Church. So it is sunday. Sunday. I've been doing some thinking about church these days. Since I've been here, I've decided to take some time off from traditional, western church for the purpose of a bit of reflection, a bit of sorting. I think also for the sake of some freedom. To remind myself what it is for, what it looks like, who I am in the midst of it, and where to go from here.

And I think sometimes I feel like it is becuase I am angry or I have a right to be cynical or something, but I don't think that is really quite it. Sometimes, maybe. But at the same time, I feel like it is so complicated becuase I'm tired of that strange akwardness of being here only for a while-- caught in the tension. I think too, it is a bit of breathing room for a while. Putting a distance between me and this strange thing that we call church.

What I want to know is when did we start putting a box around what church has to be? I mean, was it back in Leviticus or sometime in the middle ages? I don't know. But how did we get to that place where we confined God to three hymns and a preacher inside a man-made box? When did it stop being a walk through the garden in the cool of the day? And when did we start yelling at other people when they decided to stop getting inside the box for a while?

Freedom. Breath. Today I went on a long walk out along the river with a friend and just talked and after that, we jumped my car and bought a new battery. And we stood there in the parking lot of the auto parts store and I said, "So, I would say this is church, wouldn't you?" Funny how that works. I think sometimes it is important to remind yourself that God is a part of the real things in life. The trees awakening to spring, one person finding vulnerability in an old car and another being there to share the hardships. I think we miss this a lot in our brick-box churches.

I think the main reason that I feel I must write this here is that I need to say that IO'm not angry. I'm not not going to church to be cynical or judgemental-- I just need some room to breathe. I feel like this place in my life is an intentional place of distance to see things clearly. A place to realize the freedom that is mine, a place of knowing that God is so big. So very big. And that is the kind of God that I want to be found hiding in becuase there is room there. There is enough room for my questions, enough room for curse words, room enough for pain, anger, frustration. Enough room to lay it out on the table and not be afraid of making too big of a mess. I suppose you could say it is the ideal studio for creating real masterpieces.

Hm. I think that is a good thought. That if God is the grand creator and he is longing to make masterpieces in us, he must be a God with lots of room. Lots and lots of room.

It is funny sometimes to really think about the fact that there is nothing God has never seen, nothing too graphic or ugly for him to see and enter into. He isn't afraid-- he doesn't flinch. He doesn't shy away from the blood and the guts. No, this is the space that he longs to be in the center of. Sort of like those people who actually really want to be paramedics. There is nothingi that is too much for him to handle. And I think that gives me hope that I too, can be brave like he is, becuase I am made in his image. He wants to dive into all of that-- through my body. Breathe it in.

As I often quote, "If you are in me, you are in this." I like it.

I've been pondering... I realize I begin nearly every post with the words, "I've been thinking," and I also realize that at this point that declaration/explanation is probably irrelevant, but nevertheless, I find it an important opening. the things that I mull over are often the things that ooze out here-- it is like when the cylces of my life finally reach the point where they materialize into words, they emerge here on this black canvas.

So, I've been thinking... I've been thinking about this group of people that I seem to have stumbled upon through a certain roommate and how the ritual of a weekly game of bowling seems more like church and more fulfilling that anything that I have ever experienced. I think about the relationships that I have at home, the people around me in Colorado that feel like feeble shells of relationships. I hope for any of you who read this that you do not misunderstand me-- I have very very dear friendships at home, but I often feel like they are on the verge of collapse and hard as I try, a phone call back is a miracle in its own right, let alone seeing them face to face.

And so I sit there in the alcoholic, smoke-filled bowling alley surrounded by all sorts of people, some that I have had great, wonderfully deep conversations with, others who I've just met and simply are hurting for a few other faces to look into thier own. And I feel a strength, a satisfaction that I have always longed for and never really had the opportunity to feel between my weary fingers. Friendship. Comradery. And it feels so very good. I feel like there is no adgenda, nothing to earn or prove. No stigma. I'm just twenty and somehow got introduced to one person. And here I am, embraced in this community full of laughter and love and joy and pain and sorrow. Its like everyone just has this deep sense that we need to be together becuase we are human, so we are.

And so I've been trying to sort out why everything felt so barren at home. Why are my few feeble relationships so, well, feeble? Why does it feel impossible to see the people that I love? Why is it so hard for me to meet people in classes at church and work when these ought to be the things that hold us together-- something in common. And I wonder if something in me has changed. Or if it is the landscape that has changed. Or the people are different. older, maybe. And I wonder if it is just a matter of breaking into that one community, that one group of people that you seem to just fall into and they are lucky to be people of embrace. I don't know.

But I do know this-- something feels good. It feels easy. Not easy like we can superficially skate over our faults to be okay with each other, but real ease. Relationships that flow like a river. People with real lives and real hurts and real struggles. People who are looking for jobs, and people who have great ones. People who love to paint and take pictures and people who love to read and people who just do what they can to get by. People who have moved here from barren deserts and people who have come seeking wildernesses. People who are in the midst of their own rivers, navigating what they really want to do with thier bodies and days and souls. Everyone asking questions and just asking that someone ask the questions too.
Why did it feel so barren at home? Why?

And so again, I ask, was it something in me? Or was it the people there? Is it the people here? Or has Abba simply been gracious enough to me to allow me to fall into the soft arms of this strange, undulating community?

So I officially did not get the job with Starbucks. But these past few days I've processed a lot about what I want, what I am seeking and more than anything I keep coming back to this desire simply to touch people in their everyday lives. This sense of breathing in real life, listening to people talk about what they had for breakfast and feeding the dog, and walking to school, and bagging groceries at work, and in the middle of that seeing how the light of God is shining bright and breezily through the cracks. I've been thinking about why it has been so hard for me to look for a job becuase I don't know what I want and I think tonight I reached a little more of a conclusion: there is this tension between seeking "grownup" jobs like teaching and office work that is going to look good on a resume someday, a sense of preparing for the future, and seeking a job that really just allows me to listen to people. To say, "Hi. How can I help you? How is your day?" Some place that I can look the mom of four in the eye and say, "I hope your load is light today." A smile. Breathing easy.

And so then my next question is, if this is a righteous desire, if this breathing that I feel about working as a Barista or cashier or whatever, if all of this is from the True heart of God, why has he waited so long to provide? Or is it just me? Or is it becuase I have not yet discovered the craft of concealing the length of time I am here for. I do not understand.

And I suppose that this sort of breathing into another's real day can be done anywhere, whether it be the child inthe class that I substitute teach for or across the counter at the coffee shop, but why is my heart so drawn to the other? abba, what do you have in mind to provide. Why can't I see it? Or am I ignorinig the real call on my heart?

Tonight at Community Group we had an excellent conversation about seeking to serve people in thier everyday lives and I was impressed again with the need to listen. The need to breathe in God's voice when he whispers. And I've been thinking about how today I woke up with no idea what my adgenda was going to be. The only engagement lined up for the day was a ten-minute meeting for a class that I don't care about that will have no future record. And I realized tonight that this strange time of quiet in my life is this marvelous opportunity simply to wait on God minute by minute, to seek his voice for what he would have me to do in each breath. And I think to seek this type of attitude in life is one of the hardest, most illusive ways to live and yet, I feel like it would be the most fulfilling, most connected ways to live. Really listening to the spirit and leading of the Creator. How that sort of breath would fill our lungs! FUll full full. Like a spring rain, a long drink of water, a fullness of lung.

How I long for it, but how I fear it. I fear the lack of control. I fear the day the bottom falls out and I'm found with my pants down. You know? I think our impluse is to want to have a plan-- I want to find security in my school schedule, my work schedule, the tick tick tick of the years as they go by, graudation after graduation after promotion after retirement.

I suppose I came here to learn this rhythm of life, this sort of life that is less dependent upon the security I seek in my packed schedule. I came here to become less dependent upon my ability to plan things out. I came here to release control of my own time, to freefall into the arms of the one who is really capable of holding me (even though it feels a lot more like I would do a better job). And so suddenly, in the midst of my typing, I am longing to jump out of the plane. I suddenly want out of control. I long for the exhilarating breath of trust as the air rushes past past past my rosy cheeks.

I realize these past weeks I have been frantically struggling. STruggling against it all. Instead of just letting the air of freedom from schedule rush past and fill my lungs, I tightened. Stopped breathing altogether. And I think of the words that entered my mind as I left the grocery store the other day, simply, "when are you going to stop feeling sorry for yourself in this tightness and trust me?" This sense of neeing to stop pinching pennies and throw it all into the wind, trusting that at the right moment what I need will be in abundant supply. But I suppose I cannot seek God to provide for tomorrow if I am not accepting what he has provided for today.

So, I would ask all of you to pray for me in this. Hold me up. I am realizing more and more that I don't really want to seek a hard life alone. I think for a long time my mentality and goal has been to seek challenge, to seek that which is hard and unsafe becuase this is the real way to live. But I have always had a sense that something in that was missing becuase I wasn't breathing. And I am seeing that I need people journeying with me. I think of myself carrying this burden for the sake of building great muscles, but I think there are a few passages about giving up the burden, allowing others to lend their muscles to uphold it as well. So I am asking you all, my dear friends, my various faces of family, please journey with me. Hold me up. Let me ramble in my stupidity until I figure out the complicated mess. Pray that breath would fill my lungs to keep going.

You ought to be ashamed

These words thrust themselves like fists at the pit of my stomache. Shame. Fear. You'll never be enough. There seems to be this voice in me continually saying, "hard as you try, there will always be that one thing in you that is never good enough, will never measure up." As beautiful, as professional, as wonderful as you try to appear, there is something innate. And we aren't going to be able to get over it.

I'm afraid. intellectually, I know all of these are dirty little eyes (lies?), but down there, deep in the center of my stomache, they tie knots. SHAME. Why did you come? I imagine them asking. What made you think that you would be worth it to us? I tired to make it work, I did my best. I thought if I could clean up my mess, it would be okay. But things are falling apart and I must appeal to someone else now. Someone who is saying, "I'm sorry, but..." Appearing to be someone else doesn't matter because the rot is deep, underneath it all. And I am afraid. I'm tired of disappointment and rejection, tired of agonizing over decisions I don't want to make. I don't know what else to do. Why can't it all be over now?

People have said to me often, "Heidi, you don't seem to enjoy the process much." The answer is, "yeah, you are right." I don't like the process. I want to be through his. "What is there to learn?" I don't feel much like thinking about that right now. I'm ready to be done and I'll learn the lesson later.

But today I am anticipating and dreading phone calls. Yes or no. Further commitment. I'll have to decide. And I fear saying the wrong thing, thinking the wrong thing, being the wrong thing... after all. demanding too much. What if I let someone down? What if I'm a disappointment. I see the hand raised above my shuddering shoulders, the booming voice. "HOW DARE YOU THINK SUCH A THING." My stomache is knots again.

And this other voice says
TRUST
TRUST
TRUST.

trust me. Child. Trust me. Can you trust that I know all these things? Don't you know that I do not condemn or fault you? I don't really understand why not. But nevertheless, the voice keeps saying
TRUST
TRUST
TRUST.

trust. I've been thinking a lot about breathing. About how life is less about trying to be something else nor is it about attaining some other reality and it is more about seeking what is. Gazing into the eyes of the trees and the rushing water and seeing how life really is. Seeking not escape, but plunging deep into the bowels of everyday life and reality to find myself in it. Breathing instead of holding your breath. And I think trust is something like that. Just breathing, allowing the air to enter my lungs and then leave. Trust is taking in the air that I have been given for this moment and trusting there will be air again for the next and the next and the next and the next. Trusting.

It is hard to breathe (trust?) when your stomache is in knots and you are looking back to last week and the week before and the week before. The sting of the disappointment still hot. The remembrance of the ways I have not measured up still fresh. It is your fault. The system that says you must pay for your own mistakes. Clean up your own mess. There's the bed, sleep in it.

And yet, someone once said, "Grace pays the bill." Grace pays the bill. Why? How? What if it doesn't? Can't I still control it, make sure that it does? Apparently not. I don't get to manipulate control or conjure. All I can do is breathe and trust. Drink and swallow. Listen instead of frantically run about hoping that by chance I'll stop running into trees and find the opening. Abba, WHERE IS THE OPeNInG?

Today was a good day. One of the best days in many. One of the first days in a long time when I came home from my day on campus when I didn't feel overwhelmed with how tired I was and how much more stuff I had to do still. I feel like maybe the pressure may be releasing just a little and that is great although it feels a little wierd, unnatural. But it is nice. It is nice to know what I am not carrying more than my little back can weather.

I have been thinking pretty much constantly in the past few weeks about how in America, we force this incredable pace upon ourselves. How to be less than "full-time" anything is an unspeakable sin. If every minute of your day is not bursting, then you are either in trouble or selfish. That or irresponsible. Never about taking care of your body or embracing the fresh air or clear blue sky. Maybe we are afraid of the silence too much and it frightens us more when we find someone else strong enough to brave it. The strength to acknowledge the reality of our weakness.

It is so easy to think away, rationalize away, the pain pounding pounding pounding at our hearts. I have been thinking a lot about the dialogues that go on inside of me on a regular basis and I realize I have done a lot of defining, putting a lot of things in a lot of boxes. A lot of choices put in thier coresponding consequential boxes. And I forget about grace. I forget about mercy. I forget that I am not made to shoulder all this weight, as much as I think it should be possible in some metaphysical way. There has to be a way. If I just work hard, the unrealistic number of things that I have chosen to commit myself to do will somehow magically fit into that box. But there is grace. One of my favorite songs is "Phobic" by Plum, which says Grace means room to breath. Grace means a little more freedom. I don't think we allow ourselves or each other nearly enough room to breathe. And that is a problem, as lazy as that sounds.

Last night after doing all the studying I could handle for the night, I opened my journal just to reflect a bit on the day and to seek God on the challenge he is bringing me today and I just made the choice to stop and listen for a minute. I stopped writing the things my brain wanted to say and started just writing the words Abba was dictating to my heart. And you know what I heard? All the things I that I had been hearing all along, but pushing away to the side, pushing pushing pushing with all of my strength, pushing closed the flood gates of truth that Abba was trying to get through the little cracks. Words like I love you. I am here with you. I have equipped you. I see that ache in your back. I hear the shortness of your breath. I am taking care of you. Your intution about me is right becuase it has been me speaking. All of this stuff that I was hoping and praying and dying to believe was true, but not believing. Being too prideful and habit-driven to embrace. Do you even have those moments? I fear I am doing a poor job of expressing this breath that rushed through me last night. But that's just what it was. It was a moment that I took to acknowledge the breath. And it was wonderful.