In the Meadow

For many years we lived across an open field of farm land.  My mother used to say that we were blessed with a different picture out our living room window everyday.  Shades of purples, pinks, and azures, so beautiful, you felt you were kissed personally in your gaze across the dusty gravel road.  My favorite times were often the night skies, driving down our long stretch of driveway only to open my car door and step into a paradise of constellations.  The music of prairie creatures serenading me in the backdrop, as I looked up and felt simultaneously minuscule, yet grand.  It was in some of these moments, I felt closer to God than ever before.

I read a book recently called “The Anatomy of the Soul” by a Christian doctor who specializes in mindfulness.  One of the exercises challenges you to visualize a place where you would meet with Jesus.  The goal is to, in the hustle and bustle of life, be able to take this image with you wherever you go.  It is meant to represent a place of safety, a place like home, a place to be renewed. A sanctuary to meet with your Creator. To pray with him, and unite with him.

It took me some time to imagine the right scene where I could visualize him there with me without it turning into some religious hocus pocus.  I wanted to experience a real feeling that was tangible to me.

At first I visualized a forest, with its lush green leaves, its mossy coverings that can soak you in like a sponge.  The shade and the seclusion.  I thought it would be a welcoming place for me to sit and talk to my savior.  But, I couldn’t find him there.

Then I tried a creek.  The soothing sounds of water flowing, trickling over rocks and crevices.  Surrounded by bulrushes and songs from crickets.  But, I was alone there too.

I even tried a bustling Paris street.  An open air café, French music, and the din of the restaurant guests surrounding us and cushioning us in safety.  But, it was a table for one.

I looked under and over water.  In a boat and on a shore.  I tried welcoming him to walk with me on a tropical beach.  But, in all these places too, I was distracted by my own thoughts and overshadowed by myself.

And then it finally came to me, this place where I could sit and talk with the risen Christ and not be disturbed by the outside world. Without my selfish ambition, my present troubles, my past mistakes, my current ones,  my future concerns.  I found him in the stretch of prairie land that used to lay vacant across from my childhood home.

He met me in the meadow.  With wheat as tall as a small child.  A slight wind through my hair.  The sun has not quite set, but it’s late in the afternoon.  We sit and talk here.    I tell him what is on my heart.  My longings.  My fears.  My disappointments.  And My joys. I experience his embrace here.  His listening.  His strong arms.  His love for me. I don’t need to hide my face, in fact he cups it gently when I try to.  And when I am ready to leave this place, I am again made new.

He meets me in a meadow.  Where does he meet you?

Psalm 23:1 He lets me rest in green meadows; he leads me beside peaceful streams.  He renews my strength.

God is Good?

I flip through photographs in our local newspaper of the food crisis in East Africa and I feel devastated and powerless.  In my end of the globe, my paper can be shut, my television turned off, my tummy full, my indulgences mostly satisfied. I want my daughter to understand how good we really do have it.  It’s a fine balance between celebrating the wonders of childhood, yet acknowledging the realities of what is happening on our planet.

We walk upstairs to her playroom in front of the map of the world.  Where is Canada Olivia? She points.  The United States? She taps.  Africa? I guide her finger across the Atlantic to the vast stretch of land that overshadows the size of our own.  We hone in on Somalia, on Ethiopia, on Sudan.  Three countries she’s heard of, but has not set foot on. Yet.

Why don’t they have food Mommy?  Little questions with very big answers.  We look at some pictures of the people, but most are too tragic for her little eyes so we shut the computer. 

Let’s send the money in our piggy banks Mommy.  We agree on the idea and walk past our filled refrigerator to pull out our craft box.  Above is the picture of the piggy bank we made to fill for those starving in Africa. We’ve kept it in the kitchen and are reminded as we bow our heads before dinner to say grace. “Thank you for this food, Lord.” My daughter says it every night before supper as the bedtime prayer is “too tricky” and left for mom.

In teaching her about our world, I hope she grasps the wonder and beauty all around her, but is ever mindful of the gaping wounds and needs just the same.  And I know she’ll have to make her own way through understanding why bad things still happen.  Why innocent people are hurt.  Why people die too young.  Why there is injustice when we sing about God’s sovereignty and power.  Little questions with very big answers.  Ones we are never fully satisfied with. Seemingly contrived responses which don’t soothe our aching hearts.  Our aching hearts which really are asking, how a heavenly father can sit back and watch his children’s demise.

I don’t have the answers.  I can offer scripture verses and arguments which may or may not, but are unlikely too, heal your broken heart.  God’s ways are not our ways. One day in heaven, we will understand. Justice may not be served on this end of heaven, but eternally one day it will pass.  But, it doesn’t cover the wound, does it?

Because, all we want right now is to be embraced in a real way.  To run home to comforting arms who will somehow make it all better and take the pain away.  Someone who will fix it.  Someone who will wipe our tears.  Someone who will be there, loving us, our neighbour, our children, and the children in Africa in a bigger, more beautiful way, than our small selves can. Someone who has got the whole world in his hands.

Today, I can’t give my daughter all the answers to appease her 4 year old brain.  I don’t have all the answers for my 33 year old one.  But, the character and nature of the loving father that we bow our heads to and fall on our knees for, on a daily basis speaks to our hearts.  He weeps in our pain and heartache.  He holds us and carries us when we are broken and cannot get up.  He is there as comforter and healer of a broken world with hungry people.  He speaks to our hearts and works in us to be the hands and feet of Christ on this planet.  He covers the gaps and the holes. He cares deeply and intimately about your personal pain and the pain of the world. 

If we spend our time questioning if God is good, I think we miss the point.  If we can allow him to meet us in our darkest places, and be open to his embrace, we will experience his goodness.  Cancer, poverty, brokenness and all. Sometimes it is fixed, sometimes it is not for reasons we don't understand.  But always, always, God is good.

Then Jesus wept. John 11:35

A Case of the Maybees

We live in a world that clings to results.  Our “yeses” and “no's” either move us forward, or propel us in a different direction.  We are uncomfortable being stagnate. We are natural born movers and shakers, craving momentum and motion. We set goals, we chart paths, and then when we reach our destination point we re-evaluate and set out again to find new adventures.  We find safety in clarity.  We have no use for the “maybees” that, like road blocks, seem to get in the way.

Our children follow closely in our footsteps. Time rolls back to a resounding, "we’ll see” as we brought our little requests before our wish granters. More often than not our maybees were really delayed yeses that we could wait on expectantly. 

If we are to be honest with ourselves, it is not so much the waiting that kills us.  It’s the uncertainty about what is on the other side.  Endurance is do-able if we are guaranteed a prize, but when we don’t know what is around the corner, the waiting in the maybe, can become excruciating. The discomfort  can steal the wind from our sails.

Do you hold a request before God that you have not yet received a clear answer for?  What do you do with your “maybees”?  Or rather, what do they do to you?  Do you throw your hands up, expecting to be let down?  Do you wait patiently and faithfully, content in whatever response?  Or, do you squirm, and demand an immediate reply either way, so you can pull up your boot straps and re-convene your game plan?  It's not easy is it; this waiting business.

What if God told you he calls you to be content and trusting in your maybe?   What if he promises that he can help you and strengthen you in your impatience and uncertainty?   What if what is behind door number one, is exactly what you have longed for?  Or, what if the answer is not what you had expected, but is more marvelous than anything you could have dreamed up on your own?  Could you lean on him? Can you wait on him? Will you trust him?

Maybe?

~Waiting for God's timing brings great rewards.~ Lamentations 3:25

Seeing Through

I have this thorn in my side.  This thing that has, for the past few months, been stealing my joy and lingering like an unwanted visitor.  If I could, I would blow it away with an AK-47 addressing the smithereens “return to sender”.

I’ve wrestled with it; 

Grappled with it; 

Prayed about it;

Talked about it; 

Cried about it;

Approached it from mathematical angles;

Stared it down at ungodly hours of the night;   but it just won’t leave my side. 

It’s not cancer, or earth shattering in the grand scheme of things, but it’s rattled my world enough for my feet to be thrown off course.  Enough for there to be a need to take multiple water breaks on my race.  Enough to slow me down.  Enough to need some extra cheer leaders.  Enough to require more grace. Enough to want to take my sneakers off and sit on the couch and instead eat bon-bons.  I don’t understand why it won’t go away.  This problem of mine.

I haven't yet learned the lesson in the pain.  I’m ready for the answer to the equation so the thorn will loosen its grip on me.  I am unclear what God is doing, and unsure what to take away from this whole experience.  He is still seeing me through.

I’ve argued with him on the path, I’ll admit.  I’ve been angry.  It seems unfair.  I feel left out.  I wonder where he is in it and if he needs reminders to get back from a vacation he’s been gone too long on.  But, I’m trusting.

I am trusting that God will see me through a painful process and hold my hand until I come out the other end because he promises us he does.  I remind myself that “this too shall pass” because it always does, and there are times and seasons, and he’s called me to be in this one.  I’m humbling myself to a bigger picture that I have yet to see in full completion, and I trust that my small strokes are needed because he tells me they are.

With mustard seed faith, I hold to Him who sees us through.

~We can rejoice, too, when we run into problems and trials, for we know that they are good for us-they help us to learn to endure.  And endurance develops strength of character in us, and character strengthens our confident expectation of salvation.  And this expectation will not disappoint us. ~Romans 5: 3-4

Throwing Stones

There was a group of us. Perhaps five or six if memory serves me correct.  Pre-teen girls on the verge of an adolescent jungle.  It was my twelfth birthday and we sat, semi circled in my basement.  Sleeping bags stretched up to our chins.  Awake on excitement and pick-a-pop drinks.  Our first birthday sleepover.

The night brimmed with group giggles and excitement.  Movies, pizza, and the long night ahead to whisper our unspoken dreams to one another.  But in between the innocence and experience lingered within me a one-up-man-ship.  Not knowing where it came from, or what to do with it, I tried to hide an ugly side that I knew was not conducive to pink ribbons and painted toe nails; I pretended it didn’t exist.

I’m not sure whose idea it was to start the game.  Pride and self righteousness shield me from the possibility that it could have been me.  The details are fuzzy, but the content clear; share one thing you don’t like about the person sitting next to you. It was dressed up, in pre-adolescent girl fashion to be paradoxically, an aide; words that will separate wheat from chaff so fruit can bear in our friend.  But, we all knew it wasn’t about that. It was about tearing down, not building up.  A way to take our ugliness and have it transformed and mantled on a pedestal above our neighbor. Somehow in the knocking down, we imagined we were beautified.  A lot of broken hearts left the next day.

This image replayed itself in varying forms throughout our teenage years; this throwing of stones at our neighbor.  Hallway drama, backdoor gossip, hurtful exchanges, subtle glances.  All in an attempt to make ourselves somehow bigger, somehow better, somehow more important.

As adults the stones continue to be thrown in neighborhoods, in nations, and in families.  We knock each other down all in an attempt to glorify ourselves.  We continue to pretend that the ugly side just doesn’t exist. We dress it up.  We masquerade in love and well wishes. We fight for good causes.  We stand for human rights.  We show compassion.  But, if we are honest with ourselves and the states of our hearts and thoughts, we find a side that we don’t know what to do with.  We ignore it.  We cover it.  We deny it.  But, then we find our neighbors window broken and the rocks falling loosely from our hands.

With age, and broken windows myself, I am able a little more, to acknowledge my ugly side. My humanness wants badly to reconcile and improve this weakness myself.  But, regardless of how hard I try, I strike out in vain attempts to get it together.  I’m accepting a little more, that I alone, can’t get it together.  That I am in need of something, somebody , to save me from myself.  My tendency is to want to remain in my glass fortress above others.  My ugly side; it's a relief to give it to Him and somehow my messes are made more beautiful.  And I still screw up, fall short, fall down, and need forgiveness, but I don't need to hide this anymore for I've got someone who can handle it and my stones.  Oh, what a savior.

~I refresh the humble and give new courage to those with repentant hearts~Isaiah 57:15

Majesty

Sometimes, it is in the most unexpected places where we stumble upon a sense of tranquility; a feeling of coming home.  And it’s often not so much about the places that we go, but more about the internal places that our minds take us.  Experiences that linger in our memory; ones that we can take with us wherever we go.  A pocketful of dreams.  Those moments, however brief, can be life renewing, life changing, whether they are captured on a beach in Tahiti, or a bus bench on the way to work.  You know the feeling between exhalations when suddenly all is felt right with the world; warmth radiating and resonating to the tips of your toes; peace.

This week my peace was found in a simple wood cabin, two hundred kilometers from my city home.   Four small walls adorned with a mossy roof, clothed in fish flies, and nestled between evergreens and poplar trees.  My daughter and I embarked on an adventure known as family camp.  Albeit, less exotic than perusing the streets of Paris, but surprisingly, as gratifying and fulfilling for reasons classified for now as “other”.

Six days forty campers, a dozen or so staff, living, eating, and playing in a community bordering the edge of a lake.  Trudging along hiking trails, twirling on old tire swings. Toes dipped off floating docks.  Collecting rocks and memories.

As I sit in Calamined lotion sleeping bag, taking in the scent of the lake water as the wind christens our wooden cave, offering us both comfort and mystery, I am thankful.  Thankful for a fellowship of family campers, united together for one week as neighbors and friends.  In the uniting, the banding together, different cultures, demographics, religions, and races are honored.  Each of us playing an important role in the functioning and wholeness-for this moment-of our camp.  Smiles and greetings and temporary adoption of children not our own, but who we love and care for this week just the same.

And I can’t help but step back and sense God smiling down on the whole affair.  This playground of families-sharing bug spray, morning coffee, and joy, in His perfect garden.  The intricacies of the dragon flies that settle on my lap, the majesty of the black bear who peeks at me behind the tall grass in the meadow, the beauty and terror of the thunderstorms that keep us awake at night, the spirit and camaraderie of the campfire songs, the warmth and radiance of the sun.

And I am left in awe of a miraculous, mysterious, majestic Creator here at family camp.  He takes my breath away.

Psalm 19:1-2  The heavens tell of the glory of God.  The skies display his marvelous craftsmanship.  Day after day they continue to speak;  night after night they make him known.

Dance Naked

We all have ways of coping when we are tired.  Different auto-pilot modes we fall into.  Mine is silent withdrawing.  My daughter, however, gets louder and sillier.  Today was one of those typical weekdays.  Rushing off in the morning and making magic happen in our household to achieve same.  Drop off to grandpa and grandma’s for the day while mommy rushes to work.  To eight hours later, rush back and reverse cycle.

Today was a longer day than anticipated as errands had to be run after work.  As such, dinner, bath time, and bedtime were pushed back. As my four year old glanced at me with her glazed eyes, I knew her alter ego had snuck in.

But, we had one of those special moments tonight that I hope has been engraved in our hearts for years to come.  A simple, unexpected moment of her drying off after the bath, toddling to the living room to set the stage for bedtime shows, only to hear a song on the tv instead.  And as the sun was setting and the rays shone through the peek in the living room curtain, my daughter smiled at me, raised her arms, and like nobody’s business, danced naked.  The laughter that ensued echoed through our house.  Our dog joined in the moment, wagging tail, with stuffie in mouth, as this little girl danced with all of her might, bum shakes and all, accompanied by the sound of her own contagious giggle.  And I laughed, that belly laugh that spilled over into the small chasm between chuckles and tears.  And then I cried.   For I love this little girl with all of my being and to hear her joy and freedom, my soul is at complete peace.  We are happy and so very blessed.

I hope today you experience a special moment.  One that is etched in your memory.  One that fills you with complete joy and the certainty that you are in the palm of His hand.  Dance naked!

“We were filled with laughter and we sang for joy” ~ Psalm 126:2

Running on Empty

I had a friend who used to talk about his “love tank”.  He could sense when his was empty;  times when he needed “filling up” and loved on. Other times, when he felt it was full, he found he had extra love to pour out to others who had “empty” tanks.  I thought it was a good analogy.

I’ve been running on less than a quarter tank this week.  Today I am starting to sputter and I may need to pull over and ask for a tow.  I hate that this gets in the way of life; this constant need to fill up.  I am a giver by nature and I would much prefer to dish out love and warm fuzzies to everyone I’m surrounded with at all times.  But, then my humanity comes in.  My selfishness, my fatigue, and I want to throw my head back and scream ,”I want my mom!” and be pampered with cozy duvets, chicken soup, and a day of watching game shows.  But, life is too busy, and a day of the Price as Right would cause me intense guilt and borderline depression.

We are uncomfortable with our weaknesses.  Our limits.  Our inabilities to carry on and carry through.  Our need to stop and rest.  Our sick days.  We hold true to the Little Engine that Could and “I think I can” our way into doing almost anything.  So we push ourselves and stretch ourselves . This can be a good thing, this tenacity and perseverance, but it can also shield us from the acceptance that we were made to not just be givers but to receive.  Somewhere in the emptiness too, we realize our imperfections and are aware of something much bigger and more glorious than ourselves.

I’ve wrestled with pride, ironically, more than I care to admit.  I have a fiercely independent streak which can make it difficult for me to depend on anyone, much less, God.  I can count the number of times I have asked God to fill me with his love for me.  I keep trying to run on empty.  Do you?

I’m learning though, that he wants me to keep a full tank, or at least, keep coming to him to get filled.  He’s showing me that I function better, love more, and he can work through me more effectively when I allow Him to fill me up.  He tells us not status, power, money, nor popularity can fill us, despite our tendencies to think they can.  So I’m leaning in, and trusting that I think We can…Let’s fill up.

"He lets me rest in green meadows; he leads me beside peaceful streams.  He renews my strength." ~ Psalm 23:2-3

 

Ideas?

This blogger and her daughter are soon to be on vacation and need your help!

I’m looking for ideas to reflect on and hopefully write about.

So, this is where you come in.  If you have a topic that is on your heart, or a subject you would like to read on, please feel free to send me your suggestions.  If you’d rather not post publically, do feel free to message me privately at londonbelz@gmail.com.

And remember, there are no poor suggestions. Ideas build on ideas, so anything you have big or small to offer is helpful.

Thanks & enjoy your week!

Christy

Comforter

I was looking forward to today.  Anticipation of morning time cuddles, crepes, and unstructured play were on the agenda. Those are some of my favorite days. 

Unexpected joys.

Summer time breezes.

Teachable moments.

Lazy afternoon naps.

Catching bugs and butterflies.

Discovering.  My daughter and I.

But it crept in like an unexpected visitor, taking over, clouding over.

And we couldn’t explore. Or mix batter. Or sculpt play-dough. Or dance like nobody’s watching.  We couldn’t even camp out on the living room floor escaping into someone else’s fairytale, sharing pillows, dreams, and giggles….

I had a migraine.

Have you been interrupted today? Have your plans been pushed aside by an unexpected visitor?  Life is full of them, isn’t it?  Things that get in the way. That weren’t on our agenda.  Obstacles.  Barriers.  Rendering us distracted, helpless, or irritated.

What do you do with your distractions? Your unwelcomed interruptions?  And what if they stick around for longer than you had anticipated? Days.  Months.  Years.  But, this wasn’t part of the plan, you say. And it certainly, couldn’t have been part of God’s.

Do you bring them to Him? The disappointments and distractions.  Or do you run with them attempting to conquer them for yourself? Do you feel God’s vengefully dished them out to you?  Or, do you instead feel forsaken?  I’ve been in all of those places too.  It’s easier, isn’t it, then carrying them on bended knee before him.  Or allowing Him to embrace you as his child. Comforting you.  Loving on you. Trusting His goodness. That He is all together worthy.

Can we try something different for today?  Can you bring your unexpected visitors to Him.  Trusting that He’s got it, that He cares about it, and that He loves you immeasurably, and therefore is deeply concerned for you and what you’re going through.  Today He is your comforter.

Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.  ~Matthew 11:28

Creator

While I’m an out of the box thinker, I’m an in the box do-er.  I follow recipes. I use instructions. I like maps. I’m not a leader, creator, or innovator by any stretch of the imagination, but creative people inspire me. 

My idea of a great afternoon would be spent in the company of an artist. I gravitate towards people who can create, design, invent, and produce.  I admire those who risk by pushing the envelope of life; individuals who cross borders and barriers. Dancers, musicians, artists: creators.  I've never been  much of one myself; coloring outside the lines in my coloring book caused me anxiety. So, in lieu of this apparent deficiency, I’ve fueled my creative side by surrounding myself with other people who come by it naturally, hoping by osmosis that some artistic talent will seep over into my side of the sandbox.

But, at some point it grows old, this coat tail riding.  Recently, I’ve decided it is important to break the chain so I'm attempting to get in touch with my own creative self.  Or at the very least, find if one exists at all.  And God is revealing some pretty amazing things in the process.

The beautiful truth is we are designed by the most creative of them all.   From nature, to wildlife, to our wild lives, we are shown a hint of his creative character.  And the amazing thing is he tells us we are made in his image.  We witness tastes of this-this image bearing -through symphonies, science, and song.  We know it with all of our being when we observe greatness in another.  We are then reminded of the vast array of creative skills he has infused in people for our pleasure and his. 

So, in thinking on this, my scope of what it means to be creative has been expanded.  And no, I won't paint a masterpiece or be scouted in dance, but I am reminded to honor my small creations as something beautiful and God breathed.  And you know what? I already feel more whole.  More myself.  More of God.

Whether it’s through your cooking, your gardening, your artwork, your parenting, your dancing, or your writing, get back in touch with the creative skills God has instilled in you.  They are waiting to be dusted off and danced with.  If you feel they aren’t there, I promise you they are because you are made in His image and like his, part of our character is to create.    He is waiting for your glorious self to color outside the lines.  It's time to get messy.

My heart overflows with a beautiful thought!  I will recite a lovely poem to the king, for my tongue is like the pen of a skillful poet.  Psalm 45:1

Just another Sabbath Sunday...

I missed church this morning and for the first time ever, I think, felt guilty about it.  Not because of the “shoulds” or because it’s going to change the way God feels about me, because it’s not, and I do really enjoy going.  It uplifts me.  It sets my sites straight for the week.  And because I feel there is a lot I want to give back to God and I do that at church emotionally and physically, in song, in service, and in sacrifice.  It is part of our week and it is much like coming home to a family reunion.  Hellos and hugs and catching up on the weeks gone past and the weeks ahead. 

It’s a real place, with real people, who have real problems, and real victories and there is something holy in gathering together as a community laying it all down at the feet of our Father for that hour and a half on a Sunday.  It’s my favorite day of the week; always has been and I suspect always will be.

But, I was tired this morning and my body needed rest.  I played mental gymnastics with my alarm clock and in the end it won out, offering me acceptance for lying in bed just a little while longer.

As I poured my morning coffee and grappled with my guilt, I got thinking about why it is important to go to church consistently and why God wants me to take that commitment seriously and here’s what I’ve come up with:

1)      Of all the “life’s little instructions” God could leave for us, He left ten primary ones. One of which, is to set apart a day to rest, meditate on him, and keep holy.  I’m thinking he meant business on that or he would have left us another instruction like always wear sunscreen.

2)      We dedicate regular time to enjoy intimacy with our spouses and friends and need to commit to doing this consistently or the relationships die.  Why would God require less of us?

3)      Some of us dedicate several days of the week to keeping our bodies physically fit.  As we do so, our muscles are strengthened and our endurance improves.  Why would we assume our spiritual muscles can get away with a monthly workout or less than that?

4)      Half of the battle in growing our faith involves fostering relationships with other believers we can talk openly to about our struggles, our doubts, and our questions.  If we are trying to grow it in isolation, we are likely to remain stifled, or extremely misguided.

5)      Being the “hands and feet” of Christ can happen in our workplaces, or in the local shopping mall, but it’s also needed to make a church and all it’s parts work and function.  People are church. A building isn’t.  If we don’t go, church doesn’t happen.

6)   God's not physically here with us, but he has been, and his spirit is, and he works it through the physical environment that surrounds us, including his people.  He too wants to give back to us, work in our lives, and touch us in a profound way.  He does this both in and out of church. 

7)   Ever seen Avatar?  Remember the magical tree at the centre of the island that the Avatars needed to "plug into" with their tails in order to be revived, refreshed, and stay alive?  Church is to us what the tree was to Avatars.  We need it to fill up our empty tanks.

8)   We are all wired uniquely. So are churches.  Don't attend one that doesn't suit your personality and your tastes.  God wouldn't want you to eat chocolate ice cream if you like vanilla.  The flavors are limitless; find one you like.

      And so, on this Sunday evening, as I reflect on the day that has passed, I know that God is here with me just as much as yesterday, as he will be just as much tomorrow.  For his love is unchanging and not based at all on what we do or don't do.  We can't earn his love, or change his love.  Regardless of who we are or where we've been.  Whether we attended church 10 days ago, or 10 years ago.  He's just as much with you as with me.   He doesn't care to guilt us.  He's wild about us in church and out.  All week, and Sunday.  Some of us, many of us, have misconceptions about church and God doesn't expect you to be false about it, or deny your personality and desires.  But, he always wants to be closer to us.  He asks us to take steps to be closer to him.  The question is, how are we going to get there?

"If you look for me in earnest, you will find me when you seek me" ( Jeremiah 29:13)

Being Known

I once dated a guy named Allie, or maybe it was Ollie.

Needless to say, it was a short lived romance.  We met outside a pub in London, exchanged numbers, and the rest, as they say, was history.  Allie, we will call him, was a nice enough gentleman but our attempts at finding commonality and middle ground grew tiring. Before it really began, the relationship dissolved before our very eyes.

I think I knew it early on, the disjoint between us, but I wanted to hold on to the hope of something.  Anything.  It wasn’t like I masqueraded. Like a game of go-fish, I held my cards and offered glimmers of me as I waited for him to reveal the match. But he had a different hand of cards.  Or perhaps he was playing a different game all together.

Somehow with Allie, I became known as “the volleyball girl”.  I was introduced to friends this way, and many of our conversations revolved around upcoming practices and games.  It was the one thing he held on to understand me.  To better know me.

The thing is I hadn’t played volleyball for 15 years prior to meeting him and had just recently begun practicing with a team in the city.  In the grand scheme of things, on the measuring tape of life, volleyball was about .001/1000 of who I was. But, to Allie, it was my identity.  I felt like I should bring cross trainers and knee pads to our coffee dates.  It was like a bad Seinfeld episode.  We couldn’t seem to get past that.  Or, he couldn’t seem to see more of me or connect with more of me than that one small detail.  He couldn’t seem to get to know me.  And perhaps I couldn’t seem to get to know him.

We all want to be known intimately, don’t we?  We want people to understand and “get” us and when they don’t, there is nothing more isolating and lonely. 

I find that the times that I am the loneliest in life is when I prevent myself from truly being known by others. 

Because it requires work. 

And it takes time. 

And it means intimacy.

Which brings vulnerability. 

And sometimes, to be honest, it’s a whole lot easier to just stick to shallow waters.  It is safer there.  But the water is murkier and rockier and the depth, or lack of depth, prevents us from really being able to dive in and swim with freedom. And we all want that freedom with one another.  The freedom to be ourselves.

My girl friend Nina and I can communicate in code.  We’ve mastered the ability to have a full fledged conversation in the company of others in almost an entirely new language.  From an outsider’s perspective, we are talking in numbers and strange abbreviations and acronyms, but in our world we are able to get to the bottom of where the other is at that week and what has happened in the others’ life.  I’m blessed beyond measure to have this type of friendship. This sisterhood that carries itself across oceans, changes, wrinkles, babies, and years.  In it, I am known and she is known and the beauty is not in what we do, or what we share, but the safety and security in the knowing.

Are you known?

Truly, unabashedly known by another? Or have you been hiding your face? Are you accepting a role someone else has put you in that is only a small part of who God really designed and created you to be? Because you know, He wants you to venture out past the murky shallow waters and be free in who He’s called you to be.  And He tells you that you are known.  Intimately known by him despite the roles you’ve played, or the masks you wear, or what you hide behind.  He sees you. 

You, my friend, are known.

Isaiah 43: 1-4…Do not be afraid, for I have ransomed you.  I have called you by name; you are mine.  When you go through deep waters and great trouble, I will be with you…..Others died that you might live.  I traded their lives for yours because you are precious to me.  You are honored and I love you.

 (*picture by Charlie Mackesy)

Provision

It can be difficult to talk about God’s provision when we live in a world that is so broken; so lacking.  There are gaping wounds across continents, across families, in our own homes, and we turn our face away from the light, despairing, and angry. We live in a needy world and we are needy people.  Starved for food, thirsty for water, desiring justice, craving love, and craving God who sometimes, it feels, doesn’t show up.  Or does He?

We have wants and desires that we bring on bended knee before Him, before Someone.  Asking.  Sometimes pleading desperately. 

Just this one time God. 

Just this one thing.

I’ll never ask again, if you only…

We have all been there at one point if we are honest with ourselves.  If you only bring me this spouse, or heal this disease, or fix this marriage, or get me this job, or pay this debt.  Then….

The thing about the “then” is its misconception. As beautiful but broken people we are still left craving, wanting, and feeling like half empty cups in spite of our new spouse,  healthy body, happy marriage,  or perfect job.   Our neighbor's cup looks, at least from the outside, gloriously full, with it’s pretty outside pictures.  We chase after the pictures only to find we are still chasing.  Wanting.  We all are.

The good news is even with our half empty cups, God promises to be our provider.   He promises to guide us, shepherd us, fill us up, and yes, even use, often use, the people in our lives to be part of this miraculous process.   We discover on the journey that our wants and our needs are important to him, and He works it out for our good.    He knows our hearts, our every desires, and our humanness.  The bills we have to pay, the job interview , the daycare search, the upcoming retirement and He cares about all of it in an intimate way.  He is with us in the trenches of life, dirty diapers, bad break-ups and all.

And, perhaps He works it out for you in a way you hadn't quite expected, but it is always for your good.  We may not have that one thing that we desperately thought we needed to fill us up but we instead discover that God does show up, and somehow that is more than enough.

"For he satisfies the thirsty and fills the hungry with good things." (Psalm 107:9)

Engage Your Core

I’m a goal oriented person; focused. Most things I attain are a result of planning, follow through, and God’s grace.  However, as of late, it seems, there have been a few new additions to my life that I’ve stumbled upon completely by happenstance and they are both related to physical activity.

Recently, I was invited to attend a bootcamp. I’ll spare you the gory details but it was your average hour of grueling, sweaty self punishment, commanded by a drill sergeant-like leader.  The latter I’m exaggerating on completely; he was as cushy as a boot camp leader comes and to boot was easy on the eyes.  There I said it; but I digress…

One thing, he said,  stood out for me and has been on my mind these past few days and I think it is a great metaphor for life: 

“Engage your core”. 

Aside from being code for go easy on the doughnuts, he explained being aware of your core muscles; namely your abdominal ones and keeping them actively engaged, or flexed in your exercise regime as an integral part of your workout.  Our tendency in exercise, be it walking, running, or swimming, is to rely on our stronger back muscles to get us through our physical activity and the damage leads to poor posture, back problems, and beer bellies.  Our core is often neglected and its no coincidence we neglect it in other areas aside from physical activity.  We push it aside, we put it on the back burner, we assume its on auto-pilot and I'm not talking stomach muscles here.

The greatest "take-home" message offered to us over 2000 years ago by Jesus was this:  Love the Lord your God with all your heart. First and foremost. Everything following this, including our big screen tvs and timeshares in Mexico, are secondary.  They are not bad things, just not on the top of the priority list in God's books. So, what does that look like in real life terms, especially when we can't physically see him or touch him? Engage your core.  Keep it active.  Pray.  Talk to him.  Be mindful of it; this relationship with him, on a daily basis. Don't assume its on autopilot.  Don't rely on other, more readily available muscles to carry you through your life workout.  You wind up walking sideways, or worse, flat on your back immobilized.   It can feel daunting getting started, but as with exercise, it gets easier, and you will begin to see results.