supple

My first big girl Bible was a pale pink Precious Moments NIV softcover. I'm pretty sure I drew ballerinas on the inside cover and doodled my name and a few verses in colorful marker. I faithfully studied my memory verses for Sunday school. I could sing all sixty-six books to a catchy tune by age three, I'm told.

As a tween (we didn't have that word yet then, but still), my parents gave me a thick, brown leather Spirit Filled Life Bible. That was my Bible all through high school. I carried it to school, camp, conventions, and church. I wrote enthusiastic, sincere notes in the margins, followed by exclamation points. I highlighted favorite passages, and then underlined them when I came across them again. (The highest grade I ever received for a college course was a 98, for The Bible as Literature. I attribute that to my time of intense study as a teenager.) By the time my senior year of high school was coming to a close, the spine of this Bible was broken and chunks of pages would fall out easily.

Next came a navy blue slimline New King James Version, given to me upon my high school graduation by my pastors on May 20, 2001, with the inscription may the Lord bless you and keep you scrawled in the front. It's not falling apart, and the notes are a bit quiet, followed by more question marks than exclamation points. This is the Bible with which I've struggled. Its supple leather cover remains intact; I've been the one in pieces.

I can mark the seasons of my life by these books. I keep them all, but I think I'd like to get another one soon.

For the new season.

done.

It's been an interesting few months. Not long ago, I had this sinking, constant feeling that I was in control of nothing. My temper surprised me, my irritation was an addiction, little things exhausted me. Something had to give. I suppose I should elaborate on the feeling of lack of control: I couldn't control the timing of the adoption or make myself feel all the things I thought I should or make our daughter progress any faster in her journey, I couldn't make Silas any easier in the throes of toddler behavior, I couldn't seem to make myself any more patient with very long question and answer sessions with Nicky, it felt like I was going nowhere at work, and I continued to feel the loss of some things that are better not described here.

I was feeding the wrong wolf; I can see that so clearly now. The answer was not to keep shoving my feet into the shoes that just don't fit, or to force anything else, really. It was to find something I could be proactive about and get to work on it.

Turns out I'm a pretty controlling person. (It's been disappointing to realize this.) I honestly think it was God's hand, directing me to simply let go. Stop forcing. Fill my mind with other things. So I did: I took a leap and started a new job that was demanding of my time and energy, and my wonderful partner in life took up a lot of slack in the process. He wants me well too, and I love him for it.

I think one kind of tiredness is a cure for another kind of tiredness. It's the difference between your hands aching because you've been clenching your fists all day and your feet aching because you've been running with a purpose. That good tired when you fall into bed, when you've earned your sleep. I've found a lot of rest in getting good and tired, and I feel better. My mind feels like it's waking up, more than before.

As for those lack of control things: I've seen our daughter blossom under Ricky's calm and relaxed care, I've learned to enjoy my Silas again, and I now look forward to that moment when Nicky runs in the front door with his million questions and observations. Of course I still get frustrated from time to time, but I don't wear it like a heavy overcoat these days. Thanks be to God; I can say it with my whole heart.

I don't think the issue was ever actually about my children. Sure, parenting is such hard, self-exposing work, but there are other things in my life that felt wrong for such a long time that I was trying to keep plugging away at, and that created a toxicity that had to come out somewhere.

There are still things I don't know what to do with, but not everything is fixed right away (or at all, perhaps.) I can carry on. I've come to believe that it's okay to put things on a shelf and distract myself with the good. When the right time comes, I'll feel compelled to take them down, examine and work through them. In the meantime, I'm not forcing anything. I'm not enslaved to anyone's formula. I'll try to be better at listening, knowing we're all carrying quite a load around.

It comes back to this, over and over: walk gently through the world. Look for the goodness of God. Rejoice when you find it; rejoice with the people around you who see it too. Whoever they are, wherever you find them.

So I'm trying to look around, all the while feeling quite vulnerable and oh-so-tired. We're all in some stage of healing I suppose.

more on Judges

{I'm attempting to read the whole Bible during Lent this year, and blogging my way through it. The Bible is an old friend, but we fight sometimes. Ever hear of quitting something cold turkey? Well, this is my way of starting something cold turkey, if that makes sense. I'm facing it head on, with my eyes open, and a new way of reading. My hope is to read the entire text through the lens of Jesus (I'm figuring out what this means as I go along) and attempt a balance of honesty and charity, both of which I've lacked in the past. See also: The Pentateuch, Joshua, Judges and Ruth.}

I came across a post about the book of Judges this morning. The author was able to glean a lesson about the consequences of doing whatever is "right in our own eyes", as the text says Israel did, over and over, which I can appreciate, but I'm still scratching my head and wondering if this LORD is my Lord, because of some of the commands He gives.  I  agree that when we only do what seems right to us, without consulting a greater wisdom, it usually turns out very bad. The thing is, the Israelites' greater wisdom (the Mosaic laws) still seems pretty unjust to me, even if it contains more justice than some of what we read about in Judges (rape and murder ad nauseum.) Her reading is decidedly more charitable than mine, but we both acknowledge the difficulty of these stories.

Here's her post. I'm chewing on it.

In related news, Ricky read something to me this morning from Brian McLaren's book A New Kind of Christianity: Ten Questions that Are Transforming the Faith. It speaks to my question: is the LORD of the Old Testament the same God that we now serve?  Another way I've seen this described is: did Jesus change God's mind about humanity or did Jesus change humanity's mind about God? (And, I would add, is that still happening?) Here's what McLaren has to say:

I'm not saying that the Bible is free of passages that depict God as competitive, superficially exacting, exclusive, deterministic, and violent. But neither am I saying that those passages are the last word on the character of God. I am not saying that the Bible reveals a process of evolution within God's actual character, as if God used to be rather adolescent, but has taken a turn for the better and is growing up nicely over the last few centuries. I am saying that human beings can't do better than their very best at any given moment to communicate about God as they understand God, and the Scripture faithfully reveals the evolution of our ancestors' best attempts to communicate their successive best understandings of God. (Kindle loc.1786, emphasis mine.)

I'm chewing on this too.

If you care to comment, I'd like to know where you land on this, or if you've landed for that matter. I lean more toward McLaren's point of view, but I wouldn't say I've fully landed. Feel free to de-lurk :)

Reading the Bible for Lent: The Pentateuch

{I'm attempting to read the whole Bible during Lent this year, and blogging my way through it. The Bible is an old friend, but we fight sometimes. Ever hear of quitting something cold turkey? Well, this is my way of starting something cold turkey, if that makes sense. I'm facing it head on, with my eyes open, and a new way of reading. My hope is to read the entire text through the lens of Jesus (I'm figuring out what this means as I go along) and attempt a balance of honesty and charity, both of which I've lacked in the past.}

I finished the Pentateuch (Genesis through Deuteronomy) earlier this week....keeping up with the schedule decently, although I did fall a day behind after a long shift on Wednesday and very heavy eyelids the next morning.

So, I thought I'd share a few observations and unsolicited opinions. This will be super general, just because of how fast this reading has to go. I'm making some notes to go back and study in more detail later.

A few things stand out as I re-read these books. One is the sophistication of the writing. This wasn't just a crude list of do's and don'ts. There are literary devices: poetry, imagery, metaphor, suspense. There's a great deal of beauty in the language. Whoever wrote these books (most people say Moses, but there's some dispute among scholars) was educated. The characters are familiar, like childhood friends, and it's good to get to know them again, although they all seem a bit more complex than what I remember. When I read the stories of Adam and Eve, Noah, Isaac and Rebekah, Jacob and Leah and Rachel, of Dinah, of Joseph and his brothers, of the Israelites as slaves and then nomads, of Moses, Aaron and Miriam, I see a LOT of humanity, and a teeny tiny glimpse of divinity. I see the culture of the day and its best understanding of God. There's some pretty dark stuff in there; there are things that just don't seem compatible with the God that Jesus later reveals. I keep saying that, to myself and out loud, over and over. The LORD, as he's called in these texts, seems like a different character than the God we later get to know.

In high school, one of my more memorable assignments was to try to design a perfect society with a group. We had to think about and develop all the details of a society: where people will live, how they'll make money, what infrastructure the government will provide, what to do with people who break the society's codes, etc. Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy detail the complexity of trying to form a functioning society: chapter after chapter of case law, ledgers, protective hygiene practices, and repeated calls for justice and kindness to the foreigner (this concept of justice, though selective, seems ahead of its time.) Moses served as a judge much of the time, hearing case after case and, the text says, consulting the LORD for the answer. That's how many of the laws came to be written. He was so overwhelmed with this job that his father-in-law advised him to set up trusted men to bear some of the load.

An ever present theme in the Pentateuch is that the Israelites have special favor with the LORD. I always took that idea for granted, without questioning it--after all, the LORD is presented as saying this, not the Israelites. Now, I would really like to know why--is the purpose of excluding everyone but the Jews to later dramatically include Gentiles also? Or was it a human thing attributed to God? Then there's the idea that the LORD gives the Israelites land and possessions to plunder; that the land ultimately belongs to them and others are occupying it (not, the text says, because the Israelites are more righteous; the LORD calls them a "stiff-necked people", but because the other people are exceedingly wicked, and also because of the promises that the LORD made to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.) So they wander in the desert for forty years, figuring out the whole functioning society thing and preparing to take the land that the LORD promised their ancestors.

Now, I realize that a lot of the hard stuff is setting up for a redemption or re-definition later. The animal sacrifice will be over once Jesus takes all that on himself.  Paul will extend a controversial welcome to the Gentiles. Jesus will take the "eye for an eye" laws and turn them upside down. He'll tell people to love their enemies. New covenants will be made. But, in the meantime, this stuff is terrible. As a metaphor, it's tolerable I suppose. You can find applicable lessons in it. But are we to accept that God, our God, commanded all of these things? Something deep within me says no.

It's entertaining and a little sad to see what I've underlined in my Bible in past years. Lots of verses sound pretty good on their own, but read the whole passage and you might want to bang your head on the table (or maybe that's just me.) When I was younger, I approached the Bible with the assumption that it was all true, that it all happened. God really did command the Israelites to plunder and kill....it was in the text, and that made it more palatable somehow. If I read something I didn't like, it didn't really matter because if it was in there, I had to accept it. I think now, in retrospect, that that kind of reading caused a coldness, a numbness, in me.

I have to say, I did thoroughly enjoy reading Genesis, because of the stories. I think one of my favorite moments, found in Genesis 16, concerns Hagar. She is sent in to her mistress' husband (Abraham) to bear him a child, since her mistress (Sarah) is barren. She conceives, and her mistress "deals harshly with her" and she flees. She stops by a spring of water, and the "Angel of the Lord" finds her, and tells her to return to Sarah, and that she will have a son called Ishmael, "because the LORD has heard your affliction." Verse thirteen says:

Then she called the name of the LORD who spoke to her, You-Are-the-God-who-Sees; for she said, "Have I also here seen Him who sees me?"

Hints of the divine, in an oh-so-human situation. The God who Sees. That's familiar, that rings true. God is not monstrous here; he's compassionate.
There's a sort of tension in the text, between the LORD as ruthless enforcer of justice and nurturing, forgiving leader. The Israelites praise the LORD as being slow to anger, loving, and forgiving, but also as just (in the sense that the guilty must be punished.) Numbers 14:18 captures the paradox of how the Israelites see the LORD:

The LORD is slow to anger, abounding in love and forgiving sin and rebellion. Yet he does not leave the guilty unpunished; he punishes the children for the sin of the fathers to the third and fourth generation."

It's important to note that on several occasions Moses pleads for LORD to forgive guilty parties and He does. He doesn't seem very slow to anger though; His anger is often swift and fierce. Of course, I'm reading these stories with twenty-first century eyes, with a very different perspective on justice, and with VERY different ideas about women and slaves. What's heinous to one culture is commonplace to another. But the big question, the question that transcends culture is this: what is the nature of God? I personally believe that God's true nature and the human perception of it don't always line up. I hope that's the case anyway. It seems quite likely that the Israelites were giving the God credit/blame for things He didn't actually do, because of their own lack of knowledge and superstition about things like miscarriage (if a woman miscarried, she must have sinned, or if she was barren, the LORD had made her so), and natural disasters, and also just because they lived in a survival-of-the-fittest world. I've heard that our political views are shaped by what we see out our own front door; I would add that our view of God is largely shaped the same way.

The point of this whole endeavor is to read the Bible through the lens of Christ. Here's where I am with that right now: I think that maybe as long as we're human we're going to mis-characterize God. I see what I think is the Israelites doing it in the text and I see us doing it today. We're still cruel; we still use God to justify our wars and greed; we still think we're God's favorite. But, and it's a big but: Jesus makes such a difference. I'm not there yet in the text so I'm going to leave that for another post, but let me just say that as I've read these books, I've often been left with a feeling of hollowness and sadness. I think this comes from the way God/the LORD is described as such a monster in the text. But I remember that the Jesus part is coming. He's going to change the face of God; wipe off some of the weird stuff we've pasted on it. Grace will show up.

So, that was a bit heavy. Here's some interesting tidbits, to end on a lighter note. If you're still reading, I salute you :)

Did you know......

• Abram and Sarai (Abraham and Sarah) were half brother and sister. They had the same father. (Genesis 20:12) The practice of marrying one's sibling, whether half or full, is later condemned in Leviticus 20:17. So, when Abraham lies to and says Sarah is his sister, he's actually sort of telling the truth.
• After getting off the ark, Noah sacrificed one of every clean animal and bird (Genesis 8:20). I'm guessing they must have already reproduced on the ark, otherwise there wasn't much of a point of carrying around two of every kind on the boat for all that time.
•  Exodus 33:11 tells us that Moses spoke with the LORD "face to face, as a man speaks with his friend."  Later, in verse 18-23, Moses asks to see the LORD's glory. The LORD tells him, "you cannot see my face, for no one may see me and live." So Moses hides in a cleft of a rock and the LORD allows him to catch a glimpse of His back. Perhaps when Moses was speaking face to face with the LORD, His glory was hidden somehow? Pretty interesting.
• In Numbers 27:1-11, a case is brought before Moses in which five daughters, whose father has died, are asking to be able to have his inheritance. They have no brothers, and so a new law is made to say that daughters may inherit if there are no sons. Seems a bit ahead of the times, although later (in Deuteronomy, I believe, I forgot to make a note of it) the law states that if a woman has inherited property, it goes to her husband when they marry.

Next up are the Historical Books.

Colorado

This past weekend Ricky and I made a quick dash up to Colorado. Neither of us have ever been to our northern neighbor state, and we had a long weekend and grandparents who wanted to spend time with the littles (God bless them, seriously.) Denver is definitely on the "places we would love to live" list, and lately we're keeping our eyes open for Possibilities.

It was lovely, as expected. Colorado is beautiful in a similar way to New Mexico, actually. Lots of high desert in the southern part. And then, more mountains and snow, but the same big blue sky and wide views. I re-discovered the joy of night driving on the way up (thank you, This American Life, the Lumineers, Mumford & Sons, and Ray LeMontagne, for that) and we made it to Pueblo late, got some sleep, and then drove up to Denver the next morning. I have to say, I think Denver is the friendliest place I've ever been. I think NM is pretty friendly, but we felt downright rude in comparison. Everyone seems to have time to talk. We had fun exploring downtown Denver....went to the Denver Art Museum (they had a Georgia O'Keefe exhibit that was interesting, and the whole museum was super kid-friendly), checked out the Colorado State Capitol, and went to see this play. We both enjoyed it--it dealt with a lot of universal themes, like grief and being stuck, and the slow process of moving on, and I was, as always, so impressed with what theater actors can do with a small space and very few props, and how we can find so much of ourselves in someone else's story.

On Sunday morning we ate crepes at a cute restaurant next to the City Park, then drove north to Boulder (the happiest town in the U.S., apparently.) We wandered around the university, walked downtown (very crunchy-outdoorsy, very happy-looking). Everyone was out and about--reading books, drinking coffee, watching their kids play on kid-sized climbing rocks (Nicky would be in heaven.) It was colorful and interesting. I didn't see a single overweight person, and there's kind of a dress code.  North Face jacket or vest, khakis or long flowing skirt, Minnetonka moccasins (want), hand-knit beanie, cute dog, kids in adorably mismatched clothes, bicycle, vegan snacks in your backpack, etc. I guess if you have to have a dress code, that's not a bad one. We had just a little time to drive up into the mountains, then headed back to Denver.

(Not pregnant, no sir. Just standing like it.)

Sunday night was really special. We went to a service at House for all Sinners and Saints, an inclusive Lutheran church that I've been interested in ever since I saw a video of their pastor here. She was actually out of town so we didn't get to meet her, but the service was beautiful and nourishing, and I'm so glad we went.

It was a group of 50 or so, gathered in a parish hall, with chairs set up in an oval formation. I loved the simplicity and humility of the liturgy, the acapella singing, the depth of the songs, and even though I have differing theological views on the Eucharist, I loved that part too (I doubt I'll ever find a church that I completely agree with, and I'm working on being okay with that.) I loved the quiet, the reverence, the poetry, the opportunity for stillness and reflection. I could have easily been a shaky mess the entire time, because I was so hopeful, and because it was so, so good, but I mostly kept it together. Church has been complicated for a long time; this was just peace. Just. peace. What a gift.

Afterward, we walked around in the cold, got some Thai food, and processed the experience out loud. I'm still processing inwardly.

We drove back in a straight shot on Monday, and picked up the littles late that night. They all looked bigger. I want to go back, and take them along next time. Maybe this summer.

a shifter's prayer

God, i used to think you were packageable.

i used to be able to say to others, to myself "this is exactly what God is like."

when i read the Bible i used to feel comfortable and right, affirmed in my belief

now i sometimes feel bothered by what I read, and oh so tired, and still thirsty

oh, how i miss being sure about you-

but God, i’m trying to lean into the present, to experiencing you in new ways.

i see you in the faces of children

i feel you in a sudden cool breeze when the sun is blaring down

i hear you in laughter and honest conversation, in the vulnerable

i smell you in an unexpected rainstorm, in the fresh morning air

i touch you when i touch the difficult, the messy, the un-explainable

thank you for these gifts. 

despite all the things i don’t know, i can still cling to this….you are full of compassion and mystery, and oh so 

unpackageable

and for that i, too, am thankful.  

God, please keep sustaining me in these shifts.

i do want more of you in my life.  

amen.

{This is another exercise from Kathy Escobar. She's my internet pastor, I've decided.}

today's things are for today

faith-full or faithless

numb or still

kind or angry-to-my-core

and I am always tunneling, toward or away

contradiction-

grace the biggest one of all:

every day i need

you to step in and save

me

from myself

today's things are for today,

they will expire

but I still try to stack them up in a closet, so

tomorrow I can just be needless

but

I am here, and so, still is my anger

my not-enough feelings

my humanity

and the grace-filled moments look

different that I thought they would

Still learning.....

still, learning.

We don't do this alone.

You incline, and hear my cry

every day I call out, in some way

every day you answer, in some way

I just stand and watch my babies, amazed by

all that hope running around

little rib-cages, arms reaching up

the weight slowly settles on our shoulders;

you reach down and lift it off

every day, glory.

*Psalm 40 inspired

disquieted

This week I am going to do things that are good for my soul. Things like:

• checking facebook a whole lot less
• setting the alarm and finally trying out that cycling class that scares me
• going outside in the evenings, taking an honest-to-goodness walk
• reading a book that's not criticizing or recommending anything, just a good book
• speaking kind words to myself more
• speaking kind words to my family more
• taking some time to make eye contact
• prayer and meditation (the practice of lectio divina has intrigued me for some time now)
• taking time to be creative
• breathing more, sighing less
• writing down ideas before they float away
• planting something for fall
• cleaning out closets and drawers, just for the feeling of it afterwards
• loving my littles exactly as they are, right now. Holding them close.

....and maybe at the end of it I'll find some things that have gone missing. 

how to be

The question keeps me up at night lately: how to be a Christian? How to really follow Christ? So many all around me are acting like it's an easy thing, with a clear path to follow. I don't know. What would He do? That statement, less a popular bracelet and more a wrestling of the soul, keeps me up at night.

Church sometimes smothers His voice, but sometimes I still hear it there.

Numbness is a short-term solution, but then I return to the Good News, like a magnet drawn back. Where else would I go?

These culture wars make me want to chuck away all the obvious stuff, all the church going and right-stuff saying--communes start to look mighty good. Running away, always so appealing.

Maybe I'll just set up a stand, with a sign that says "Free Listening. No Advice, Promise." We could even bow our knees together, in need and gratitude.

Can any change come from the inside? Or do I need to find others who think like I do? A cause I can really get behind, body and soul? An end to the exhaustion, the constant fight against criticism....

I don't know.

igniting passion

I'm blogging through Kathy Escobar's fantastic series, Rebuilding after Deconstructing, in an effort to clarify some things for myself, to share my story, and to encourage forward motion. This is so not about whining or placing blame, or picking on any person or institution.  Just the story of God and me, up to now... abridged. 

See also Deconstruction, the wall and the journey inward: part I, the wall and the journey inward: part II, loss, what remains, what works, and celebrating the past

Lately I've been thinking quite a bit about how to transition from the journey inward to the journey outward. It's so easy for me (probably for anyone) to get stuck in a place of constant self-examination and evolve toward narcissism rather than personal growth and giving back. I think I've been where I needed to be, and up until very recently, where I needed to be was on that inward journey. From what I can tell, the important thing is to pay attention to the stirrings in my soul--and for a little while now the stirrings have been calling me outward. I'm actually really excited about it--this is the fun part, right? I've had to dig through a lot of junk to get to this point, but I do believe I am finally getting somewhere. Whew.

I dream of a life where my passions and daily routines are intertwined. In some ways, I already have that. I've learned to be passionate about my family; to see my mothering as a ministry. I've learned to commune with God throughout my day, in the mundane, the exciting, the sweet, the tiresome. I'm learning to stop clutching onto my life; that to engage in the moment seems to create more time, but to cling to minutes and to-do lists (my default) is to lose the day swiftly and have nothing of substance to show for it. I'm learning to approach life more openly. All of those things are good, and I want more of the same.

There are some things I dream about, most of which I've been dreaming about for a long time:

• seeing my kids grow up in a spiritually, physically, and emotionally healthy home; setting an example of that myself
• midwifery, when the time is right
• giving comfort and quality care as a nurse
• growing our family through foster care and adoption
• cultivating a healthy marriage
• finding a way to translate personal growth into ministry (finding my niche in the church? or something outside of it? I don't know yet.)

The word "healthy" is in there a lot. For so much of my life, I haven't been internally healthy. I've been trying and failing to play a part that wasn't even super well-defined in my head; trying to understand a God I had placed in a box (and who was placed in a box for me.) So I absolutely had to deconstruct. It's funny, looking back on it now--of course I had to. Something had to change.

This part is about laying groundwork while maintaining the basics. For me the basics are prayer, honesty, evaluation and re-evaluation, kindness to self and others (basic is not synonymous with easy.) I feel a lot of potential energy, welling up and waiting for the right time to spring into action. I'm figuring out that I won't ever have it all together, but that's no reason to not pursue things I care about or to stop working on myself. Both matter, both are needed.

Each dream has it's time, but I can honestly say that everything on that list has a foundation in my life right now, to varying degrees. My marriage has gotten so much better over the last few years, because of some difficult conversations, some beautiful experiences, shared sorrow and joy, simple kindness, and a lot of intention from both of us. It's an ongoing process, and an amazing one! I see my kids growing up without un-necessary stress (so far) and fiercely want to preserve that. I hope our home remains a haven for them, always. Nursing is a small part of my week (just one day) but I try to give it 100% of my energy when I am there. Midwifery feels a way off still, but I did recently join a study group with an experienced midwife who is a wealth of knowledge, to, as she put it, "keep the dream alive." Foster care and adoption is right in front of us; the process could begin at any moment. The hows and whens are unknown, but it feels like the time for that dream is now. I really hope so. I feel "expectant" :)

And as far as ministry things go, that is pretty cloudy to me at this point. All I know is, I feel passionately that Christians need to be talking about their journeys in a way that is real, honest, and spacious. Having some sort of framework for this process has been so helpful for me. I would love to give people a safe space to ask their questions and share their hopes out loud (shaky voices and all), or even just have a way to be in the church if the songs or crowds or sermons are daunting because of where they are in their spiritual journey. If going to service is too much, maybe they could have a place to go that's a little safer, where someone is waiting to listen. Maybe it's a small group thing, maybe a Sunday morning thing, maybe even a blog thing-- I'm not sure. I would just like to cultivate that vision, to be there for my brothers and sisters that are wounded--not so much to offer my own wisdom although I'll gladly share my journey. Just to let them know they're not alone; that maybe God really is all they hope he is.

I like the idea of adding new passions to long-standing ones, as life happens. As I learn.

celebrating the past

I'm blogging through Kathy Escobar's fantastic series, Rebuilding after Deconstructing, in an effort to clarify some things for myself, to share my story, and to encourage forward motion. This is so not about whining or placing blame, or picking on any person or institution.  Just the story of God and me, up to now... abridged. 

See also Deconstruction, the wall and the journey inward: part I, the wall and the journey inward: part II, loss, what remains and what works.

Next up is Celebrating What Was and honestly, I've been stuck on this part for over a week, because I'm having a hard time writing about some things in my past without sounding like I'm bashing people. That's certainly not the point of this exercise. So, here we go again. Maybe I can say it right this time.

This part is all about looking at seasons of one's life that caused feelings of hurt, shame or maybe just embarrassment, and finding something to celebrate about each season. It's hard, because people are complicated and life is messy. I think the place to start is looking at my own progression. There are things I've said and done over the course of my life that are just plain embarrassing, but they're a reflection of where I was at the time and not my essential self.

The truth I keep coming back to is this: when I'm gentle with myself, I can be more gentle with others (insert whatever word necessary: patient, kind, etc....) I've been able to let go of a ton of burdensome, poisonous, grudgy junk because of that truth.

So I look back over my entire journey, and ask--how does God see it? I think he sees the big picture. Where I've been, where I'm headed. Just that thought covers everything with peace and takes my anxiety away. I don't know if everything happens for a reason, but I do believe that God redeems.

Because of hard times in my life, I have gained

• insight into human nature 
• a backbone (I'm a little more aware of manipulative techniques now I think)
• knowledge about myself, how I respond to different situations, what my "deal-breakers" are, what my true joys are
• the ability to put up needed boundaries
• gratefulness for genuine friendship
• an ability to be myself and let go of the constant need for approval (a work in progress)
• the ability to say NO

Those are the biggies I think. Letting go is beautiful and so freeing. On to better things, carrying the lessons of the past with me like the treasures that they are.

what works

I'm blogging through Kathy Escobar's fantastic series, Rebuilding after Deconstructing, in an effort to clarify some things for myself, to share my story, and to encourage forward motion. This is so not about whining or placing blame, or picking on any person or institution.  Just the story of God and me, up to now... abridged. 

See also Deconstruction, the wall and the journey inward: part I, the wall and the journey inward: part II, loss, and what remains.

An important part of this journey for me has been finding ways to run to God instead of from God, even when I'm not too sure what's what. Like I mentioned before, I truly believe this process has been mostly about re-defining who God is to a soul that's become sad and cynical over time (yup, that's me.) One of my favorite verses in the Bible is Psalm 27:13--I would have lost heart, unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.

In order to have an authentic belief in God as a good being; I've needed to somehow disconnect Him from some negative associations. I've found that this sort of thing takes a lot of time, intention, and space.

Ann Voskamp's book One Thousand Gifts has been hugely influential for me. The beauty of her prose, the raw-ness of her story, and her desire to be well all resonated with me. I found comfort and inspiration in her words. I started keeping my own gratitude lists; noticing the beauty right in front of me. The thing that's really special about what Ann proposes though, is choosing to see all of the beautiful little details as gifts from God. It's brave, really, to choose to see a sunset or an unexpected surprise or the expression on your child's face while he sleeps as gifts from a loving God--it's brave when you're torn apart about whether or not He's good, anyway. It's a bold declaration of faith in what you're not quite sure of.

So that has really helped. My thank-you's began as tentative whispers, but I can see now how thanking God for the small things has made Him bigger in my life. He's in the bedtime stories, the garden planting, the momentarily clean kitchen, the coffee outside in the morning, the much-needed conversation. He's here; and I'm starting to like him again. He's starting to feel like a friend again. It's actually a little weird to say again, because in a way this all feels pretty new.

What else worked/works?

• giving up dutiful Bible reading (the kind that stems from obligation, not love)
• practicing stillness, being quiet, listening
• getting honest on this blog; being braver in my conversations
• books about spirituality
• day to day things with my kids--I've found space in my days for prayer and contemplation, for meeting with God while I go about my routines. Also, the times when I feel overwhelmed as a parent have become points of connection with God. I'm asking for help more, and trusting that he will help me more. 
• my job--because it's mentally and physically challenging, and I miss my family when I'm gone, and I often see my children in my patients. Because it gets me out of my head. Because it helps me to remember Jesus, the least of these, and what this is all about.
• working through some issues in my marriage
• pursuing the dream of foster adoption (another step of faith)
• honoring the creative spark, making space for it

Those are the big things that come to mind. Everything is spiritual; I believe that. A healthy mind, marriage, home atmosphere, nurturing of dreams, silliness, laughter--all of those things are spiritual, so putting those things in order help me to be in tune with the divine. I feel a new steadiness because of it.

what remains

I'm blogging through Kathy Escobar's fantastic series, Rebuilding after Deconstructing, in an effort to clarify some things for myself, to share my story, and to encourage forward motion. This is so not about whining or placing blame, or picking on any person or institution.  Just the story of God and me, up to now... abridged. 

See also Deconstruction, the wall and the journey inward: part I, the wall and the journey inward: part II, and loss

I talk more about what I don't know than what I know. You know? :) Honestly, it's a lot easier to tear down than to build up. This is where the building up begins.

Today, I'm thinking about what I do know; what I haven't lost. Here's what I think remains for me:

• prayer. I can't imagine a day without it. Not really a structured kind, more of a meditative, talk-to-your-heart, listen, breathe kind of thing. Some of the prayers I say often are I will not live with anger in my heart, I will not be afraid of what people think of me, I will not hide my face from you, Oh God, and most recently just I am here. God is here. And then just naming who God is to me, who I know him to be. He brings clarity. He comforts. He understands. He is freshness and light and newness. I'm less likely to give him credit for the bad stuff these days. I'm redefining to my fickle, distrusting, wounded heart who my God really is. That's actually what I think my whole process of deconstruction has been about.

• words. This one just occurred to me. I still have the gift of words. I have beautiful old songs that speak to me, and poetry, and there are passages of Scripture that don't make my heart hurt. (One day I hope that none of them will, we'll see.) But I have a huge collection of words that soothe, heal and inspire.

• community. I have dear people in my life that I can be real with. That is no small thing.

• a sense of awe. It's not gone. When I hear stories of restoration, when I see beautiful things, when I talk about my experience with the divine and see that spark of recognition in another person's eyes--I am full of awe. God is bigger than I can make sense of.

• Jesus. I have had moments where I'm full of doubt and fear, where I go to church and feel like I don't speak the language anymore and what was once familiar is now bizarre, but I love Jesus, and I continue to feel his kindness. I get to hold onto that.

often, we think it’s all gone because it feels that way.  but if we dig down deep, we discover that there are remnants of our faith left.  parts that still are alive.  parts that can’t be taken away.

-Kathy Escobar 

loss

I'm blogging through Kathy Escobar's fantastic series, Rebuilding after Deconstructing, in an effort to clarify some things for myself, to share my story, and to encourage forward motion. This is so not about whining or placing blame, or picking on any person or institution.  Just the story of God and me, up to now... abridged. 

See also Deconstruction, the wall and the journey inward: part I, the wall and the journey inward: part II.

Next up in the series is acknowledging and grieving losses. This is a new way of thinking for me. Of course, because my journey involved the death of a loved one, I acknowledged that loss and have done some work to intentionally grieve in a healthy way (it took me a while, as I mentioned in the last post). But I hadn't thought about the rest of it in terms of loss. It's true though--when you grow and shift and change, loss inevitably occurs.

When I think about it, I've lost:

• some trust. I don't know exactly when I started thinking of groups of people as "safe" or "not safe", but it did happen at some point. I discovered the seriousness of it one day when we were in a group discussion at church and Ricky shared some things about our parenting style, family habits, and such and I totally flipped out. He was just being his usual transparent self, which I usually appreciate, but this time I felt threatened and invaded (poor guy, trying to figure out why his wife was freaking out over a fairly harmless conversation).  I guess I developed some fears in the aftermath of a few bad experiences, and whether they are rational or not, they are very real in my head and have caused some serious distress.

• the emotional high I used to experience during worship songs. I'm often so pre-occupied with lyrics that don't ring true that I can't focus on anything else. There is one song that everyone seems to love--to me it makes God sound like an abusive boyfriend. It likens him to a hurricane that will blow us away or an ocean that we'll drown in. Then the chorus is about how much he loves us. Seriously, all I can think about is the cycle of abuse when I hear that song. I used to try to sing along with songs that bothered me, because maybe I liked certain parts of them, or maybe I thought I was just over-analyzing. Now I see how damaging that has been to my soul. It's very important for me to protect the good things I know about God. He's not the hurricane, he's the shelter. He's not drowning me, he's pulling me to safety.

• the ability to pray a certain way. This bothers me, because while I don't want to treat God like Santa Claus, I do want to approach him like a loving parent. 

• the feeling of being part of the club, the inner circle, whatever. I don't feel like I've been rejected by anyone; I just know that if I speak my mind (which feels more and more necessary these days) I'm simply not going to fit in. I'm coming to terms with that.

• having the right answer, or feeling that someone will have the right answer at least. Now I think maybe, maybe not.

• my certainty about the Bible. It's been used as a weapon a few too many times for me to feel super comfortable with it.

So there they are. Some of these have been good things to lose; some very painful and unfortunate, but they all came about when I started picking apart a system that just wasn't working anymore. 

the wall and the journey inward: part II

I'm blogging through Kathy Escobar's fantastic series, Rebuilding after Deconstructing, in an effort to clarify some things for myself, to share my story, and to encourage forward motion. This is so not about whining or placing blame, or picking on any person or institution.  Just the story of God and me, up to now... abridged. 

See also Deconstruction and the wall and the journey inward: part I

I didn't wake up that Sunday thinking I would reach a new low. It was actually a celebratory day; a service dedicated to testimony. People shared their struggles and victories from the previous year, and I sat in my chair, feeling their joy and sorrow, laughing and crying. It was so, so good. But then people started sharing about physical healing. Ever since my Dad's death I had felt fragile about that topic. I took a deep breath, asked God to help me, and and I was okay for a while. But it continued. A woman healed of a degenerative disease ran across the stage. A few others shared. I kept doing my deep breathing. Then a young woman talked about how she had a food allergy, and prayed to be healed from it, and guess what? She was! To the point where she binged out on the food she couldn't have and look! She was fine. Just like that, all is well.

I felt my heart shut down; tried to give myself a little pep talk, told myself just be happy for her. Don't make this about you.... but it was too late. I felt a dam break inside of me, and I panicked. I have to get out of here, NOW, I thought. Because sometimes people die, sometimes prayers are not answered the way we'd hoped and nobody was acknowledging that. I don't know if it was a panic attack, but that's what it felt like to me. I've never been so full of anxiety, sadness, and frustration. I managed to pick up my kids and drove home, shaking. I railed at the heavens, I asked God if he was really that cruel, I cried for hours.  And then, when I was done, I realized I had to take some sort of action to help myself. I couldn't remain here forever.

I did a therapeutic exercise that afternoon called The Chair. My friend had told me about it months before, and I had been avoiding it, but I wanted to do something to get better, anything. I imagined my Dad was sitting across from me, and I said everything I had needed to say when he was dying. I started off wrily with "I know you probably wouldn't approve of this, but...." And I chose to believe he could hear me.

Exhausted, I opened my computer and started reading a blog I had been following for a few months, rachelheldevans.com. I had already found solace in her writing, but that day (I don't remember how exactly) I stumbled upon links to a few other blogs, sarahbessey.com (then called Emerging Mummy) and elizabethesther.com. All three of these women were asking some of the same questions I was. All three were struggling to find a home at church again. Maybe, I thought cautiously, maybe this is a gift. That day, for the first time in a long time, it dawned on me He might just be taking care of me. I began to feel hope for better things in our relationship. I wrote a post about a month later called bread crumbs to mark the beginning of a new season.

I realized many important things in the months following that day. One is that my faith doesn't need to look like anyone else's. I gave myself permission to be a misfit, to be perceived as undisciplined, lazy, liberal, lukewarm, or whatever else. There will always be people who talk about easy fixes and overnight miracles--and I don't want to judge their experiences as not valid either. But that has never been my experience. Christianity, for me, has mostly been about putting one foot in front of the other. About seeking and waiting and learning to be content. Believing that I really do have what I need, right here and now. Persevering. Choosing to be a recipient of grace, humbling as it is.

And I hope that the more comfortable I feel in my own faith, the less I will freak out when it looks different for other people. There is still a bit of dread when it comes to church things; that has not gone away. Sometimes I'm not sure that it will. But I'm trying to be gentle with my soul, because God is.

I also decided to fight against having multiple selves--my church self, home self, work self.....wow, that is so exhausting. This is a hard thing for those of us who grow up in evangelical culture I think. We get so used to the happy Sunday morning identity that it's hard to take off. I still struggle to be real on Sunday morning, or in any church setting really. Blogging has really helped with that. I find that if I can summon the courage to say something on my blog first, then I can bring it up in a conversation later.

So that was the beginning of my journey inward. One very dramatic day followed by a lot of quiet reflection, a year of re-shaping my perception of God by noting all the things, big and small, that I have to be grateful for (hats off to another amazing blogger, Ann Voskamp, for writing an incredible book and opening my eyes to the power of saying thank you), and many conversations with my husband, whose experience has paralleled mine in many ways. I'll write more about finding new spiritual practices a little later.

It can take a lot of hard work and a lot of time for God to heal our hearts; to reshape our perceptions of Him. I believe more strongly now than ever before that He wants to. I will honor this process.

the wall & the journey inward: part I

I'm blogging through Kathy Escobar's fantastic series, Rebuilding after Deconstructing, in an effort to clarify some things for myself, to share my story, and to encourage forward motion. This is so not about whining or placing blame, or picking on any person or institution.  Just the story of God and me, up to now... abridged. 

This post is dedicated to working through the issues discussed in Part I: Honoring the Process. I highly recommend reading it for some context, but the idea in a nutshell is that there are stages to the Christian life. They are:

• recognition of God
•  life of discipleship 
• the productive life 
• hitting The Wall 
• the journey inward 
• the journey outward 
• a life of love 

Last year my church went through a series called Emotionally Healthy Spirituality that, as I remember, pretty much uses the same model, so the idea of stages is not completely new. Going through the series with a small group got me thinking about my journey so far, but I've still never written it all out. Looking at my own life objectively (as much as that is possible) I believe that I was at The Wall for some time, and more recently began the journey inward.

The first time I can remember questioning God was when I was eight. I was having a conversation with my parents about free will, and they were trying to help me understand why God leaves some choices up to us. "He didn't want us to be robots", they explained gently, "he wants us to choose him because it's what we want; because we love him." I cried dramatically and said that he should have made us "robots", without free will, because then no one could make the wrong choice.

As I grew up, I was of course confronted with some big questions--I saw injustice in the world, the exclusivity of the Gospel as I learned it, the struggle of Jesus followers to actually act like Jesus, the arrogance and ignorance often found within church culture. I also experienced a lot of wonderful things--compassion, generosity, community, the way the Holy Spirit changes people, and so many second chances. I struggled with doubt, but I had a connection, a friendship, with God that steadied me. It seemed un-shakeable to me, especially as a zealous teenager.  I felt I was part of something bigger than myself: a counter-cultural movement (teenagers tend to like that sort of thing, no?)

My questions grew during the college years. Being an English major opened up a new world of thought. I gained an ability to craft an argument, an appreciation for the power of words, and awareness of the different types of writing that influence thought and culture and vice versa, or "literary theory". And so I learned to try on different lenses, to attempt to understand different perspectives. During this time I felt less and less at home in conservative evangelical culture, and more acutely aware of church culture's discomfort with postmodern thought. Unfortunately, there were also a few hurtful church experiences involving legalism and misinformation, and I developed a guarded attitude toward church leadership in general. Still, the connection with God remained, even as I felt less sure about what I believed.

At age 22, I was married to my college sweetheart, finishing my degree, and processing a surprise pregnancy just a few months into the marriage (my  Nickyboy is five now, and remains full of surprises.)I wasn't sure what I wanted to do with an English degree (is anyone?) and I got a little tired of being in my head all the time. I was overcome with a strong desire to learn a skill, to do something with my hands. So I went back to school to study nursing, and learned how to be a mother, how to be married, how to live on a tight budget--all at the same time it seemed. That was a season of pretty intense learning, of highs and lows, of growth. In many ways it was a sweet time.

When Nicky was two months old, my Dad was diagnosed with Stage IV lung cancer. We were all devastated. My parents both had a strong belief that he would survive, and they amazed me with their faith and perseverance. He was with us for nine months after the diagnosis. Thin, tired, and unable to speak above a whisper, a few days after starting hospice care, he passed on. It was a relief to know he was not suffering anymore, but it was unbearably sad too. He was only 58; we certainly wanted him around longer than that.

There is so much more I could say about his dying process, but I think it's a little too personal for others in my family for me to share here. He was a precious person to all of us, and at his funeral people talked for hours about all the ways he had enriched their lives; all his years of service, his corny jokes, the freshness of his faith. I miss him every day. I wish my kids could have known him.

After his death, going to church was so difficult. I couldn't get through a worship song without crying or feeling disillusioned by the lyrics. I tried picturing him in heaven, without pain, stress-free, and that helped a little. I felt the closeness of God at times, but I was keeping my distance. I found myself scared; I went to church and felt like I didn't speak the language anymore. I hadn't felt like I fit in with the culture for years, but it felt magnified now. I volunteered for kids ministry, hoping to do some good and avoid focusing solely on my own problems. That was helpful, and I loved being with the kids. My church community was full of kind, down to earth people, but hearing phrases like "stand on the promises of God", and "prayer changes things" only seemed to increase my sorrow. I think this was the beginning of my Wall. The relationship that had been central to my life ever since I could remember was in trouble, and it scared me to think I could lose it.

I stayed busy with nursing school and home life, and we were part of a small group with an atmosphere of honesty and acceptance. It really was a healing environment. I think sometimes people didn't know what to say or do around me when I would talk about my issues, but they let me anyway, and they prayed for me. I'm so grateful for that. My deep un-settledness about God and church culture continued, but I got by. Life marched on as it does. We both finished school, got jobs, bought a house, and had our second baby, Silas. I loved my life but when it came to spiritual things, and especially when it came to church things, I often felt like I was just playing a part. One summer day in 2011, it all came to a breaking point.

deconstruction.

one thing that makes me the most sad about “church” is how few places we have for deconstruction.  the mystics and desert mothers & fathers knew that seeking something deeper was a natural part of spiritual growth.  they weren’t afraid of questions & doubts and trusted the guiding, faithful work of the Holy Spirit to keep showing sojourners the way.  we, however, have built systems, buildings, and organizations upon certainty, right belief, and a clear path that makes us feel comfortable.

-Kathy Escobar

So, I've been reading through and processing this series of posts by Kathy Escobar, a pastor from Denver, Colorado who I discovered earlier this year. I think one of these days I just need to drive up to Denver, find her church and give her a hug (and maybe ugly cry) because her writing has been a Godsend.

It makes me think of the line from the movie Shadowlands, where one of C.S. Lewis' students tells him "we read to know we're not alone." That has stayed with me over the years, and I am so grateful to have found kindred spirits both on the internet and in person. And I am grateful for people who forge paths, and give us language that is useful for figuring this stuff out. She describes deconstruction as a time where:

...much of what we believe shifts.
where things we once held dear unravel.
where the number of questions begin to overtake all of our past certainties.
where we find ourselves saying “uh oh, our faith might be in big trouble.”
where we lose the safety of familiar communities because we’ve changed.

Sounds incredibly familiar to me. So I'm going to blog through this series, and at least get this whole process straight in my head. I've been writing about this stuff here for a while now, but not in such a structured way. Structure just might be helpful....

This is in no way an attack on any person or institution. It's really just about me and God, and my hope for better things. This has been a looooonnnng process, and it's still going on, and it may continue for quite some time. Only God knows I guess. So if this frustrates you, that is so okay. Trust me, I get plenty frustrated with myself. But if it resonates with you too, know that you are not alone. And I hope that sharing my story here is helpful in some way. And if you feel compelled, you can share your story here too, or head over to Kathy's blog and join the conversation there. Let's get this stuff out in the open.