Preparing for Pain, Plus

Yesterday it was confirmed by a second opinion -- from the orthopedist of the Oakland Raiders, no less -- that I need to have rotator cuff repair surgery. I have one large tear and a smaller one, plus there is some arthritis in the joint (no surprise there) that he wants to work on a little while he's "in there."

By all accounts -- meaning both docs I saw and everything I've read online -- the recovery is long and often very painful. Just like life, yes?

But on this upward/outward/inward journey, I know there is always more than meets the eye. While I am preparing for perhaps the worst physical pain of my life (and that's after two total knee replacements!) I am also preparing for a rich and deep experience with many lessons learned...of gratitude for the love and support around me...and of the deep, deep love of God which becomes more and more tangible to me the older I get. Just when I think I have been through the darkest valley, another one comes along and I have to hold on even tighter to Him.

My closest friends have marveled at how many stressors I've endured in the past five years; hmm...let me count the ways:

Diagnosis of psoriatic arthritis
Both knees replaced within 6 months of each other
Diagnosis of fibromyalgia
New job
Near-divorce
Moving out
Moving back in
Stepping down from ministry
Quitting job
Moving to a different state
Near-divorce again
Moving out
Moving back in
Suicide of a friend
Car accident
Shoulder surgery (soon to come)

Not to mention various other family issues!

Each item on that list represents many weeks/months/years of pain. But as I said above, that's not the whole story. I look at the list and remember how God met me in each of those experiences, strengthening my faith and deepening my relationship with him. I wouldn't trade that for anything.

That being said, physical pain is much harder for me to endure than emotional pain. It's very hard for me to "count it all joy" when I can hardly breathe because my body hurts so much. So I will need you, my readers and friends, to remind me to trust that God is going to show up and meet me in the pain and walk with me through this new valley.

If a painful surgery is what's needed to bring me even closer to Him, then bring it on. Though I wouldn't mind a miraculous healing, either!

Paused

I haven't written in a long time and am not sure when the next post will come, but I'm hoping it will be soon. I've been "on pause" as the past few months have been intense (an understatement) and I've needed time to ponder things in my heart à la Mary.

If there's one thing I can say now it is that the goodness of God knows no bounds.

Stay tuned...

Merci, Henri

Just read this quote from Henri Nouwen:

"When you experience the deep pain of loneliness, it is understandable that your thoughts go out to the person who was able to take that loneliness away, if only for a moment. When you feel a huge absence that makes everything look useless, your heart wants only one thing–to be with the person who once was able to dispel these frightful emotions. But it is the absence itself, the emptiness within you, that you have to be willing to experience, not the one who could temporarily take it away. When you can acknowledge your loneliness in a safe, contained place, you make your pain available for God’s healing."

We all have to get to this place...when we can bring this kind of pain to Jesus and allow His love to fill the empty places. It's sometimes far easier said than done. I just know He desires me to come as I am, even if that means empty and numb and scared and lonely.

I'm grateful He finds me beautiful, even in that condition.

"A broken and contrite heart you will not despise." -- Psalm 51:17

The Hurt and the Healer

Sometimes a song comes along that says it all.

Thanks to my friend, Linda Lehmann, who posted it on her Facebook page, as I'd not heard the song before today. So grateful for the ministry of Bart Millard and MercyMe and their willingness to be so vulnerable.

Give it a listen.

And know you're not alone.

The Hurt and the Healer
Why?
The question that is never far away
The healing doesn't come from the explained
Jesus, please don't let this go in vain
You're all I have, all that remains

So here I am
What's left of me
Where glory meets my suffering

I’m alive
Even though a part of me has died
You take my heart and breathe it back to life
I’ve fallen into Your arms open wide
When the hurt and the healer collide

Breathe
Sometimes I feel it’s all that I can do
Pain so deep that I can hardly move
Just keep my eyes completely fixed on You
Lord take hold and pull me through

It’s the moment when humanity
Is overcome by majesty
When grace is ushered in for good
And all our scars are understood
When mercy takes its rightful place
And all these questions fade away
When out of the weakness we must bow
And hear You say “It’s over now”

I’m alive
Even though a part of me has died
You take my heart and breathe it back to life
I’ve fallen into your arms open wide
When the hurt and the healer collide

Jesus come and break my fear
Awake my heart and take my tears
Find Your glory even here
When the hurt and the healer collide

True Confessions

"Above all else, guard your heart, 

 for everything you do flows from it." 

Proverbs 4:23

"What have you learned about yourself?" my therapist asked me after I'd spewed for half an hour about the insanity that has been my life of late.

The answer came easily -- "I now know I'm capable of anything." 

That's no positive affirmation; it's my confession that given the right (or wrong) set of circumstances, I am capable of doing things I never thought I'd do...like setting aside my moral compass for some moments of deep emotional connection with the wrong person at the wrong time...like allowing my pain to rule me to the point of overriding the deep love of Jesus which I *thought* had saturated my soul. But I have to ask myself if my soul had been truly saturated with His love, how could I fall so fast, so hard, and so deep? 

Before imaginations start swirling, let me be clear -- this wasn't physical. (But if I'm truly capable of anything, then I'm grateful we didn't live anywhere near each other. *shudder*)

What I did -- which is at least as bad, if not worse --  was give my heart away. I'm not proud of it; I'm also not going to hide in a shroud of shame. I'm sharing this story because ALL of us can be vulnerable to this kind of thing, hence the admonition in Proverbs to guard our hearts. If your response is, "That would never happen to me," then be forewarned because I would have said the same thing. The prophet Jeremiah wasn't wrong when he said, "The human heart is deceitful." Self-deception can be quite stealthy and I'm pretty sure I'm not the only person to have been found in its grip. 

"WTF were you thinking?" I hear (some of) you ask.

Thinking? I wasn't. Tender words of deep emotion felt like warm oil to my raw, parched soul and completely uncorked my heart, and I began to take steps down a road upon which I never should have set foot...saying things that never should have been said...fanning flames that never should have been lit. And while it takes two to tango, it only takes one to stop the dance, and I chose not to so I only have myself to blame. 

I think most of my readers know that my marriage has been going through a rough time for a long time...it's been a four-year roller coaster ride of ups and downs and backs and forths. We separated three years ago and came within two weeks of officially divorcing but then we reconciled. The past two years have been a crazy time of trying to find our footing in this new-but-not-entirely-new marriage. We both made a lot of mistakes along the way. We both guarded our hearts in the WRONG way -- from each other -- and the walls were getting thicker and harder to permeate. We were both trying to express love, and neither one of us was able to really receive it. We both experienced times of extreme doubt about whether or not we could make this marriage work. There was a lot of unresolved pain on both sides, and some things came to a head for me a few months ago where I felt the need to move out for a short while, but that turned into a longer while of some serious soul-searching. I wrote about that HERE.

Unfortunately after I wrote that piece, reality hit me between the eyes and I had a literal panic attack (my first one) as I was packing up to move back home. All of my doubts were swirling around me, and I wound up going through the motions, scared to verbalize even to myself how I was really feeling. This set me up to be completely "unarmed" for what was about to occur.

But here is the really cool thing: in this mess -- in the face of a wife who was turning away from him -- my husband rose up and took a stand...for himself, for me, and for our marriage. He confronted the other man, he confronted me, he confronted himself. "And the walls came a-tumbling down." I saw, maybe for the first time, just how much he loves me, and just how much he does want to fight for us, and it gave me renewed strength to want to try again. While I know theologically that I didn't have to sin, I also know that sometimes it takes something awful to make something good happen, like when a town finally puts up a traffic light in an intersection after a fatal accident. Bob Bennett wrote about this HERE in his new blog. (I have always loved the honesty and transparency in his songs; now I am loving the same qualities in his writing.)

I have had to come face to face with my frailty and weakness, the deep longings I hadn't allowed Jesus to fill, and my complete failure to stop all of this from happening because deep down I didn't actually want it to stop. We all know that sin feels good in the moment and this felt really, really good. But at what cost? Broken hearts and shattered relationships and pain all the way around. And even with all the beauty that is rising from the ashes as we move forward in forgiveness, I do know the ends never justify the means. If any good is coming out of this mess it's because of the incredible mercy of God, who is all about redemption and reconciliation. Romans 8:28 is alive and well, but surely I do not deserve this grace.

So I write this with a bowed heart at the feet of Jesus, much like the woman who broke open her alabaster jar of perfume to anoint Jesus' feet and then washed them with her tears. All I can offer right now is tears and snot and raised hands of surrender, trusting in this amazing God who loves me so much that He gave His Son to die for my sins. Jesus said of that woman, “I tell you, her sins—and they are many—have been forgiven, so she has shown me much love. But a person who is forgiven little shows only little love" (Luke 7:47).

It is my fervent prayer that because of all of this my life will show more love, and that my worship will become even more extravagant because of the Lord's lavish mercy and forgiveness.

More than 20 years ago my hero, Amy Grant, was bold enough to write and record "Faithless Heart" which speaks to me now more than ever. I encourage all of us to listen to it as a prayer that we will continually guard our hearts and stay faithful.

I want to end with a song of hope. We sang it last Sunday in church, and all I could do was weep; God is truly making Beautiful Things out of the dust. You might not be dealing with an emotional affair in your marriage, but most likely you're dealing with *something* that feels like rubble. We all have disappointments, hurt and pain in our lives. God is in the business of healing broken hearts, this I know. So as I post these final lyrics, I am praying for all of you to know in a deeper way that He is in the process of making beautiful things come forth in your lives. And as you read and/or listen to these lyrics, please offer up a prayer for us, too.

Beautiful Things (by Michael Gungor)
All this pain
I wonder if I'll ever find my way
I wonder if my life could really change at all

All this earth
Could all that is lost ever be found
Could a garden come up from this ground at all

You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of the dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us

All around
Hope is springing up from this old ground
Out of chaos life is being found in You

You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of the dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us

You make me new
You are making me new
You make me new
You are making me new

Satisfaction Not Guaranteed

It's been an interesting season on this upward/outward/inward road. I have been living with a friend for the past seven weeks, trying to sort through some important issues -- what do I really believe about life, and marriage, and God, and what is He asking of me? Where is my life going? When should I start pursuing my studies to fulfill the call of inner healing prayer therapy (aka "Formational Counseling") that I believe I am to do? That means grad school with a possible Ph.D. program after whatever Masters degree I earn; it means years of study and lots of money spent with no guarantee of any financial return.

Aye, there's the rub --  no guarantee. That's been a constant theme in my thoughts these past weeks. The ONLY guarantee in life is that God loves me and will always be with me. It's not that I didn't know this before...but there are different levels of "knowing" and it seems I needed this truth to sink deeper into the marrow of my soul.  

A friend once said to me, "The universe doesn't owe us anything." While I bristle at the New Age-y language there, I agree with the sentiment. The CREATOR of the universe -- the triune God of the Scriptures to whom I have devoted my life -- doesn't owe me a thing. Not one blessed thing. I'm not owed happiness. I'm not owed satisfaction in a meaningful job or ministry, or good health, or a close circle of friends, or a healed marriage.  If I learned anything from immersing myself in the Cross of Christ during Lent it is that *I * owe ***GOD*** EVERYTHING!   As Matt Redman so beautifully wrote, "You deserve my every breath for You paid the great cost, giving up Your life to death, even death on a cross."

My main focus/question has been, "How do I offer up my life in this season?" I've been slowly getting answers through silence and solitude, through the counsel of wise pastors and friends, through therapy, through prayer, through worship, through the Word.

The main answer I've received is to be open-handed. I've begun to see how I have been clutching onto things for a long time while not even realizing it. Sometimes I need a whack upside the head for me to see what's going on in my own soul. I've experienced a lot of loss over the past couple of years, and I thought I'd been pretty faithful in surrendering, but I have been realizing afresh how surrender has layers, too. I can think/feel that I've "surrendered all" but it turns out maybe it was only the top few layers of "all." Humbling and sobering to realize how much I still don't know...how much I still need to learn about what it means to follow Jesus with my whole being. And I don't ever want to stop learning!

So I come to prayer and worship with open hands...I come to my LIFE with open hands. The only thing I'm clinging to is Christ Himself. Everything else is up for grabs. My favorite prayer, "Have Your way, Lord," has taken on a richer and deeper meaning as I let go of ideals, dreams, notions of "the way things should be" and just allow life to unfold, knowing the Lord is beside me every step of the way. Actually, the picture He gave me was of Him strapped in beside me on the roller coaster of life. I was asking Him to let me off the ride, and instead He showed me that we're buckled in together. Alrighty then. Bring it on.

The amazing thing is that I have so much peace and more hope than I've felt in a long time. Very grateful for those gifts!

So this weekend I'm moving back home. Other steps are researching grad schools and grants and scholarships; working with a life coach; continuing the search for a part-time job; individual and couples' therapy; and of course continuing to be plugged into my amazing church community and staying connected with my wise and wonderful friends.

Open-handed, of course...with no guarantees.

From Friday Comes Sunday

It's taken me awhile to face the blank screen, to try to put into words what last week meant to me, and what the past 40+ days imparted to my soul. I'm not sure I have the words, certainly not ones to do any of it any justice.

I can only say that this year's Good Friday was the "best" Good Friday ever...so rich with remembrance, and sharing it all with one of my sons made it all the more meaningful -- serving Communion to each other, breaking the matzo and hearing the "snap" pierce the air and our hearts, knowing that our sins pierced His heart so long ago. Hammering those sins onto a cross (and watching them burn the next night)...and then holding each other close while watching "The Passion of the Christ"...weeping together as we watched Mary pour her love out to her son in his final moments while she remembered playing with him as a young boy...Caleb whispering to me, "I always remember He had a mother, but forget He also had a Mama" as I clung to my now-man of a son, as both his mother and his Mama always.

Plumbing the depths of Good Friday only makes the joys of Easter more glorious, more rich, more majestic. We ushered in the day at midnight, holding candles and listening to Mahler's 2nd Symphony ("Resurrection") at a volume so loud I could practically feel the power of the Spirit rolling that stone away from the tomb all those years ago. Absolutely enthralling. Morning came quickly and we praised at the top of our lungs (with me banging at the piano in the dreaded key of E...ugh) and listened to a most beautiful sermon on brokenness and how we always have a choice --  to either walk down the pathway of despair (à la Judas) or humility (à la Peter). De-spair...without the Spirit...may it never be.

Then during lunch I had the wonderful experience of receiving someone's risk of vulnerability and what I thought was to be a quick meal turned into a lengthy and lovely and deep conversation, and I was changed for the good in hearing this person's story of loss, pain, and redemption.

We all have an Easter story to tell...things in our lives that need to be killed in order to rise again. God breathes life into lost dreams, restores broken relationships, brings new friends to us when old ones pass away or move on. He brings healing to our wounds, applying the warm oil of His comfort to the scars that often burn or itch along the way. He brings beauty out of ashes, praise out of mourning, good out of evil, light out of darkness, life out of death.

I pray I remember this down the road when the fire of last week's experiences  dwindles to faint embers:

Out of Good Friday always comes Easter.

Wrestling

Two years ago, on Good Friday, I wrote the following poem:

cross and candles

paper and pen

sin and shame

poured out in ink

at the place

where grace was

poured out in blood

confessing, lamenting

in my own Gethsemane

tears and forgiveness

flow together

flame touches fear

brokenness burns

each ember dies

ashes

what remains as I rise

hope

freedom

gratitude

joy

and Your deep, deep abiding love

It's humbling to read those words now. I remember exactly what I was dealing with at the time. While I may be older and wiser, I find myself wrestling with the same things. 

Tomorrow night at a Good Friday vigil, I'll write my sins and sorrows on some red paper and nail them to a cross. Then at midnight on Saturday, just before it turns to Sunday, all of the papers will be taken off the cross and burned...in the same pot I burned my own papers two years ago in a private ceremony.

Sometimes I wonder how many papers I'm going to need to burn before I stop wrestling.

"I remember my affliction and my wandering, the bitterness and the gall. I well remember them, and my soul is downcast within me. Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness." -- Lamentations 3:19-23

Lead Me

Moving toward Friday with a heavy heart, but also glimmers of hope.

This song rose up in my soul this morning.

Lead Me to the Cross
Savior I come
Quiet my soul
Remember
Redemption's hill
Where Your blood was spilled
For my ransom
Everything I once held dear
I count it all as loss

Lead me to the Cross
Where Your love poured out
Bring me to my knees
Lord I lay me down
Rid me of myself
I belong to You
O lead me
Lead me to the Cross

You were as I
Tempted and tried
Human
The Word became flesh
For my sin and death
Now You're risen
Everything I once held dear
I count it all as loss

Lead me to the Cross

Where Your love poured out

Bring me to my knees

Lord I lay me down

Rid me of myself

I belong to You

O lead me

Lead me to Your heart

Palm Sunday

In honor of tomorrow's celebration, I want to share this sonnet by Malcolm Guite, which speaks of how what happened "there and then" is still happening "here and now."

Palm Sunday

Now to the gate of my Jerusalem,
The seething holy city of my heart,
The saviour comes. But will I welcome him?
Oh crowds of easy feelings make a start;
They raise their hands, get caught up in the singing,
And think the battle won. Too soon they'll find
The challenge, the reversal he is bringing
Changes their tune. I know what lies behind
The surface flourish that so quickly fades;
Self-interest, and fearful guardedness,
The hardness of the heart, its barricades,
And at the core, the dreadful emptiness
Of a perverted temple. Jesus come
Break my resistance and make me your home.

For Good

I love this song from "Wicked." It's been in my head all day. 


For Good
I've heard it said
That people come into our lives for a reason
Bringing something we must learn
And we are led
To those who help us most to grow
If we let them
And we help them in return
Well, I don't know if I believe that's true
But I know I'm who I am today
Because I knew you

Like a comet pulled from orbit
As it passes a sun
Like a stream that meets a boulder
Halfway through the wood
Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
But because I knew you
I have been changed for good

It well may be
That we will never meet again
In this lifetime
So let me say before we part
So much of me
Is made of what I learned from you
You'll be with me
Like a handprint on my heart
And now whatever way our stories end
I know you have rewritten mine
By being my friend

Like a ship blown from its mooring
By a wind off the sea
Like a seed dropped by a skybird
In a distant wood
Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
But because I knew you
I have been changed for good

I Am with "I AM"

"...I am not enough, and I am too much at the same time. Not pretty enough, not thin enough, not kind enough, not gracious enough, not disciplined enough. But too emotional, too needy, too sensitive, too strong, too opinionated, too messy....

"...We feel unseen, even by those who are closest to us. We feel unsought--that no one has the passion or the courage to pursue us, to get past our messiness to find the woman deep inside...."

Those words from Captivating pretty much say what my heart has been wrestling with for awhile...maybe all of my adult life. (Even as a young girl, did anyone want to know the real me? Not the straight-A student, not the piano player, not the "good girl"...but ME? *sigh*)

But there is One who sees, who seeks, who loves, who pursues, who knows, who is larger than my mess. No pain is too great that He can't heal. No darkness too thick that His light can't dispel. No longing too deep that He can't fill.

When I draw close to Jesus, I am no longer not enough or too much; I just *am*. I only need to stay there...to "be still and know."

That who I am -- with all of my deepness and mess and questions and faith and ugliness and beauty...all of my paradoxes...all of the "magic that is me" -- can BE with the "Great I AM" is the miracle of the cross.  "I am my Beloved's and my Beloved is mine." (Song of Solomon 6:3) Through Christ I can come into God's presence and be both captivated and captivating.

What a priceless, undeserved gift.

In His Palm

Tonight I had the privilege of praying for a friend, using the ministry of Formational Prayer, something for which I received a fair amount of training a few years ago. I've not had many opportunities to use my training for awhile, however the good people at the Institute of Formational Counseling were thoughtful enough to put together a "cheat sheet" to help we feeble-minded ones remember what to do.

Once we got going, I had that indescribable feeling of being in the center of God's palm -- when I know I'm doing exactly what I was created to do. (I often feel that way when I'm leading worship, too.) It's not that I have *command* of what I'm doing...in fact, it's often quite the opposite. But I know I'm partnering with God to bring about His purposes in the life of the person as I listen to them and gently guide them into His presence. It is more than a privilege, and every single time, I come away filled with awe at how God moves and LOVES. He is so specific to show Himself and speak exactly how and what the person needs to see and hear in that moment. EVERY SINGLE TIME.

To watch God work in someone's life as He goes to the deep places of their soul and brings healing by replacing lies with truth, bringing comfort to pain, erasing confusion with clarity, with an "aha moment" or two as dots are connected...it's a rush like no other. I can't imagine anything better than helping people pursue spiritual and emotional health and wholeness so they can walk in freedom to be who they are meant to be in Christ.

I go to bed tonight exceedingly grateful for this upward/outward/inward healing journey...to be able to help others on their journeys while I continue on my own.

And in this Lenten season, I am ever more grateful for, and mindful of, the wounds that heal us.

He was pierced for our transgressions, He was crushed for our sins; the punishment that brought us peace was upon Him. And by His wounds we are healed. - Isaiah 53:5

Revelation in the Sun

It was a glorious day here yesterday, warm and sunny. I took a long walk by a lagoon, soaking up the sun and then rested on a bench by the water, with a longing to soak up the Son. I reached for my current companion (Contemplating the Cross) and began to read and these words gave me pause:

The weight of the sin-sick world hangs from the nail-pierced hands that once fashioned it into being.

I meditated on this for awhile... Jesus, the Son of God, was there at creation. Not just there, but He did the creating! John 1:1-3 says, "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made."

And connecting these dots rocked my world...I had not thought of this before...Jesus created trees, and now he was hanging on the very wood that he created. He created ore for metal, and now that very iron was piercing his flesh. He created Man, and now those babies he created were grown up and mocking him, and one of them held the hammer...the hand that was fashioned in a mother's womb by the Lord Himself, was now holding the hammer that was driving the nails into the hands and feet of Jesus.

Creation murdered the Creator.

How much more this deepened my understanding of how great his love was that day! It's mind-blowing that he could say, "Father, forgive them." The very people who should be thanking him for their very lives are scorning, mocking, scoffing, deriding, humiliating, and killing him. But he loves...he forgives...he saves.

This is why I worship. This is why I lift my hands. This is why I have given my life to Christ because I can't fathom any other response.

I'll close with a song Matt Redman wrote which expresses this so beautifully. The lyrics are below and you can listen to it here. I pray it blesses you.

I will offer up my life in spirit and truth,
Pouring out the oil of love as my worship to You
In surrender I must give my every part;
Lord, receive the sacrifice of a broken heart

Jesus, what can I give, what can I bring
To so faithful a friend, to so loving a King?
Savior, what can be said, what can be sung
As a praise of Your name
For the things You have done?
Oh my words could not tell, not even in part
Of the debt of love that is owed
By this thankful heart

You deserve my every breath for You've paid the great cost;
Giving up Your life to death, even death on a cross
You took all my shame away, there defeated my sin
Opened up the gates of heaven and have beckoned me in

Jesus, what can I give, what can I bring
To so faithful a friend, to so loving a King?
Savior, what can be said, what can be sung
As a praise of Your name
For the things You have done?
Oh my words could not tell, not even in part
Of the debt of love that is owed
By this thankful heart

What can I give? What I can I bring?
What can I sing as an offering, Lord?

Close Encounters

This week in Contemplating the Cross is devoted to the crucifixion; seven days of looking intently and intensely at something most unpleasant. And yet I know it is here that I find mercy, grace...LIFE. So I press on...

"There is a strange dichotomy between the Cross of Christ and the cross of Christian culture. We wear it in beautiful chains around our necks -- Christ wore it in bloody stakes through His hands and feet. We display it on bumper stickers and posters with pride, but shame consumed the One who hung there for hours. We hold it close and sense heaven -- Christ embraced it and encountered hell. Our sanctuaries display a cleansed version of the Cross -- no blood, no struggle, no filth of sin -- solely a monument to resurrection power. We celebrate the passion of Christ once a year, but for most of us the journey from Good Friday to Easter is a short one."

Ouch...quite an indictment. Of the church...of me. For years I wore a lovely gold cross with an amethyst in the middle as reminder of His royalty and His sacrifice. I'd often finger it in times of stress, say a prayer and move on. How easy to reduce the cross to some kind of talisman instead of the instrument of capital punishment that it was.

And so this week, I want to not only meditate on His crucifixion but also on how I can more fully live a cross-centered life here in California in the 21st century.

I guess you could say I'm praying for some close encounters of the cruciform kind.

A SAD Week

The rainy season is upon us here in the Bay Area. I have a moderate case of Seasonal Affectedness Disorder (aka SAD) so an entire week of cloud cover with rain has taken more than a bit of a toll on my mood.  I'd pretty much forgotten what SAD feels like since I lived in one of the sunniest cities in the States for almost 10 years before moving back here last May. Every now and then we'd get three days in a row of solid gloom, but that was rare.

I was OK on Monday and Tuesday, started to feel the shift on Wednesday, now it's Friday evening and I'm ready to hole up for weeks with vats of pasta, cheap chocolate (e.g. Dark Snickers) and bad TV. I don't want to be around people AT ALL; this E/I split (in Myers-Briggs speak) is now an extreme I, ready to sign up for life as a hermit. Everything is annoying, even kindness. A well meaning friend asked me how my day was, and I wanted to bite her head off. (Alright, people...no cracks about how I'm already like this due to menopause!) I didn't, of course, but here alone in my room, I start to fume at how much work it takes to just be polite. I am even more sensitive to noise than usual; the pitter-patter of the rain is no longer cute...it's like a leaf blower...JUST MAKE IT STOP!

So it's definitely necessary to remove my SAD self (ha ha!) from society until the sun shines again, which is supposed to be tomorrow, according to weather.com. They'd better be right or someone's going to f***ing pay.

Kidding.

Sort of.

(We now return to our Lenten programming...)

What She Said

In today's reading, Tricia Rhodes said so beautifully what I have been trying to say for years (bold is mine for emphasis):

"I cherish Easter celebrations. In them we embrace our victory in Christ, power over forces of darkness, and the hope implanted within us through the Holy Spirit. But I don't want to rush past the Cross to get there. The depth of my appreciation for those glorious truths will be directly related to my comprehension of Christ's bloody battle for my sins on Calvary."

She ended with this prayer from The Book of Common Worship :

"Forbid, O God, that we should forget amid our earthly comforts, the pain and mortal anguish that our Lord Jesus endured for our salvation. Grant us this day a true vision of all that He suffered in His betrayal, His lonely agony, His false trial, His mocking and scourging, and the torture of death on the Cross. As you have given Yourself utterly for us, may we give ourselves utterly to You, O Jesus Christ, our only Lord and Savior. Amen."

Jesus, Plus?

"The very existence of the cross, and of the crucified Christ, forces us to make a crucial decision: Will we look for God somewhere else, or will we make the cross, and the crucified Christ, the basis of our thought about God?"

—Alistair E. McGrath

With that quote, Chapter 4 of Contemplating the Cross began.


I see it and hear it all the time...people say they are Christians and then they go off to a Buddhist retreat, or engage in some kind of New Age activity to find healing, or visit a psychic to hopefully gain some insight to their future, or go off to Burning Man to join with humanity out in the desert for some kind of spiritual experience.

Lord, have mercy.

Christ, have mercy.

I call this “Jesus, plus.” It’s as if they’re saying, “I believe in Jesus, plus I add these other things to enrich my spiritual experiences.” As if the Cross of Christ isn’t enough. As if His death (and resurrection) needs something added to it.

It's heart-breaking because if we really, truly, madly, deeply understood the Cross of Christ, we wouldn’t even *imagine* going anywhere else...we’d be on our faces at the foot of the Cross daily, clinging to it for dear life, because there is NOWHERE ELSE to go...NO ONE ELSE who can save us or bring us healing.

“He was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our sins; the punishment that brought us peace was upon Him, and BY HIS WOUNDS WE ARE HEALED.” (Isaiah 53:5)

No wonder the first commandment is to have no other Gods. There are so many imitations out there that look really inviting. But none of them satisfy and some of them do outright harm under the guise of “spirituality.” It reminds me of the beautiful White Witch in Narnia, offering Edmund the Turkish Delight. Oh it looks so good! So appealing! It will surely be the answer! Guess again.

Lord, have mercy

Christ, have mercy

There are plenty of glorious and rich spiritual experiences to be had, but they need to be rooted and grounded in the Cross of Christ for He is the only way, the only truth and the only life, and the only way to God. (Don't argue with me, argue with Him, because He said it Himself.)

I can rant about this, but then I have to look in the mirror. I might not be seeking other spiritual paths to enhance my faith, but what “plusses” am I adding to Jesus to try to gain satisfaction in life? This Lenten journey has been one of hard self-examination and I’m not pleased with what I see -- idolatry, covetousness, greed, gluttony, anger, sloth, pride...gosh, it’s beginning to sound like the seven deadly sins!

Lord, have mercy

Christ, have mercy

In each of those sins there is a grasping for something more. Isn’t that what sin is? Adam and Eve got the ball rolling for us, grasping for something more than the Lord. And I join them daily by doing things (or leaving things undone) on my own in the attempt to satisfy a need or a deep longing because somewhere in me I don’t fully trust that Jesus will meet the need...or He’s not meeting it fast enough for my tastes. So I turn my back on Him for a minute to escape the painful realities of life. The plate of pasta (gluten-free, of course) or bowl of ice cream surely will make me feel better for a moment. Only it really doesn’t. Daydreaming about what I don’t or can’t have (aka coveting) will surely relieve some of the pain. Maybe for a minute, but then it drives me a bit farther away from the Cross and it’s a longer trip each time to get back there. My knees are bloodied from the journey. And the list goes on.

“I cry out for Your hand of mercy to heal me

I am weak, I need Your love to free me

O Lord, my rock, my strength in weakness

Come rescue me, O Lord

You are my hope

Your promise never fails me

And my desire is to follow You forever

For You are good, for You are good

For You are good to me.”

("Good to Me" by Craig Musseau)

The bottom line today is this --

I don’t want to live in “Jesus, plus.”

I want to be alive in Jesus, only.

“IN CHRIST ALONE, my hope is found...”

Lord, have mercy.

Christ, have mercy.

Today's Prayer

"King of kings and Lord of lords...they mock You. You didn't perform for them so they scorn Your very presence. I think I understand their evil hearts, my Lord. How often I have disdained Your presence for something more tangible, something to satiate my senses, rather than sear my soul. This is how I mock You, dearest Savior -- forgive me....Forgive my squandering of Your precious grace."

No commentary necessary.

Point of You

Today's reading led me to the passage in Mark 8 where Jesus reprimands Peter -- "Get away from me, Satan!" he said. "You are seeing things merely from a human point of view, not from God's." (New Living Translation)

How often do I succumb to this myself? (Too often.) It's so easy to sum up a situation based only on what I see, think or feel, but God sees The Big Picture I can't see. His purposes and plans go far beyond my thoughts or emotions in the moment. I'm so grateful for this reminder that I need to "pray without ceasing" -- à la 1Thessalonians -- for the mind of Christ...for wisdom...and for my spiritual eyes to be opened so I can see things from an eternal perspective. Easier said than done at times, especially when the stakes seem high.

I so relate to Peter...he didn't want to believe his Lord and close friend would be killed. He even went so far as reprimanding Jesus! Can you imagine? Reprimanding Jesus?!! But Peter was a man of deep feelings and passion, and he was impulsive.

Didn't I say yesterday that "No, Lord" is an oxymoron?

So Jesus responds with an in-your-face reprimand, rebuking the spirit behind what Peter was saying. Do we ever have the guts to do that...to say to a close friend or loved one, "That's from the enemy; I rebuke that!"? I've seen it done, and I've done it myself a few times. It's a powerful moment...but there's no guarantee how the person receiving the rebuke will respond; that's in God's hands.

I sit here, faced with some situations where I know I'm looking at things only from a human point of view...not wanting to ruffle feathers...not wanting to upset the apple cart. But I also recognize I am missing The Big Picture when I do this. Lord, have mercy.

"How pointless is my point of view, until I reach the point of You." (Thanks, Ryan Green.)

Amen.

Facing the Cup

"Organized religion has domesticated the crucified Lord of glory, turned Him into a tame theological symbol. Theological symbols do not sweat blood in the night."

-- Brennan Manning

Yesterday's reading (which I read this morning) was about Jesus looking at the cup the Father was offering. What filled the cup wasn't pretty...it was the most vile contents ever known. Every sin was to be laid on the only sinless person in all of history. Would He drink the cup?

Three times He cried out to the Father for things to be different. It seemed like too much for Him to bear. But we know how the story ends...He stood up and walked the road of obedience to the Cross, and changed the course of history forever. Changed my life...changed me...forever.

Today I am facing my own cup -- a cup filled with fear, anxiety and uncertainty. Compared to what Jesus faced, it's a walk in the park. Will I drink the cup the Father is offering? Will I gaze into the Lord's eyes of love and TRUST that this cup is what I need? Will I trust that He knows the big picture and has my best interest in mind? Will I walk the road of obedience, even if I have not a clue where it will lead?

"No, Lord" is an oxymoron.

Remain Here...

"'Remain here and keep watch with me....' Such a simple request. Has he ever asked these men to do anything for him before?

"'Remain here and keep watch with me....' He asks for so little, but they can't give it. These ones to whom Jesus gave his every waking moment for three years cannot stay awake for one hour at his request....

"In the end there is only the Father....He pleads with his friends, 'Remain here and keep watch with me....' but only the Father hears." (Tricia Rhodes...Day 3 in Contemplating the Cross: A Pilgrimage of Prayer)

Continuing to sit in Gethsemane...gazing at this part of the scene. Our Lord, who gave it all, made one simple request of His three closest friends, and they couldn't do it. What first rose up in me was "*I* wouldn't have fallen asleep!" Wow. Hello, pride. Hello, arrogance. I bowed my head and asked for forgiveness. How many times have I failed to "remain" with Him? Oh my goodness. That truth socked me between the eyes. I stopped judging His friends and joined *them* in the scene, for I am no different from them. I too easily fall prey to my own longings and appetites and don't remain or abide with the Lord. I reach for the ice cream or pick up the phone to call a friend instead of remaining. I daydream about how life could be different or easier instead of facing the painful realities in front of me. I escape into TV or any of a number of distractions instead of pressing into His Word or prayer, or just BEING in His presence, not having to DO anything. After all, isn't that what He asked of His friends? Remain...BE...keep watch. That's not much to ask. Be with me...stay with me...put me first for an hour...pray for me as I grieve.

If we're honest, don't we all want that from our friends? When we are in times of grief, the last thing we want is advice. I think one of the hardest things is to just sit with a crying friend and say nothing...or very little. But that's what's needed. I'm getting a lot better at this, but sometimes I blow it. I hear unnecessary words come out of my mouth and I want to grab them and throw them into the abyss!! Fortunately, my friends have grace for me. :) And I for them. But this is an important message we Americans need to hear...and especially American Christians...SHUT UP. If a friend comes to you in pain, shut up. Don't dispense advice, at least not right away. Listen. Hug. Say, "I love you." (And please, NEVER say, "Shh...don't cry.") You don't need to FIX anything. We are so quick to give advice or spout whatever Bible verse comes to mind because WE are uncomfortable seeing a friend in pain. If we are really honest, we usually offer advice to comfort *ourselves*, not the person in agony. When someone's in agony, even the best advice from the best expert cannot be received. Not at that moment. Wait. Then ask if they want to hear your thoughts, and accept it if they say, "Not now." So hard!! But that's what's needed.

Relating this to Gethsemane -- Jesus' friends couldn't stand to see Him in that much pain. With no iPhones or Facebook or blogs to distract them, they did the only thing available -- fall asleep. Instead of praying for their friend, instead of joining Him in lament before the Father, instead of just BEING with Him in His hour of need, they escaped into sleep. Jesus asked them THREE TIMES and they still couldn't do it. My heart breaks for all of them.

Much to think about...
What part of this scene do we relate to the most? Jesus or His friends or both?
How can we "remain" today?
Is there something He's asking us to do specifically? Can we do it?
Is there someone in pain who needs our love today? No advice, just love?

Let's remain...with Jesus...and with each other.

Agony and Ecstasy

This Lenten season, I've committed to reading/working through Contemplating the Cross: A Pilgrimage of Prayer by Tricia Rhodes. I've started it several times and was always moved by its contents, but never completed the journey. This year I know I must finish the 40-day challenge of prayer, reading, meditation, and contemplation necessary to travel from Gethsemane to the Cross.

This morning's time was deep and painful...meditating on what Jesus was feeling and thinking in the Garden. Tricia writes so beautifully, "We resist looking too intensely at the parts of a story that shake our sheltered belief system. What do we do with a God who breaks down like us? How do we handle His weakness, His desperate pleading, His seeming lack of self-control? Before we rejoice that Jesus chose the Father's will over his own pain, we must look hard at the blood oozing from his pores. Before we wrap his anguish in reasonable explanations, we must comprehend his complete sense of isolation and abandonment. Until we're willing to confront the terrible trauma of Gethsemane, the Cross will exist as a symbol of our religion instead of the very heartbeat of our faith."

Gethsemane has become a very special place for me...a sacred place. I have learned much about the importance of lamenting, and Jesus in the Garden has been my model (along with David in the Psalms). The past few years have provided many opportunities to "go there"... to kneel beside Jesus in my pain and know that He identifies with me. He, too, needed friends with him as he cried out to the Father. His friends failed him, and he wasn't happy about it. Ah yes...we all know that pain. (Though I must say that my nearest and dearest have stuck to me like glue, even when I was weeping, wailing and gnashing my teeth. I don't deserve their loyalty, but I will be forever grateful.)

Christ knew betrayal on so many levels. Jesus felt anguish in his bones, in his sinew, in his soul. Tricia explains, "The language here speaks of both physical pain and mental anguish. Jesus knows not only agony of soul, but feels life itself slipping away as distress distills in his veins....Man of sorrows, acquainted with grief...strange words to describe a Deity. But he had given it all up -- didn't consider equality with God something to cling to....The wretchedness on the face of Christ will play itself out to the bitter end. Anything less would leave God's children hanging in the balance, bound in the slave market of sin's great camp. This he cannot allow."

I spent a good chunk of time this morning taking in the scene. My soul felt weighed down and heavy. I thought about times when I, too, was gripped with agony. It's not difficult for me to call up deep pain, as I still live with it every day;  I just choose not to live *in* it, as much as possible. And while my pain is miniscule next to Christ's, I know it is part of sharing in his sufferings. And so I sat with my pain next to his...and was still.

With a heavy heart, I raised my hands in worship, as that was the only response that made any sense to me. Words felt hollow. All I can do is offer myself...my life...my heart...and say, "Yes, Lord; have Your way."

I looked at the clock and realized it was time for me to leave for my first voice lesson with Sam (née Samantha). Sam decided not to hire me to be her studio coordinator. Instead she asked if we could barter -- she would give me free voice lessons if I would come and listen and counsel and nurture her. WHAT? Is this for real? We *did* hit it off immediately when I interviewed with her. She told me she went home to her husband and talked nonstop about me...that she needed someone like me in her life. SERIOUSLY? (Her husband suggested I start a "rent-a-mom" business!) And that she really really wanted to work with me and help me regain all of my voice, and help me fulfill my dream of making a CD. She said all of this in my "rejection letter" for the job. That's a letter I'm saving for sure!

I drove into the city, still feeling the agony of Gethsemane, but with some anticipation (and a little apprehension) of meeting up with Sam again. It all sounded too good to be true; certainly there was a catch somewhere. But no! She was every bit as lovely and gregarious and warm as before. We talked for awhile, breaking down more walls, learning more about each other. And then we got to work on breathing and a few vocal exercises. She was so encouraging! We only had an hour today, but she's blocking out 2 hours for "us" every Thursday...one hour (or so) of talking/sharing, one hour (or so) of voice work. Just pinch me.

I left her studio as if I'd gone from Gethsemane straight to the Resurrection. I'm not sure what the Lord is doing, or why, but He has dropped this lovely young woman into my life who apparently needs a pastor/mother/sister/friend. She sees something in me and knows she needs it. I know ultimately that is Jesus, but I'm taking it slow on that front. I couldn't help but cry as she told me what she saw in me from the first time we met. Out of the mouth of a near-stranger came blessing and healing and love that I needed to hear...it was straight from the heart of God.

How is it possible in this age of consumerism and the all-important dollar that I am getting voice lessons in exchange for...being me? I don't know. It's unfathomable. But we hugged goodbye, expressing appreciation for the gift we are to each other...and I practically skipped to my car.

From agony to ecstasy. What a day!

Beauty from Ashes

"Dear People of God:

The first Christians observed with great devotion the days of our Lord's passion and resurrection, and it became the custom of the Church to prepare for them by a season of penitence and fasting. This season of Lent provided a time in which converts to the faith were prepared for Holy Baptism. It was also a time when those who, because of notorious sins, had been separated from the body of the faithful were reconciled by penitence and forgiveness, and restored to the fellowship of the Church. Thereby, the whole congregation was put in mind of the message of pardon and absolution set forth in the Gospel of our Savior, and of the need which all Christians continually have to renew their repentance and faith.

I invite you, therefore, in the name of the Church, to the observance of a holy Lent, by self-examination and repentance; by prayer, fasting, and self-denial; and by reading and meditating on God's holy Word. And, to make a right beginning of repentance, and as a mark of our mortal nature, let us now kneel before the Lord, our maker and redeemer." (from The Book of Common Prayer)

Thus began the communal portion of our Ash Wednesday service this evening. It was a lovely time together. First we went to various stations to open our hearts, meditate on Scripture, write prayers of confession, and commit this Lenten season to the Lord. The lights were dim, we could light candles as we wished, and I found the time to be deeply moving. After this time of individual reflection, we gathered as a community and sang the following song by Jon Foreman (of Switchfoot fame):

White As Snow

Have mercy on me, O God
According to Your unfailing love
According to Your great compassion
Blot out my transgressions

Would you create in me a clean heart, O God
Restore in me the joy of Your salvation

The sacrifices of our God are a broken and a contrite heart
Against You and You alone have I sinned

Would You create in me a clean heart, O God
Restore in me the joy of my salvation

Wash me white as snow
And I will be made whole
Wash me white as snow
And I will be made whole

Would you create in me a clean heart, oh God
Restore in me the joy of Your salvation

After receiving the ashes on my forehead and taking Communion, I felt undone by the love of the Lord and the love of my community. He's making me whole in the the midst of pain...in the midst of confusion...in the midst of this mess called life. 

As I end this day, I am reminded of this verse from Isaiah 61: "To all who mourn in Zion he will give a crown of beauty for ashes, a joyous blessing instead of mourning, festive praise instead of despair." 

Beauty will come from the ashes. I can hardly wait.

 

Truth and Dare

Telling the truth is important to me, and often that means saying what's broken about something, someone (including myself!) or some situation, which usually involves relationships. Part of it comes from growing up in a family where life was all veneer and no one talked about what was really wrong...in fact, there were far too many secrets and lies, and I determined to not live that way as an adult. Part of it comes from a prophetic bent God's put in me to speak things that no one else will, like the kid who shouted that the emperor wasn't actually wearing clothes. And part of it is because I desperately long to see God's healing come into people, relationships, churches, etc., and the first step toward healing is talking about what's broken or diseased.

That being said, truth-telling isn't just about what's wrong, it's also about what's right. Paul exhorts us to "...fix your thoughts on what is true, and honorable, and right, and pure, and lovely, and admirable. Think about things that are excellent and worthy of praise." (Phil. 4:8) My spiritual mother (aka "Mama Grace") has often reminded me that whatever I dwell on will become larger in my soul. So while I know part of my raison d'etre is to provide correctives (I don't love editing and proofreading for no reason!), I also know that an important part of being a Jesus-follower is to give thanks in all things and cling to what is good (1Thessalonians 5:18; Romans 12:9). But since this isn't always my natural first response to life, I am grateful for help along the way to bring that corrective to me.

This morning I came upon something called "The Joy Dare" from author Ann Voskamp. She has taken the idea of a gratitude journal and run with it, assigning three different "gifts" to look for each day so that by the end of the year, she'll have identified and given thanks for over a thousand gifts. In fact, she's written a book called One Thousand Gifts. I haven't read it but it's on my list. I've decided to take her up on this challenge. To give you an idea, here's the first week's "dare" from January:

1. 3 things about yourself you are grateful for

2. a gift outside, inside, on a plate

3. 3 lines you overheard that were graces

4. one gift old, new & blue

5. something you're reading, you're making, you're seeing

6. one thing in your bag, your fridge, your heart

7. 3 graces from people you love

You can find the complete month's list HERE.

Wanna join me?

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P.S. It's not your imagination...I changed the title of the blog and also the design...a fresh look for a new year!