unsaved sinner, and worry that now that I’m a saved child who sins, He just might decide to stop loving me—at least until I get my act together. Which also shows a warped view of myself. As if Jesus’ death and life wasn’t QUITE enough, and I can somehow work hard enough to make Him love me more.
So what’s the bottom line on all this? I need to stop pacing outside His throne room, examining every little thing I’ve done, terrified that I might have done something wrong and He’s behind those doors fuming, just waiting for me to come in so He can punish me. Or ignore me. Or any of the many things He could do, other what He’s promised TO do: give me grace, mercy, and help in my need. I need to stop freaking out and get my eyes back on Him. If I’m doing something wrong, He’ll show me, and He’ll help me. And if I’m not, it’s okay to just wait and keep moving forward. More scared analyzing of MYSELF and MY fears and MY failures isn’t going to get me nearly so far as just sitting at His feet and asking Him for HIS assessment and guidance. And if He chooses not to say anything about me right now, then that’s fine—I can still look at HIM. That’s plenty to fill my mind and heart.
June 23, 2009
Good Blog Post
I really enjoyed a blog post today by one of my favorite authors, Karen Hancock. I relate to the stressed, overwhelmed feeling she talks about that leads to panic and self-condemnation. It was a good reminder. http://karenhancock.blogspot.com/ The post is “His Plan, Not Mine. Again.” Good stuff!
June 10, 2009
Living in Retrospect
God is not going to let me rest until I write this. I’ve often thought that, “in retrospect,” I don’t know why I stressed out about _______(enter stressful situation here) so much. God always works it out, but until I see how He does it, I can spend a lot of energy worrying. Retrospect always looks so different, though—hindsight is 20/20, to borrow another cliché. In retrospect I can usually see that God was in control and took care of all the details I wasn’t sure He would. Once I’m looking at life “in retrospect,” I’m peaceful and thanking God for so attentively caring for me.
I think the challenge is to learn how to “live in retrospect” now. It’s almost like putting on glasses. “Retrospect glasses” are composed of peace, thankfulness, and assurance that God had it all under control. Too often I don’t put them on until AFTER I’ve worried a lot and AFTER I’ve seen God (again) come through.
The lenses of retrospect glasses are made of what I know about God. I know He’s faithful. I know He’s promised to take care of me. I know He’s good. I know He’s concerned about my well-being. I know He doesn’t change. Knowing all of that should alter the way I look at life. It should, like glasses, put things in the right perspective so that I stop worrying.
The frames that hold retrospect glasses together (and, perhaps more importantly, on my face) should be made of how many times I’ve seen God come through in the past. I don’t just know random facts about Him, I’ve SEEN it in how He treats me. Time and time again, He comes through, and I think, “I should have known He had it all worked out.”
If I let them fall off, I need to put the retrospect glasses on by remembering who He is and what He’s done, thanking Him it; “setting up monuments” to remind myself of how God has come through in the past.
So, I’m (trying to) chose to look at life in retrospect now. I, like many, am unemployed. The deadbeat life was nice for about a week, but now has melted into a puddle of restless, stressed-out, too-much-time-to-think goo. I’ve been doing pretty good staying peaceful (remarkably good, actually), until the last few days. So, I searched the house for my retrospect glasses, and they are now back on my nose where they belong (with a little tape on the nosepiece, in my imagination). I’ll let you know how He comes through (again).
