Wandering Ways

I spent the evening with my grandfather tonight. At one point I snapped a picture of him. I said he looked handsome and asked him what he thought. He said he couldn't really visualize it. 

All growing up I knew my grandfather as unendingly patient and kind. I also knew him to answer almost any question with a dry or clever comeback. As Alzheimer's has progressively altered his mind, I don't always know when his words are jumbled or when he's still making an attempt at humor. I prefer to imagine it's the latter.

Writing on here seems silly sometimes. As if my life is playing out like a story for reading. But it’s not really. I am an external processor and writing helps me to externally process. It feels like the processing goes somewhere, even if it's not really going much of anywhere. 

Philadelphia was a dream. Sometimes a nightmare, but always, always something that felt a little unreal - either in how unearthly it was in its seeming goodness and sweetly aligned providences or how unimaginable it was in the opposite. Regardless of the ups and downs, by the end it was so good I felt I could live there forever. Just like when I left Oklahoma in 2016 and life was beautiful here - I wasn't running from anything then and I wasn't leaving anything bad in Philadelphia either.

I was offered a position at the Fostering Hope clinic in Oklahoma City. There's a bit of a story to how that came about and I can tell anyone who's curious in person. I will just say here that I've dreamed and journaled about wanting to help kids in the foster system for years. I also recognize that this might not be my dream job. I don't know. I've been at it for less than 48hrs. But tonight I got to hang out with my grandpa.

Family is incredibly valuable to me. I'm grateful for the opportunities to be around the one I came from. Barring an obvious calling to a distant location for myself or a future spouse, it's never been my plan to separate myself from family indefinitely. My nieces and nephews are at really fun ages and my grandparents aren't getting any younger. The body of believers are my family as well and I find them everywhere - today even. It was refreshing to again meet another Christian who hadn't experienced a life that could be the poster ad for a prosperity gospel of comfort, pleasures, fulfilled desires, and ease. And yet there was that hope and that joy. It's so genuine.

The individual friends I made in Philadelphia are irreplaceable, of course. I don't know if I'll indefinitely be separated from them either. (Actually I know I won't. Everything is the tiniest blip on the screen of eternity.) But my season for now is Oklahoma. It's strange and sweet and wonderful. And I'm incredibly grateful to be here. I have a good Shepherd and I lack nothing.

Authenticity

My generation has been pretty enamored with authenticity for awhile. We came of age during the explosion of reality TV shows in the 90s & 2000s. And we grew to be social media users compelled to talk about how “messy” life is and how much we don't care about keeping up with the Joneses.

Messy, gritty, raw, real.

These became the new standards to emulate.

Hypocrisy had done a number on us. Maybe we were even once a part of families or religious organizations that presented themselves one way, while we saw the ugly underbelly. With such experiences, it's no wonder we'd be disgusted by facades and fakery.

Sometimes I wonder, though, what someone means when they say that they are “just being real”.  I’m afraid that too often it means that one is just being “authentic” to whatever their current emotion is. Emotions can be up, down, and sideways. Also, you are MORE than only emotions. So what about being true to your mind? What about being true to your character? What about being true to your values and to the people who care about you? Those things are just as much “you” too.

My pastor said something Sunday that brought all this to mind. What my pastor described was faithfulness. He described faithfulness as being both genuineness and reliability.

So.
Faithfulness > Authenticity

Because faithfulness is not less than authenticity. It's authenticity PLUS reliability.

I think one could even argue that the MOST real things in life are what remains after everything else has been shaken.

Every whispy, superficial thing in life will fade. What's real will remain.*

Viewed through that lense, the most genuine, authentic, realest-of-real persons in my life are my family and the body of Christ. Whether family/believers in Oklahoma or in Philadelphia or in multiple other locations around the world, these are the people who have walked with me in sickness and in health, in strength and weaknesses, for rich or for poor. These are the people in whom I've personally witnessed continual, sometimes radical, transformation. These are the people I've watched become the most genuine versions of themselves as lies, unforgiveness, bitterness, and hypocrisy fall away more and more. I'm beginning to see the value of faithfulness (i.e. genuineness + reliability) over simple “authenticity”.

One can be genuine and kind at the same time, even when they don’t feel like it. One can be honest and respectful. One can be broken and being made new. One can be authentically true to themselves and faithfully committed to others. Being true to whatever emotion or situation is ruling you at the moment is no more authentic than the person tempering their emotions and current situation with truth, self-control, wisdom, faith, hope, and the greatest of all: love.  

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t believe emotions should be ignored. Not at all. Our feelings often know things before our minds ever do. If emotions are like a stream running through us, it’s emotions that can be the earliest indicators of something being not quite right. Emotions will respond to the smallest rock out of place because it will change how that stream flows (if the rock is big enough, it can block the stream entirely). Because of this noticeable change, we have an opportunity, if we are willing, to seek out the rock and to remove it. (Rocks could be lies we believe, unforgiveness, bitterness, discontent, resentment, ingratitude, unrecognized and unhealed traumas or victimizations, etc).

To those who’ve given themselves over to Christ, I want you to be encouraged: “There is not a square inch in the whole domain of our human existence over which Christ, who is Sovereign over all, does not cry, Mine!” (Abraham Kuyper). Likewise, there is not one square inch within all of YOU - body, mind, will, AND emotions - over which Christ does not cry, “Mine!” He is faithful to complete what He has begun. You can #liveauthentic 😆 in Him.  He sets free of facade and comparison and so many other weighty things.

And if you haven't given yourself over to Christ, I'm not trying to leave anyone out or pass any judgements. When I find something amazing (like my job that I love and that has been proven to really help kids and families, or like Umcka for treating colds 😂), I talk about it. Jesus is the best thing that's ever happened to me. And not that just has happened, but that continues to happen to me. So sometimes I talk about that. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

(Probably not as much as I should though. I'm messy….what can I say...? Just being raw and real with y'all 😉)

ALL the love for all of you! ❤️

~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~

*(Please don't go too far with what I'm defining here. I don't mean to say that everything that fades away was never genuine. There are genuine people and situations that are only meant for a season. I'm just saying that there are also many, many times the fading of something reveals the disingenuousness of it. Time reveals truth. Reality rises to the surface eventually. This is seen in people, in organizations, in relationships, and even in yourself as you sort out who you are and what you want. I'm pretty much an existentialist on this. Regardless of what you feel, what you think, or what you believe all of those things are ultimately revealed in your choices - in how you live your life. I'm hoping in saying all this that anyone who might be wired similarly to me and concerned about being genuine, will rest in the assurance that you are still being you when you reason through things and go with what's logical or when you choose your values and your convictions even in the face of lagging emotions. Those other parts of you are equally valid in being uniquely, authentically “you”.)

Final Hope

My word for 2018 was hope.

My goal for 2018 was to keep my eyes on the Source of my hope.

I've told a handful of specific stories of what I see as God miraculously intervening in the ordinary events of our very human, limited lives. I posted one simple story each month this year.

My final post for 2018, however, is the story of more than a single incident in the life of one or a few individuals. It's a story that branches across history. Because I wanted to include footnotes from what I've researched, I'm just posting the link here:

God Of The Small

This story will deserve a follow up post I think. But I'll save that for 2019... 🙂

David Generation

David is probably most known for two things: killing a giant and sleeping with Bathsheba. Isn’t it funny how the narratives that stick with us the most seem to be the ones of either great heroism or massive failure? In reality, every person is much more nuanced than that.

David was the overlooked youngest in his family. He spent much of those early years looking after a bunch of smelly sheep. He put the time to good use though. He wrote and played music. He became a pretty good shot (slingshot that is) by killing off predators like bears and lions in order to keep those dumb sheep alive. He was anointed as Israel’s next king somewhere in those young buck years too. Even so, he made no assumptions. He didn’t arrogantly advance to that position of power on his own.

According to Hebrew history, he did kill the giant Goliath. And he kind of soared to fame after that. He also was forced into running and hiding like a common criminal after the giant-slaying thing because of the current reigning king’s jealousy and fear of losing the throne. Only after that king died, only when the time was perfectly right, did David ascend the throne.

Though I could spend many paragraphs describing David and some of his admirable qualities, instead I’ll direct you to the stories of his life written in 1&2 Samuel, 1 Kings, 1 Chronicles, and Psalms.

Eleven years ago I began praying that my generation would be like David. I want to be clear that my prayers were for men and women. All the poet-warrior stuff makes for obvious #mcm material in my opinion, but jokes aside – the wholeheartedness, genuineness, worship, and tender-hearted repentance that defined David were qualities I wanted for everyone. Like I said above, we tend to tell stories of great failure or great heroism. But truthfully every individual is fully sinner, potentially saint, and an utterly ordinary human. We see the span of all of those things in David’s life, and I think that’s why he seemed like such an appropriate model. A hopeful model too because, even with that mixed bag of ordinariness and sin, David is called the man after God’s own heart. So, my prayer was that those who knew Jesus would not just know and follow Him an inch deep, but that they would be all-in, wholehearted followers of Jesus.

After about 8 or 9 months of praying this, I was driving west on 2nd street in Edmond. Coming up on Broadway extension, I was very conversationally praying to God and asked Him, “What’s next in the story?” Within a minute of asking that I slowed to a stop at the intersection and glanced over at the lane to my right. In big letters on the door of the truck next to me were the words: “King David Construction”.

Eleven years ago I began praying for Davids. Eleven years ago – assuming God intervenes in our ordinary day-to-day and maybe has a little sense of humor – God provided encouragement that He was working on them. That was eleven years ago. So you best believe I'm on the lookout for those grown Davids now.

After the Dark Comes the Dawn

About six years ago the word "gift" kept coming up in my life. With some variation -"gift", "God's gift", "gift from God"- it consistently presented itself through people, through spoken or written word, or through a series of "coincidental" events. My attention was first drawn to it through two of the same gifts brought to my home within the same afternoon. I think God often uses repetition or multiples of the same thing to get a message across. I sensed God say, "Pay attention. I have gifts for you."

         I continued thinking on this gift thing as it appeared in my day to day life. I had a full and interesting spring, summer, fall. So now it had been a year of multiple repetitions of "gift" and one night - and it was literally an over the night change - some personal hopes of mine were disappointed and doubt began to weave its torturous web.

         It wasn't even so much the specific let downs that were depressing, it was what they reminded me of. They reminded me that I'd hoped before, been disappointed before, felt this pain before, and wondered if it would always be this way. (Isn't that just so human? When we enter into a hard or disappointing season it feels like it will always be this way.)

         I hardly ever have any trouble sleeping. I'm grateful for this. I know it's not everyone's experience.  This night was different though. I tossed and turned. I heaved those chest-aching sobs, the kind that - for me at least - feel a little like what I'd imagine drowning would. There was anger and broken-heartedness, confusion and frustration verging on despair.

And I cried out to God continually:

         "I don't understand. Do you even see me? Do you really care? How does this keep happening and will these desires ever stop being painful?"

         "Do you know what I want?"

         "Do you care about what I want?"

         "Do you even see me?"

Like a broken record - "Do you know me? Do you see me?"

         It was a long night and at the same time I was still surprised morning came so soon. I was so preoccupied with my questions - with trying to make sense of things, and having no progress - that it seemed as if no time had really passed.

         But morning came. The first grayish-white, cool sensations of light creeping into my bedroom through the window and gradually becoming wider and warmer and golden.

         I'm a communicator. I could read, or talk, or listen, or write every moment of every day if it were feasible. Communicating is the last thing I do before going to bed and often the first thing I do when I wake up. Since I'd already been talking to and trying to listen to God all night and was getting (in my self-absorbed opinion) precious little for my efforts, I opened my email.

         This is what I found*:

         Gifts.

         There it was again.

         I guess if God was trying to answer the questions I'd been asking all night it would be:

         Yes, I see you.

         Yes, I care.

        Yes, I "know the good desires of your heart" because I put them there.

         I see. I know. I see. I know.

         About a month later I was out of town and ran into a friend I hadn't seen in a while who also couldn't have known what I was going through. She asked if she could pray for me and the words in her prayer were so similar to Tony's words above.

         

More repetition. More of God seemingly trying to get my attention. More telling me that what I want isn't bad, that I don't have to resent it. I don't need to pretend it doesn't exist. And more promises that God has good for me.

         I can always use this reminder. That was 6 years ago, and here in Philadelphia over the last 2 years there's been a new set of pain and tears. I think I've cried more in these last 2 years than the previous 29 combined. Being away from family and friends is hard. Losing dance and running for a season was hard. Death in the family, multiple car accidents, having a front row seat to the often overwhelming burdens of single moms - these things are hard. My personal disappointments and unanswered prayers - those are hard too. But I haven't reached those same questions again of "God, do You know me?" and "Do You care?" because He answered already. In many, many ways before that email but in a special way through this night. When I remember that awful night and that beautiful morning and that timely email, I just can't bring myself to despair the same way again.

         I have good in my life. Much that is good. Actually there's not much in my life to not be deeply grateful for.

         At the same time there's more ahead that I am hoping for. So much more.

God sees. He knows. He sees. He knows.

*I think it's important to know that no one - least of all Tony - knew what kind of night I'd just had right before this email. The night of house church he's referring to in the email was a night I shared routine life updates with my small group. I was not sad then in the least and was actually anticipating some specifically good things coming my way at that time. Disappointments came afterwards.

Rejection. That's a fun topic.

Do you remember the earliest age you felt rejected? By the time I was 8 years old, I’d lived in 4 different places: Texas, Italy, Florida, and Oklahoma. Each move meant making new friends. It took time, but I never felt rejected in my efforts until we moved to Oklahoma. My family had settled into a church where I was soon to learn, by experience, that 8 year old girls are not always the nicest beings on earth. I was often - directly and indirectly - reminded by these girls that I was not one of them. Our families didn’t share a history, we had not been friends since the womb, and we might not ever be friends now either. These things were repeated to me often by these girls.

There are few things I’ve experienced in life that are quite as painful as rejection.

When I was 9, and still attending this church, some women came to pray over students in the Sunday School class. When it was my turn, the woman praying for me said she saw for me a picture of something in nature. This thing in nature is as common and as specific as a sparrow. It wasn’t a sparrow, but because this thing in nature continues to be significant for me, I am going to keep it private and use “sparrow” throughout this story as a replacement. The woman who got this picture for me of a "sparrow" said that I was beautiful and could appear tough, but that I was also fragile and easily broken.

I felt so seen and loved in that moment. I’d been trying my best to get these mean girls to like me. But in that moment I felt I was already seen as beautiful and accepted, even in the midst of feeling very broken.

Fast-forward about 4 years. My family and I are still attending the same church (though the girls who had hurt me, and who eventually became my friends, were no longer attending). Again I am in Sunday school. My teacher has the class form two lines facing each other with our eyes closed. We prayed for the person in front of us and then spoke any prophetic words we might have received. The person who happened to have me first was actually my teacher. With her eyes closed she said she got a picture of a “sparrow” and went on to describe things about beauty and delicacy. (I’m sure she was glad to see me when she opened her eyes instead of some macho guy who might have been offended by being described as beautiful and delicate).

Later that year my dad was in a prophetic training class. The assignment was to look at a “sparrow” that the teacher had brought into the room. My dad sketched a picture of it and wrote a poem about it. The "sparrow" had made him think of me, so he wrote the poem about the sparrow for me and give it and the sketch to me.

Each of these separate incidents were not ones where the individuals knew about my having received words about being a “sparrow” before. I’ve continued to receive timely and encouraging words with this specific symbol. My God sees every small and great thing. He knows the number of hairs on my head and yours. He is able to give words of encouragement through His people that show He knows you and sees you.

Friends, if you have experienced pain or rejection, I would love to pray for you. I can’t command or compel God to speak, but I have sometimes received words or pictures that I believe were from Him and that have been an encouragement to those I’ve prayed for. The effects of rejection can be deep and far-reaching. The healing can be a slow process. I can’t explain everything perfectly when it comes to healing, all I know is that one of God’s many names is Jehovah Rophe, “God Who Heals” and that I’ve experienced deep and far-reaching healing in Him.

And the most miraculous change is...

It’s August 31st. Like the procrastinator that I am, I am posting my monthly post on this last day of the 31-day month of August. I can hear the sigh of relief, like a mighty wind, coming from my masses of readers.

Have I mentioned that I’m not perfect? It should go without mentioning. Imperfection is kinda one of those self-evident traits.

But let’s get specific.

First, let’s cut to the back story:

It’s 2008. I’m chatting on the phone with a friend. He describes that he’s experienced so much sudden, positive change in himself that, though he’d thought he’d been a Christian before, he wasn’t so sure anymore that he really had been until these recent events. He goes on to say, “What comes out of you shows what’s really in you. If what comes out of you is hatred, or bitterness, or uncontrollable anger - lashing out at people….that’s not the fruit of the Holy Spirit. That’s not love, that’s not joy, that’s not patience, that’s not kindness.”

(Backstory to the backstory: Jesus claimed He was one with God the Father. Jesus also said that whoever believes in Him would receive the Holy Spirit. Once the Holy Spirit sets up shop inside a person, He is continually transforming the inner being of that person.)

At that point in my life, I already know the backstory to the backstory. I’d already accepted Jesus and I’m thinking “I’m good”. Also, this guy is like a little brother to me, so I indulge his chattering and think patronizingly, “This is so great for him that he’s coming to a deeper understanding and transformation in his life.”

Ok, that’s the backstory.

Fast forward a few days.

It’s still 2008. I’m under tons of stress while studying in nursing school. I’m still living at my parent’s place at the time and sharing a washer/dryer with them and my siblings. I find out that my brother ruined a few new shirts of mine because he used the wrong settings. I say not nice things at high volumes. A few minutes later another brother experiences my wrath. A few minutes after that came the third incidence and the final straw:

My dad says something to me that is entirely innocuous.

I rip his head off.

(metaphorically)

I go on and on about how much stress I’m under and how people around me should behave differently.

I think my dad’s response was one of gentle calmness mixed with surprise.

“What comes out of you shows what’s really in you. If what comes out of you is hatred, or bitterness, or uncontrollable anger - lashing out at people….that’s not the fruit of the Holy Spirit. That’s not love, that’s not joy, that’s not patience, that’s not kindness.”

My friend’s words came to my mind unbidden. After three unrelated instances of uncontrollable anger, I went upstairs to my room and dissolved into a pile of tears. What washed over me is hard to describe. There was a profound awareness of what had spilled out of me so naturally. I was also profoundly aware that it was disgusting. I felt a deep sadness - almost like a lonely fear - that I was actually quite distant from this God that I had thought I had received. I felt powerless to change myself and at the same time very hopeful that the Holy Spirit would do the work for me. Basically, I repented in dust in ashes.  

Maybe it’s necessary for me to clarify at this point that anger is not wrong in and of itself. My responses, however, were totally out of proportion to each of the three situations. My words were rude and completely self-centered. And the change that came over me that afternoon and in the coming months was one of deeper peace and patience.

My monthly stories this year have been mostly fun little “coincidences” that I like to call “God-incidences”. The physical healings my friends and I have experienced, the arranging of lives into exciting, storybook form, people having knowledge of things they couldn’t have known on their own, the wishes and prayers granted miraculously - those are all great, and I’m happy to have witnessed so many little delightful stories.  But all of those changes to the things around me are so small in comparison to the meaningful changes that happen within me and within the lives of people I know.

The year after my outbursts (and Holy Spirit’s transformation of me in response), my grandfather passed away. At his funeral someone shared of a commitment my grandfather had made as a young man to not be given to uncontrollable rage. That was my first time to hear of it. I didn’t know that I had followed in his steps at about the same age that he did. My grandfather was deeply committed to following Christ, as was his father before him and as has been my own father after him. I’ve not witnessed a fear-based religion of legalism in them. The continually transforming power of the Holy Spirit is much more personal than that.

He is love.

He is joy.

He is peace.

He is patience.

He is kindness.

He is goodness.

He is faithfulness.

He is gentleness.

He is self-control.

People who do not know Christ: Allow me to introduce you. This list describes Him well.

People who claim to have accepted Christ: does this list describe what naturally comes out of you? If not, I won’t doubt that you have a relationship with Him, but I have no reservations in saying that you are missing out if there are areas of your life that aren’t surrendered to Him on a mental, emotional, and willful level. Fear, disgust, and sadness have their place when directed at corruption.

Repentance is your friend.

Just speaking from imperfect experience.