I can't get it out of my head

"Love is handing your heart to someone and taking the risk that they will hand it back because they don't want it. That's why it's such a crushing ache on the inside. We gave away a part of ourselves and it wasn't wanted.

"Love is a giving away of power. When we love, we give the other person the power in the relationship. They can do what they choose. They can do what they like with our love. They can reject it, they can accept it, they can step toward us in gratitude and appreciation.

"Love is a giving away. When we love, we put ourselves out there, we expose ourselves, we allow ourselves to be vulnerable.

"Love is giving up control. It's surrendering the desire to control the other person., The two-- love and controlling power over the other person-- are mutually exclusive. If we are serious about loving someone, we have to surrender all of the desires within us to manipulate the relationship.

"...Really good, loving people get hurt. it's how things are.

"Maybe you're living in the wake of a relationship that fell apart. You have to dig those moments up. The parts that hurt and the awkward conversations and the anger and the failure and the misunderstanding and the betrayal. You have to dig them up an acknowledge them before you are ever going to heal.

"The danger is that you will decide it isn't worth it. Why risk if it's going to hurt like this? The tragedy would be for you to shut down, to allow a wall to be built around your heart, and for something within you to die.

"A decision not to risk again is a decision not to love again. They go together.

"Why is it those we love the most are the ones capable of hurting us the most? Our greatest wounds rarely come from strangers. They probably come from an ex-finance, a former friend, a roommate, a sister, a business partner.

"Even in healthy relationships, an offhanded comment or a rolling of the eyes can cripple us for days or years or even a lifetime. This is because the more we open ourselves up, the more vulnerable we are. The more exposed we are, the more it hurts. The more we let someone it, the greater the risk. Surprise, anger, shock betrayal, helplessness-- it all gets mixed in together."

I read this section of Rob Bell's "Sex God" a few days ago and I can't exactly stop thinking about it. I think because it nails my experience. And I think to myself that I am the only person with this story, the only person with hard shells and walls. I hesitated even to post it here for fear that people would know. But then I remembered that I am actually not alone in it. These last couple of weeks, I've been thinking hard on risk and the pain involved in loving.

I started writing this post this morning and am now finishing it. Thoughts? I feel like some of my thoughts may have changed over the course of the day, actually.

The first couple of days that I started thinking about this, I thought that it was hopeless, that the reason that it stuck out to me so much was that it just sucks and it is the place that I will always be. but as the days have wore on and I've thought about it more and more, I realize it is simply about holding a tension here. being aware of the fear. Avoiding the urge to browbeat or feel ashamed that this is a real fear-- real, good people ought to be able to just get over that fear, right? right...

That's all I really have to say about that for now. Maybe more thoughts later. Maybe not.

one of the most heartwrenching things in life, I think, is not knowing how to say goodbye. That moment when you get out of the car. The moment you must drive away. The moment the door closes and you find yourself standing in the doorway alone. Those rare and beautiful moments when you are given into the arms of another. Two more weeks, two more weeks-- they all push it away like it isn't the looming thing that really is coming closer and closer to me. One of the most painful things in life is having to say goodbye but not knowing quite how. Goodbyes must be the most trying to the relational soul. It is a crossroads of where we've been and where we are going-- what do you mean to me and where will we go? It is a matter of trust, an acceptance of the tension that hangs in the balance between hands as the grip is released. What will happen when we let go? A risk of intimacy that we wonder if it may be far too great. To admit, to say aloud that I care enough to say goodbye-- that it isn't enough for me for our relationship to fade in akward silence. It is the risk of vulnerability that must whisper this is so hard for me. The excruciating pain that saps the strength. The questions that bombard the soul, wrenching it of breath. how do you reach out. How do you savor the last moments. Endurance. Sit tight. Sit through it. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. the hurt of questions too deep to articulate. The need simply to be heard when there are no words to speak. what is there to say except the pain of separation, the questions that it brings rides neck and neck with the uncertainty of what lies ahead. What lies ahead when our fingers are severed, our enclosed hands separated. When those entwined fingers suddenly become what feels like a solitary, opened hand. And when maybe the only true thing to do is to listen to the pain. To allow the tension of the uncertainty to ring in the ears. To trust that somehow, some way, it cannot just be up to me.

the questions about church

I've just finished "Jim and Casper Go to Church," a book written by Jim Henderson (a christian) and Matt Casper (an atheist) based on their experience visiting churches all over the country. The premise of the book is to record Casper's thoughts and reactions as to how we "do church" from an objective point of view. A truly compelling and thought-provoking book, I can't help but contemplate my own views of the church and my own decisions.

It has been seven months since I have regularly attended any formal organized church-- something I never really thought I would have the guts to say aloud, let alone do. I have developed a lifestyle in which I am willing to work on Sundays. I've entered into a place where everything feels a lot looser, I feel much more free to breathe as the box doesn't seem quite as small. I do occasionally attend a worship gathering and it often feels very refreshing to be able to sing loud and dance and listen to someone else for a little while and to watch people as they pour out their souls in this one particular manner. It has been interesting to see how after distancing myself from this monotonous friend for a while, things feel a little different. The distance has allowed me to forgive many things, but I think it has also taught me to release some expectations as well. I'm not sure I really see the church as we usually do it these days as necessarily always an encouragement to follow the ways that Jesus called us to.

Casper makes an astute observation: Even though each church Jim and Casper attended had all sorts of distinctions, the order of the "service" was always the same. Call to worship. Singing. Ask for money. Sermon. And he asks this simple question: "Is this what Jesus told you to do?" He wants to know if Jesus was calling us to get together on Sunday and go through these motions-- was this really his main concern?

All my life I have gone to church. There were very few Sundays before I turned 19 that I did not attend a church service-- non-attendance was never voluntary. The only justification was sickness, or vacation. It was a regimented as family dinners. You just don't miss. Why? Now that I think about it, I don't really know. I suppose it was this mandate that we never abandon the faith. That, even though often times getting in the car and driving to church and putting on the expected smile felt strangely familiar to a visit to the Dentists' office, being a real christian meant endurance, faithfulness. It meant acting like being rejected, ignored, and, well, hurt, didn't really hurt. Stuffing it down and doing a good job of being "forgiving" for the sake of "unity."

A few months ago, I did a painting about what chuech means to me. While I was working, I asked a friend, "What comes to mind when you think of church?" Her response, Jesus and people, sort of melted in awkwardness when I stated my response to the same question as facades and lies. I don't mean to be cynical here, but honest. I wonder, as I write this, if the problem I have with the entity of church is the seeming lack of honesty. Everything is hidden below layers of God knows what. Appearance. We are as caught up in our own plastic surgery as Hollywood. It's just a different kind of Hollywood.

As I continue to move toward what's next for me at home in Colorado, something almost constantly on my mind is the question of where will I find the community I need and long for. There seems to be some (and rightly so) expectation by some that I will return to the Baptist church I was attending before, especially as they work very hard to revive the college ministry that has seemed to collapse in the past year or so. A friend or two fills me in on the progress and I get mass emails chronically their progress. Plans for mentorship programs, missions opportunities, study nights and family dinners in the works. Discussions about how to offer something unique that the 500 other ministries on campus do not offer.

To be really honest, it sounds like the trajectory is headed in a good direction, but I can't help but wonder how it will all really work out. What will really come of it. And the biggest question of all-- do I want to be a part of it? Where is my place?

When it comes down to it, church involvement can easily become just one more thing I do to make myself feel good. I think this time away has really broken me of any dependency upon church attendance for the sake of security. I could care less about completing the spiritual checklist for acceptance. But here is the thing I have learned-- I need people to be around me who are pursuing the kingdom and who are going to be encouraging me to do the same. I suppose my question and its corresponding fear is where do I find a group of people with the objective of truly giving themselves away rather than just talking ourselves into good feelings? I need to be in a place that encourages me to look for a world a lot bigger than the small societal systems of power and prestige.

I feel like as I face what lies before me in the next ten days, everything is going to be totally new again. Totally starting over. I would be lying if I said I am not afraid. I think the reality is that I am petrified. Everything feels so far away and I think part of me fears I won't know how to break back in. I don't fit into the same holes that I left, that's for sure. And I feel like the choice not to settle for security is being challenged yet again as have to say no to some of the old things I once let take my life. Moving away didn't sever all the ties and now the choice is really really mine. What will I do?

The truth is that I have no idea how things will taste to my mouth and feel to my fingers when I get back. I fear being disappointed. I fear everything will loose its color. And the thought of all the new starts exhaust me more than excite me. And I feel as though in so many ways I am walking in all alone. I need someone to hold the rope and I don't know what the rope even looks like.

oh yeah, I was writing about church. What is church? I don't know, but it has to be a lot bigger than just getting together with a few hundred people each week to go through a set of steps. The thing I want is not the same organized facade and to be really honest, the thing I do not want is to be a part of something that requires working really hard to make something work that just leaves me feeling stupid, unarticulate and trapped in my own little world that no one seems to understand. I don't want to waste my time on acting like a faceless challenge-lacking doesn't hurt, doesn't sap my energy to no end.

I think the thing I am really seeking is a group of people that are really working on being real and challenging each other to die a little each day to really live. I don't want to try to fit into some mold a group is trying to fit into in order to maintain valid, "church" status. I'm not interested in that. Maybe I'm being a little too harsh, having too high of expectations. But there is something in me that just doesn't want to take it anymore.

The more I think about it, I think church actually needs to be a lot smaller. We've barricaded ourselves into these fortresses where "us and them" become par for the course. Christianese is our language of choice and it dulls like a drug. We've forgotten about the Jesus who "had no place to lay his head." He wasn't tied down to buildings and preoccupations with food or dress or temples. He simply let go of things so that he could be available to those he came to rescue.

Today at work, I was thinking about how I was raised to label people like my co-workers. As a youth group regular, I was told that the thing that sets me apart from the world is that I act better. We are called, the youth pastor said, to be set apart in our actions so that our classmates don't write us off as hypocrites. So we just wrote them off as sinners. The untouchables. The secular, separated from us, the spiritual. And for some reason, that sort of education led me into this fear, like if I got too close, I might catch a disease. That I couldn't really associate with coworkers, classmates until they started cleaning up their acts. It led to this inability to relate.

To paraphrase myself from a few posts ago, I find it very sad and blasphemous that it seems that in the church as I have known it, teaching people how to relate to others doesn't seem like the top priority. It's like we've jumped the gun and started separating the sheep and goats by ourselves before the right time. So I looked at my coworker this afternoon and wondered what to do with her "sin." I reflected on how long my mind has cultivated this wall that maintained that "non-christians" (I shudder at the terrible label as I type it) are quite untouchable indeed. Don't get involved in their lives. It's a mess. I am beginning to see that this is maybe the point.

A few days ago, I was thinking through what it is that we are really called to invite people into. If our job isn't to go around telling people how bad they are, that they need to start voting-- er believing they way we do, how is God trying to break into the world through our bodies? The only thing I could think of was to somehow communicate forgiveness. Compassion. The heart of a God who is ultimately good and primitively loving.

I have often talked about my experiences at work. The thing is this-- I don't really like to go around talking about my "spiritual interests." "Being Religious" is what my friends at work would call it. I'm not all that excited to reveal that because I know that such a label carries with it all sorts of connotations and hurts and counter-labels. Assumptions about "religious people." In some circles, that would probably be considered being "ashamed of the gospel," but the reality is that I think it is more accurately classified as being ashamed of the way the gospel has become so twisted.

But here is the thing that has brought me so much life: spending so much time with other people who have different experiences than me gives me the opportunity to discover what love and compassion are like when given away. I have an outlet for a lot of the love that I have. I have an opportunity to be forgiving, brief moments to tell people that there is hope and that they are lovely and good and worthy of the dignity that so much of the "religious" world can't seem to afford. To be honest, I have no idea what I communicate for the most part, but I can only hope that the Father has built something into me that comes out naturally. Being myself is really the best thing I can do.

Tonight I sat and thought to myself: why am I feeling so uptight about everything all of the sudden? and I realized the answer is that I am feeling quite stressed and didn't even realize it. I am getting very tired. Very anxious and overwhelmed about the great change that is before me, once again. And unfortunately, it is manifesting itself in all other areas of my present life. How's that for sucking the joy out of it.. oh, to have energy to enjoy things...!

"A friend of mine who is celibate makes it very clear that her vow of celibacy is not to go without love, but it's a vow to what she calls 'universal love.' I've realized over time that she is a deeply connected person. There is a certain potency to her presence that is hard to describe. She owns no property and she lives as simply as she possible can because she committed early in her life to give everything she had to making the world the kind of place God dreams it could be. It is a joy to be with her becasue everything matters in her life. Nothing is shallow or trite or superficial. She's very funny and smart and compassionate-- a magnificent human. becuase sh'e been exploring her own soul for so long, she knows herself inside and out. She's at peace, and it's contagious."

--Rob Bell, "Sex God" (italics mine)

Things keep happening to me. For quite some time now (I'd say approximately six months and eighteen days, give or take) I've been putting some time into thinking about where I am, where I am going, and who I want to be when I get there. For the past month or so, maybe a bit longer, I've been exerting a lot of my emotional and intellectual energy towards untangling the questions about what my life will be like beginning two weeks from today. Some have accused me of failing to be fully present here in the Valley (interesting metaphor that may do with what you please), but the more I think about it, the more I have to justify myself that this is, in fact a large reason I did venture out to this spot. An opportunity to step back and look at the painting that is family and life and home in a better light.

So, like I said, things keep happening to me. A week or two ago, I began to pay serious attention to the spot that the Father is directing me to put my foot forward next. Over a delicious breakfast of starch and sugar at the APU Caf, a member of our community lovingly and carefully explained to me that he was sure the will of God was for me to stay here in Boise (and opinion sure to be trusted just as he was convinced the will of God was also for us to move our community gatherings to Tuesday nights to save certain individuals from their addiction to Twenty-Four). Although the comment was made in jest, I could not help but give the idea some thought-- why is it, exactly that I have chosen to walk back in the direction of Colorado?

I fear that some have been under the false impression that my return to Colorado is a result of my displeasure here. That is not the reason. I have said many times that the decision to return to Colorado hinges on the access to a university with a good art program. That too, fails to encompass the fullness of the truth. Someone once said to me: It is never healthy to run something, but always right to be running toward something. I am not running away, but have learned to run towards the things that I love.

So I began to ask the Father, Where do you want me to be? And things keep happening to me. I walk into bookstores and immediately see books about Colorado. A man comes into work wearing a Ram Cycling Uniform. Another man comes in wearing a Steamboat Springs T-shirt. People are sending me links to blogs written by people in Colorado. And sure, I know all of these things are coincidences, but little by little, my heart is being carried back, but not back. I told a friend yesterday, "I am going to Colorado next." Not again.

But here is the thing. I keep coming back to this deep longing that I want my life to be about a lot more. I don't want my life to be about finishing school or what job I will have when I get back or how much money I will be making or what people think of me. In the past, so much of my life has been about maintaining security in those things and I don't want it anymore. I have discovered that life really can be lived in such a way that these things take their rightful place behind love and relationship and enjoyment.

It's funny-- as I've written about here before, a while back I read Shane Claiborne's book "Irresistible Revolution" and upon beginning it, I was skeptical, almost didn't finish it. But now, at least a month later, it's still rotting my brain. The way of life, the Kingdom he talks about is exactly that-- Irresistible and the truth is that I don't want my life to be empty anymore. I think the hardest part is that it seems nearly impossible to put into words this longing, this sense of "life-ness" and I have no idea how to make it play out in my life as a student again.

I have this sense that all things have been rearranged. My source of security has shifted from the shaky ground of employment, career, academia and intelligence, into something bigger, wing-like.

The last day of the conference this year ended with a charge to "jump." In that moment, sitting there surrounded by the family of student and staff, I realized a great deal of the anxiety I have been experiencing is hinged on this sense that going back home, diving back into the old surroundings is quite a jump indeed. And I keep seeing this image of doing anything in the Kingdom is a jump. It is daring to say no to the things that are practical, expected, logical, and acceptable and trusting in the security of something higher. Just like a bird trusts the invisible air beneath its wings.

Today my boss from my old job called me, wanting to know if I wanted to come back. I had this incredible peace in the ability to be so honest to say, "I really only want to come back temporarily if nothing else works out." It was a tangible reminder that living a life committed to bringing the Kingdom here means saying no to things that bring more death than life into my spirit, regardless of how secure that death feels.

I don't know what tomorrow is going to bring. But something in me can't help but be drawn back to Colorado, to school, to this place that feels like air to my empty lungs. Food for my fasting body. And things keep happening to me that won't let me forget about the life I was made to live, no matter where I am. And that is the thing that I am so very excited to sink my teeth into.

today I had this overwhelming sense of contentment, peace, "okayness." Even after getting up at 4:30 and driving to work for no actual reason, the day has slipped by in its own sort of sleepiness. I am not sure the meaning or the reason, but suddenly, quietly, today I simply was at home in my own skin, wherever the physical location.

There is a guy who comes into work often-- he fills a 12-once to-go cup with French Roast drip and sits at the bar with someone's leftover paper or chuckling with other customers or giving me and the other girls a hard time. But there has always been this peace, this kindness about him that was unlike many of the other lonely, often creepily lonely, old men that sit at the bar. Today my suspicions about him were proved true-- my answer to his question of how I've been spending my summer led to a mutual understanding of the resurrection the Father can bring from some time alone. I was reassured that the peace that surrounded this "regular" was the same peace that I know is breaking through me as well.

The funny thing-- he asked me where I attend church and my first impulse was to answer, "Here, at work." Strange. But I realize that my experience at the coffeehouse, the long awaited gift of employment that it is, has taught me a great deal about the reconciliation the Father wants to bring into the world and has grown me in so many ways into being honest about His Image in me. I have learned how to look people in the eye, to serve with a smile, to be kind and sincere. Maybe the biggest Sunday School Lesson has simply been on how to interact, how to connect with people. It seems rare these days to find a church that does that.

All church critique aside, there was something very comforting and home-like finding a fellow Kingdom-lifer today, being able to share a tiny piece of my own story of resurrection with him as I stocked cups. And the most intriguing part is that I have known all along that he was my brother, long before he said a word. Not a word.

Sing a new song to the LORD...
[For] He has remembered His love
and His faithfulness to the house of Israel

ps 98

I don't want anything to be left over. I don't want anything held back. I want to be emptied, but I don't know how. I am very tired tonight. I spent nearly ten hours at work today-- ten good hours. But now I am tired but don't want to sleep. Don't know what to do with myself. Not sure what to put my mind to, my energy to. I feel restless, although my eyes burn with ache, my lips with sunburn. My mind wanders and all I want is rest. All I want is rest. Maybe a bit of refreshment, outside influence for my introverted spirit.

the moon sat low and orange tonight-- a warm sliver breaking through the blue. Luminous white against darkness. Seven and half hours of orange-red, burnt umber and a creamy beige-- making a place that has become like home new again. Behold I make all things new. Friends and family, all a part. Walking barefoot on counters, stainless steel sinks, masking tape in straight blue lines. Straight blue lines. Why did I do it. I didn't have to. could have stayed at home and slept. Investments in belonging. Opportunities for belonging. It seems like hearts connect just as well over a paintbrush as a cup of coffee. Working together. Serving. Making things work. A symbol of newness. Taking that which was once so old, so dingy, so dark and making all things new. Same place, new face. why did I do it. I didn't have to. Something about missional. Something someone said once about incarnation. In carnation. In the flesh. Fleshing it out. Living it out. Showing the world a picture of a God who sacrifices. a God who works long, hard hours into the night to make all things new. To be a part of a family. Tonight the moon was a burning crescent, reflecting something very fierce-- the blaze making viewers wonder what could be making such an intensity. What makes it so orange? why did I do it. something about desire. Something about love that goes beyond a paycheck. What makes it so orange?

jump?

seek first. seek first. seek first.

"So do not worry, saying, 'What shall we eat?' or 'What shall we drink?' or 'What shall we wear' [or 'Where shall we live?'] For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own."

At the end of my senior year, I took a trip up to the mountains with some other students who had just graduated and we were challenged to ask God for a word that would guide us on the road ahead. At the time, this passage from Matthew six seemed appropriate, and funny how time after time it seems to bear its little head, calling me deeper.

Seek first the kingdom and everything else will come together. Don't get distracted by all the little material moments, but tune into the eternal reality that is so pointedly at hand. Don't let these things take your focus away.

While I was at the TEAM conference this past week, I joined some students in playing a psychological game called "the Path" in which someone narrates a scene while you imagine it in your head. The type of pictures that emerge from the narration are supposed to say certain things about you: a path as your childhood, a body of water as your sexuality, and a house at the top of a hill as your future. Although it was just a bit of a game, I am haunted by the fact that my house was dark and empty-- the closet I was supposed to imagine was full of clothing impossible to make out; the images kept shifting, changing, fading in and out of reality. My future is a very dark empty house.

Having just come off the intensity of the week, I find it difficult to begin unsorting all that was said and all that was stirred in me here. The truth is I'm not sure how well I am doing at stopping and letting it sink in. But this I do know-- I am jumping again. This week gave me the opportunity to realize at least three things: One: I am scared of the darkness in this strange house I find myself entering again. Two: The thing I want is the Kingdom, not a shallow existence. Three: I am going to have to jump. {risk}

Each year, as I face my time away at TEAM, I try to be specific about the things I am seeking God on for the coming year. The funny thing is that God never seems to speak in the ways we want him to. I was hoping for some specific direction on what was ahead, but instead seemed to hear a voice booming quietly above all the details. Throughout the week, I heard voices whispering things like, "give me everything," and "we are yours," and "seek first the kingdom, and everything else..." and "I am making all things new."

I don't know what is ahead of me. I feel like I am reentering a location and an environment and a family that I had at one time, but I do not sense that anything is the same. No longer is it a place that I am stuck, no longer a place where I am confined and controlled, but a place that I choose. In so many ways, the canvas seems blank to my choosing, but it is primed and ready, thick with the years of preparation and depth of experience. And just as an artist approaches any new piece of work, the prospect is frightening. What if I mess up? What if I fail? What if I waste it? What if I get stuck again in the same old patterns? The fears mount. What if it is all an illusion?

But I get this sense that things are new somehow. Things have been changed and a whole new world is ahead. A second chance-- an new opportunity to love, to choose. During one of the sessions, we seemed to talk each day about the fact that God is making all things new. this is the salvation that Abba offers for today. Behold, I make all things new.

As I drove to work earlier this morning, I couldn't help but think about what sort of ritual this yearly thing has become for me-- how each year I seem to go and kick off whatever path God has me entering for the coming months. And how beautiful that he is so faithful to meet me there each year, growing me and showing me little markers of the way he is indeed growing these things in me.

And so sure enough, as unexpected as the father is, he did seem to answer in a tangible direction. It seems that he has begun to open doors for me to begin selling some of my work and through that, He seems to keep saying, "I want you to take risks in intimacy." I realize to those of you who do not reside inside of me, it may seem unclear on how this will begin to open doors and windows of opportunities for this growth in me, but the truth is that I have never intended to share my work with others because it is a lot safer to keep it to myself. I can enjoy it myself without having to rely on connections, without having to make business calls, put myself out there. So here I have this opportunity for this amazing thing, this unbelievable thing at the young age of twenty, and the question lies before me whether or not I will take the risk to pursue it.

I went into the week feeling very closed off, very aware of a spirit of timidity and came out with a number of calls to come out. To jump.

This week has afforded more physical wounds than most conferences in the past: a deep cut in the knuckle of my right index finger, three nickel-sized bruises on the shin, a skinned elbow and sore arm to go with it, a bruise the shape of the corner of a wall along my right wrist, nine tiny pebble marks divided between both palms. And although these are small wounds, they are reminding me of the cost of getting out of my shell to live life. I keep thinking about how Jesus said we must give up our lives to find them. I don't feel like it is an easy thing for me to do to let go, but each of my little cuts, each little bruise reminds me it is worth it.

I have this strange fear of pain. I don't like hearing gory details of other peoples' accidents and I don't like the thought of my own pain. I do my best to suppress my own pain. Piercings and needles and trips to the doctor's office frighten me. I don't like the idea of being touched. But this week has taught me a great deal about allowing myself to be touched, putting myself out there, moving away from circles of conservation into circles where life is lived out of freedom rather than fear.

And so I have received a great deal of encouragement and a few offers concerning the sale of my artwork and I am faced with the serious prospect of actually making a go of it. And the thing that scares me is having to build relationships to get ahead. I don't even like taking my car to the same place twice for fear of being known. It is a challenge for me to keep going back to the same coffeehouse instead of just hitting the drivethru at Starbucks. But I want to take this challenge. I want to find the courage to see the strength that comes beyond the muck, the fog that binds.

The truth is that I don't know where all of this will lead, but I do know, somewhere deep in there, that if it is true and if it is a touch from the Father of All Truth, than it will continue in me. He will not leave me nor forsake me. He doesn't ask me to master it all-- he only asks that I give everything, seek first the kingdom and follow in the small steps he is showing me. Little places to risk that someday may add up to the woman he has made me to be. The one he has chosen to be a part of all that he is making new.

So I still do not have a place to live in three weeks and the honest truth is that it scares me. It adds insecurity to the already mirky waters ahead. I have this sense that things are going to be very hard. I am seeing more and more the amount of attention on the Source of Strength it takes to live in the Kingdom that is greater than the surface of the culture we live in now. This is what it comes down to-- I want to live the full life that Jesus came to show us how to live and I fear I will not have the strength for it. But I hear His call-- this call to give up anything I am still holding back; the little trinkets I hold behind my back despite his outstretched hand.

Do not be distracted, he says,by the surface of this world. Let all that fade as you seek me out.

Abba, I am not sure where you are leading and I fear it will all fade, it will all end as I get busy and forget about these little sentences. I fear that even as this is the very thing I have longed for you to enter, that you will not, that it will all be an illusion, a pipe dream and is too good to be true. But the truth is that I want you to give me the courage to let a little more of myself come out of hiding. I long for you to open my heart a little wider so that I would see your image in me, that I would know the depth of your kingdom and the joy it brings. So Abba, I beg, if this is you, if this is really true, I ask that you would penetrate all of the holes that are in me and complete it. You know this desire for the full life, the new life. So Lord, I ask that it would be real. I WANT IT TO BE REAL. (and yet I fear that it is not). Please do not leave me, do not forsake me as it feels like you are, as it feels like you are leaving it all up to me to hold like Midas holding the weight of the world. Abba, I can do nothing on my own. You know me, how afraid I am to follow through. So Lord God, I ask that you would continue to knock, keep knocking, keep knocking. Please keep calling me forth. I need your call. I need your call.

Some independent thoughts

It is the Fourth of July and I am 800 miles away from home, away from my family. It is two short days before the conference and I am here, near to another sort of family. This day has always carried a great deal of sentimentality as it happens to be one of the few holidays that everyone in my family seems to love equally-- and today I am not there.

This morning, walking out of Wal-Mart as I thought I would do the fourth of July the American way by giving the big-box giant some early-morning patronage, I found myself grieving a bit that I am here and they are there, celebrating without me. I am thinking through my decision to take a fast from the life I have already known and although it makes days like today hurt a little, I look forward to the day when it makes the return all the sweeter. It is funny-- I've talked to a few people at work about why I am here, about wanting to be away from home and the pain of family for a bit and more than once I have heard responses like this: "Yeah, I took a 23 year break from my family." My heart breaks to the sound of that. I am realizing, rejoicing, that my seven month break has done a world of good. I don't want to get to that point, when I am twenty years older and have let so many years of hurt and brokenness go by.

I have no plans today. My goal is to do my laundry and do some cleaning. The first Fourth of July in at least ten years that I have no plans-- July 4, 2007 is not the long-anticipated day that 2006, 2005, 2004, 2003, 2002, 2001, 2000, 1999 have been.

I am reminded of a Christmas Eve a few years ago that I decided not to eat a thing for the whole day in anticipation for our traditional family meal of Chile con queso and gifts from our friends that we have after the Christmas Eve service. That Christmas Eve was one of the most memorable for me because it impressed upon me the weight of anticipation the Israelites felt the coming of their Messiah. And I can't help but think that today is the same sort of fast for me. A fast of remembrance, of thankfulness for my family, for home, for all that my life has held.

I often wonder how I was that I was born here-- why me? I want to say why was I given the privilege to be born into this abundant culture, this America when so many others were not, but I can't really decide if it is a privilege or a curse. I feel like it carries so much responsibility, so much challenge to break from the societal river of consumerism and blinding greed. But today I think it is appropriate to really spend some time being thankful. A time to look around and look at all I have been given, all that my life is in this culture and just be grateful-- an opportunity to exercise contentment.

I don't have much to fill my time today and I am away from the chaos that inevitably comes with the masses that are my family. I am strangely filled with thanks for my old car, the convenience of my phone, the coolness of my house, the clothes in my closet, the love of my family full of their quirks and traditions that I have come to appreciate and miss so very deeply.

So thanks, Mom and Dad for all that you have done for me. Thanks just for being my parents. Thank you for doing your best and putting up with me when I didn't appreciate you, when I blamed you and took you for granted. I hope that your Fourth of July is wonderful, full of celebration-- as it always has been!

"Nobody likes someone who is a saint all the time."
-- Hugh Grant to Sandra Bullock in "Two Weeks Notice"

"If you would stop trying to be a saint, it would make it a lot easier on everyone."
--Brennan Manning

As we are quickly approaching yet another conference, and I do preparation for an experience that invites students to lay themselves out on the table, I have been forced to think about my own life and my own ability to come clean in my own life. I was watching the movie "Two Weeks Notice" last night and this line caught me. I can't help but wonder if this is me-- the one trying so hard to be a saint. I realize humility as something very important in finding peace, but humility before others isn't my strongest suit.

My contemplation of this idea led me to the conclusion that confrontation seems to be very hard because it requires a great deal of humility and vulnerability. Vulnerability by its very nature requires a great deal of humility because it means we must be already close to the ground so the inevitable fall is not nearly as far. I am reminded one of my favorite quotes on the importance of humility from Parker Palmer:

"I started to understand that I had been living at an altitude that was inherently unsafe. The problem was living at high altitude is simple: when we slip, as we always do, we have a long, long way to fall, and the landing may well kill us. The grade of being pressed down to the ground is also simple; when we slip and fall, it is usually not fatal, and we can get back up."

Confrontation requires us to admit we have had some part in the breaking-- it opens us up to the possibility that it is really we who are at fault. We often say we avoid confrontation because we don't like to tell people they are wrong or what to do, but I think the reality is the backlash is what we really fear. Since when do we hate telling others they are wrong? Humility gives the strenght to own up to the place where it is our responsiblyt to make things right.

It is a lot easier, feels a lot safer to hide behind the saintly appearance rather than own up to eht reality that we too are the broken. It doesn't seem quite as fun as blame, and yet we wonder why things are never resolved. To humbly admit that we swing axes at those around us, that there are limitations to our understand and that we do have the ability to offend takes a lot of strength-- we must put away the ego that gets in the way of honestly doing the fixing that is needed.

I am really good at stuffing my hurts, my faults, my failures and I do a great deal of hiding things so they never get laid open to the public eye to be healed. It has been so long that I've been at this game that I hardly recognize the toxic lies and deciet lurking in the darkness of my soul. But somehow I still know it is all down there becuase it manifests itself as faint, fumy feeling of guilt and shame. Fumes that never really materialze and yet they are heavy as boulders, thick as suffocating smoke. Humility is the only thing that gives the strength to lay the truth of it all out in order to let it be dealt with.

It often seems that the things that remain unnamed become the heaviest of all to bear.

So this week as I prepare to serve students who need to see a God of love and forgiveness, a God who welcomes them back from the far off country covered in pig slop, I realize I must prepare my heart in the same way. This week I am seeking that the Father would be cleansing me, that he would strip me from any lurking distractions that keep me from hearing his voice. It is only right that I be open to the same cleansing that I am preparing to lead students into. So please pray with me this week, pray that I would be laid open, cleansed, ready to get out of the way to see the Father speak.