New Blog

Hey all,

I have a new site now:

http://www.thegodofaprilham.com/

Hope you enjoy!

I Now Pronounce You: Bitter and Sarcastic

You'd think me less conscious of self than most, with this here appearance of bravery, putting ink to paper for public consumption in book form. But it is untrue. The fact is I'm writing this while sitting safely at a table NOT looking at you. Our eyes have no chance of meeting for me to see your disapproval. David Crowder, Praise Habit

So, that is exactly why I write. And I wrote the following story after going to a friend's wedding the other weekend. Then I was asked if it could be emailed to a distribution list at my church - this horrid story that exposes my pathetically loserish self in all of its bitter splendor! Thank God for the anonymity of the internet. For those of you who do know me personally, please don't make disapproving eye contact the next time we meet. Despite popular belief, I am quite the fragile flower:

I Now Pronounce You: Bitter and Sarcastic
"So, this weekend I went to a wedding at the beach. It was beautiful. Like a movie. The ceremony took place on the sand mere inches from the ocean waves. The groom and his boys wore casual attire and sported bare feet, much to the envy of all the other married men in the crowd who had been forced into restrictive shoes and tight bow-ties for their nuptials. The bride was the reason for the phrase "a vision in silk". Her billowy dress had it's own zip code. The weather was all you could dream for an outdoor September wedding. As they said their own sweetly written vows, happy tears ran down their cheeks. Kleenex was being passed quickly around the crowd. It was lovely and wonderful, but if I'm honest, part of me just wanted to peal out of the parking lot, drive home to bed and hide under the covers.

"Don't get me wrong. I am happy for my married friends. Marriage is a wonderful thing. And I've always adored weddings. I remember as a child, forcing my dad to play "Get Married" over and over again as I wore one of my mom's old slips around me as a dress, another over my hair a veil. But the warm, fuzzy feelings surrounding weddings have begun to dissolve in the last five years or so, because the plans I've laid out for my life have all included a family, and as of yet, it is not working out that way. And no matter how hard I try to rail against the feelings that rise up, it's a struggle to see others get what I want without experiencing that twinge of: 'When is it my turn?'

"Say what you like about the necessity of finding wholeness and completeness as a single, the Bible says in Genesis that God looked at Adam and saw that it was not good for man to be alone, so He created him a suitable partner. It. is. not. good. for. man. to. be. alone. Period. And there is something to be said for the subtle validation that comes with marriage. Because at the moment of proposal, someone looked at their significant other and said, " Of all the people on this earth, I - choose - YOU." And with over six billion people in this world, that is saying something. I know that we are to find our worth in God and not in people, and when I am focused on God, this all falls into place. But when I check the mail and happen upon another frickin' wedding invitation, I often feel the unrelenting urge to cram it into my blender and hit 'Puree' until it liquefies. Because in this jealous fit, I've lost focus of God and have glanced around at the world (which eerily begins to resemble Noah's ark with everyone paired up two by two), and all I am able to see is that she got chosen and he got chosen and they got chosen - and I begin to feel a little like the Cheese in the Farmer in the Dell, all alone and pathetic. Because no one has chosen me. And my mind begins to surmise it is because I have no worth or value or redeeming qualities of any kind and I will die alone surrounded only by my 100 mewling cats.

"I know that scripture says that we are God's people, a chosen people, called by name. But in this state, I would argue that God calls us all, wanting none of us to perish, so while I'm sure it is eternally significant, it doesn't feel too special to be a chosen along with everyone else who ever was or ever will be, especially when it's not tangible, when I can't see it or feel or have it right in front of me. So, yes, I am a child of God. But today I say to that, "Whoop-ti-doo," because today I feel more like a lonely child of God. And when lonely comes to visit, it's like sitting in a sauna, inhaling humid, weighty air, the thick vapors settling down into the pit of my lungs, each breath becoming more labored in this pulmonary compression, this slow suffocation. And oh, the relief that would resolve from sticking my head out into the normal air and getting one nice, full breath again! But I am trapped in this murkiness as I turn inward, towards these dark, self-serving thoughts.

"The one lifeline I have is that I've been in enough relationships to know something important - that the only thing that feels more lonely than not being in a relationship, is being in the wrong one. But that is hard to remember, driving home, alone, from another fairytale wedding. And so, today I have resigned myself to the luxury of a lavish pity party. All bitter and sarcastic singles are welcome to attend. Bah humbug!"

Finding God in the Herky Jerky

I was asked to write about 9/11. In doing so, I have realized it is very hard for me to write on a topic that is not my choice. :)

I will sacrifice a freewill offering to you; I will praise your name, O LORD, for it is good. Psalm 54:6

"So, I went for a jog around the lake on a beautiful, sunny afternoon last week. It was a gorgeous day, one of those perfect experiences that somehow becomes ingrained in your memory as a moment of total sensory satisfaction. The sun was shining at an angle in the sky that brilliantly lit up the day, yet the strategically-placed fluffy, white clouds graciously ricocheted its strong rays away from my delicate pupils. Its warmth spread across my skin, causing my arms and shoulders to radiate heat. But before it got too hot, a regulating breeze would stir, lifting the wisps of hair hanging from my ponytail, cooling my neck. And there was not a drop of humidity that day. (I think that is what heaven must be like - no humidity).

"As I ran, I took in my surroundings. I was jogging on a path canopied by beautiful summer foliage. If I was well-versed in horticulture, I would be able to say something poetic like: "The cream and crimson blooms of flowering dogwoods burst open like exploding fireworks, back dropped by the eastern redbuds and mulberry bushes dotting the landscape." But I'm not a botanist. And so, I did see trees and they had green leaves and brown trunks and they were stunningly beautiful, waving in the wind, seeming to greet me with a "Hello!" as I ran past.

"When I reached the bridge, I noticed the sun shining out across the lake, the light's reflections glittering on the surface like diamonds. To the left of me in the water I saw two Canadian geese, their heads forward and wings back, launching out of the lake in some kind of aviary drag race – from zero to airborne in 2.2 seconds. I saw people of every year, make and model, strolling and running and biking past me. My heart, buoyant by the day's beauty, brought a smile to my face as I passed each one and wished them well.

"On picture book days like this, even when dodging the occasional softserve-esque swirls of duck poo on the path, it is easy to see God and His goodness. It seems quite natural (albeit cheesy) to watch the dogs parading past: the pit bull (how wide), the dachshund (how long), the greyhound (how high), the mastiff (how deep-[voiced]), and be reminded of God's love for me (Eph 3:17-19). It seems simple to watch the black and yellow lizard with the electric blue tail zigzagging across the bridge railing and be filled with praise for the color and creativity of God. And when watching a gaggle of turtles congregating together on a log to soak up some sun, it is almost inclination, I believe, to thank God for making turtles, with their teeny, tiny, little turtle heads poking out of their army green, tiled shells, looking all cute and...uh...turtley? On days like this day, when everything seems so perfect and glorious, I remember the song Make a Joyful Noise, where David Crowder sings: "Every ocean, every sea, every river, every stream, every mountain, every tree, every blade of grass will sing…make a joyful noise to the Lord all the earth…" Because on days like this day around the lake, I can clearly see that this is indeed what creation does - creation sings out to their Creator, giving Him glory and praise, because this is what they were made for. At least it seems that way on good days.

"On the other side of the spectrum, there are the Very Bad Day Indeeds. Days when your own personal tragedy strikes, such as the loss of a loved one. Or maybe something global, where the world gets sucker punched and has the wind knocked out of it. And we collectively stop for a moment, to recover and learn to breathe again. Today is the fifth anniversary of one of those Very Bad Days. And during these kinds of days, it can become much harder for me to see God in the short-term. With the loss of lives and the fear that settles into each of us and the nagging question of WHY? But I think that after the initial shock of tragedy, people begin to unite in amazing ways, either over Elton John’s lyrical memorial to the Very Bad Day (just how many times can A Candle in the Wind be rewritten?) or more importantly, in the strength provided through their faith.

"I was not a Christian during 9/11. And I tried to calm myself by appealing to patriotism and activism, not having anything else to call on. Now that I am a believer, tragedy that strikes seems different than before. It can be hard for me to remember that God is here in the middle of a bombed building or a treacherous tsunami, but I know that scripture says that He will never leave us (Deut 31:6), and that He is good and all He does is good (Psalm 119). So, while I initially feel shaken, I eventually seem to arrive at the end of myself and my own attempts at control and my own ability to hope, and BOOM – there is God. And it feels comforting, almost, I dunno, noble (?) to maintain faith in the midst of great despair, in this resignation that while I might not understand, I choose to trust my God. But what it boils down to, is that even in the tragedy, I can usually, eventually, see God in the mix.

"But in an average life, I think the Very Good Days and the Very Bad Day Indeeds are not the norm. I think the majority of days are the Eh Days. The Blah Days. The "Time To Make the Donuts" days. These repetitive hamster-running-on-a-wheel churning 'round and 'round days. Dave Matthews writes about these days in his song Ants Marching: 'He wakes up in the morning. Does his teeth, bite to eat and he's rolling. Never changes a thing, the week ends, the week begins…' Oh, these days, these weeks, these months, these years. They begin to run together and I think God sometimes gets lost in the monotony.

"Or maybe the days that are even more disconcerting are the ones I wish were just boring. Instead, these are days filled not with life and death issues, but with the smaller unpleasentries that just begin to build: maybe you’ve got a job interview in an hour and your car won't start, or you accidentally sit down in melted chocolate while wearing light-colored pants and your backside looks like a Rorschach ink blot test, or you and your boyfriend break up, or it's picture day and you've woken up with two new craters on your face the size of Milwaukee, or you're running late and you’ve somehow managed to hit every red light between here and there, or you've got a cold and your nose is producing much more mucous than a nose should be able to manufacture, or you haven't had sleep in days and there is no end in sight. Days where even when I can manage to pull my sad self up off the couch to run around the lake, there is more duck poo in the path than not, and the clouds open wide (on purpose, I'm quite sure!), pouring down rivulets of rain which infiltrates my newly purchased 30GB video iPod, viciously intentional about killing and destroying each and every .mp3 in it's path. And it always seems to me during these times, that everyone else's lives are going just wonderfully, which makes my injustices seem all the more insulting. Well, on these days, momma ain't so happy. And momma starts to whine and complain. In the middle of days like this, I have somehow forgotten that God is still God, and that God is still good, because I have taken my attention off God and focused it all onto my sad, pathetic, victim self. 'Boo-hoo,' I say! 'Poor me!'

"But I guess the real challenge is to find God in these moments too. Because when all is said and done, despite the annoying car troubles, and your friends nicknaming you Miss Poo-Poo McChocolate Pants, and dealing with ex-boyfriend drama, and the unfairness of having to preserve in history the Day O' Massive OppoZits, and dodging poorly timed traffic lights, and tidal waves of snot, and lack-of-sleep hysteria, and duck-poo-scented shoes on your feet, and the sloshing sound of my iPod as I run, the truth, while sometimes hard to see, is that God is still in His heaven and all is (mostly) right with the world. I just wish I could remember that when in the thick of it.

"Psalm 54:6 says - I will sacrifice a freewill offering to you; I will praise your name, O LORD, for it is good. And I guess this is what I need to master - this ability to praise God always. Not just when life is perfect and it is easy to do. That is a habit learned early on in one’s walk because it is human nature to praise when things are good. And not just when life is so horrid that all our self-serving options have been taken away and God is all the hope we have left to cling to, although I’m sure that praise is mighty fine too. But instead, I want to better learn to praise God in the herky-jerky, when praise feels like a sacrifice, when life sorta stinks and I feel alone and un-unified in the fight and there is nothing God can do but shrug His shoulders and smile His knowing God smile and say all crypticly, 'My dear, you will never understand it in this lifetime.' And, so, it's in these moments when I most need to learn to call on my meager supply of faith, to suck it up, grit my teeth, hook my thumbs in the belt loops of my McChocolate pants and exclaim, 'LORD, I will praise your name, for it is GOOD!'"

*Author neither confirms or denies that \n she ever wore Poo-Poo McChocolate Pants.

I Said Yes

From birth I was cast upon You, from my mother's womb You have been my God. Psalm 22:10

So, yes the baptism was great. It wasn't a Damascus Road experience, and a hungry turtle did nip a bit at our feet, but I did feel loved and safe and happy and God was there. I didn't really invite anyone because I was afraid they might feel obligated to come. But somehow word got out and people showed. Some obvious ones, and some pretty random. Several people gave me verses that day, including:

The LORD your God is with you, he is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, he will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing. Zephaniah 3:17

For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love and of self-discipline. 2 Timothy 1:7

For Zion's sake, I will not keep silent, for Jerusalem's sake, I will not remain quiet, till her vindication shines out like the dawn, her salvation like a blazing torch. The nations will see your vindication, and all kinds your glory; you will be called by a new name that the mouth of the LORD will bestow. You will be a crown of splendor in the LORD's hand, a royal diadem in the hand of your God. No longer will they call you Deserted, or name your land Desolate. But you will be called Hephizabah, and your land Beulah; for the LORD will take delight in you, and your land will be married. As a young man marries a young woman, so will your Builder marry you; as a bridegroom rejoices over his bride, so will your God rejoice over you. Isaiah 62:1-5

We were asked to write a testimony to be read at the service. Here is mine:

"I don't think I ever truly stopped believing in God. Over the years I just grew to believe He hated me and had abandoned me because my life wasn't going according to plan. And so I hated Him back, because it is easier for me to lash out in anger than admit sadness. Sadness just makes me feel hopeless.

"I was in a very low state several years ago, having been flattened relationally, financially, everything. One night I was up late. I felt like I was toeing the line of sanity. I didn't know what to do but for some reason I started praying. I didn't feel any different, but after a series of strange "coincidences", I soon found myself at church. I hadn't attended a church regularly since I was a very young child. While most of me fought the feelings I had there, I found myself every Monday morning wishing it was Sunday just so I could go back and feel that way again.

"At the same time, Christian reinforcement was coming out of the woodwork. Some friends from the past that I didn't even realize had become Christians had started to call a lot. A few coworkers began to witness to me. Some extended family started asking questions. I now know that during that time, God was surrounding me in a network of support. But I was pretty stubborn and it took me almost a year of going to church and arguing by email, phone and in person to everyone who would talk to me, before I got to the point where I chose God. I was saved in a Sunday service during communion.

"I am so thankful for what God has done for me over the last few years, but I chose the life verse from Psalms 22:10 – From birth I was cast upon You, from my mother's womb, You have been my God, because I have begun to realize that His pursuit was not as recent as it originally seemed. I now understand that He's been chasing me my whole life, slowly and patiently working on me day by day. I was just that two years ago, I finally gave up, surrendered, and let Him catch me.

"And now everything has changed."

Dunk n' GoNuts

As soon as Jesus was baptized, he went up out of the water. At that moment heaven was opened, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and lighting on him. And a voice from heaven said, "This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased." Matthew 3:16-17

So, I am a very sensory person. And I long to feel God. I hear stories all the time of people experiencing God's presence in amazing ways. But I have found what I've thought would be my most important moments with God to be quite disappointing when held up to the sensory standards and expectations I've placed them against.

I was saved in a Sunday service. Internally, I was an emotional wreck during the process. And for all my "troubles" - pushing through my anxiety and surrendering myself to God - I was expecting something amazing in return: a spine tingle and goosebumps, the hallelujah choir, a beam of sunshine upon me, or at least a few doves flying around somewhere. Something. Anything! But I felt nothing. And so I suspected that nothing had happened. Looking back, I now know that is not true. I know that my new life was set into motion that day. But I longed to feel it like so many others claim.

I think everytime I do something God-ish, I have somehow come to expect these moments of feeling an intimate, personal communion with Him. And I become disappointed when I don't get them. Maybe it's my fault. Maybe it's me not noticing Him in the midst of my nerves over surrendering. Or perhaps God does back away from me a bit sometimes. Because it seems to me that He only gives us what we want once we finally realize it is not what we need. And I think God has had to give my rational mind plenty of lessons on believing despite sensory evidence.

1 Peter 1:7-8 says, These have come so that your faith may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed. Though you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy.

And so, yeah, I get baptized tomorrow. The past has taught me to approach this day in full expectation that it will probably feel simply like people watching me get dunked in a lake. And that is fine, because I am not doing it to get anything, but to tell the world that God rocks and I'm on board.

But while I am sure it will be an ok experience in itself, part of me can't help but hope it will be something more than just going through the motions. I want to feel something. (And since we are supposed to be specific about our prayers, I'd like to add that fish or water snakes or any other marine creatures swimming around my person is not the kind of thing I'd like to feel). I am not sure what exactly I am looking for, but I'm positive I'd know if I got it.

Either way, I know that God and I will both be present. And only good can come from such an intersection.

Turn On Your Heartlight: A Theory

I will praise the LORD, who counsels me; even at night my heart instructs me. Psalm 16:7

(Yes, the title of this blog is a Neil Diamond song. You'd better step off. I love me some Neil!)

So, anyway, I read a book the other day and one of the chapters talked about a guy who was good at "listening for the whispers of God". He would see words and phrases in the everyday world around him and conclude that God was trying to communicate because of it. An example they gave was a phrase on a water bottle and another on the back of someone's T-shirt. I've found myself noticing repetition in everything over the last year or so. So much so, that I've been keeping track of such things in my journal, trying to see if any of it means anything or comes to pass. Repetitions of scripture, songs, concepts, words in the every day world; things that seem silly, but somehow feel larger than their natural state.

I asked one of my pastors what he thought about God speaking that way. He told me he believed God communicates with people in many different ways, and he believed that could be one of them. I struggled with the idea though. Because it seemed a little too Ouiji board/horoscope/tea leaves-ish to me. Doesn't it sound rather psychotic to think God would direct me by surrounding me in specific beverages? Or that He speaks to me through clothing?

But more recently I've started to see it in a different light. Not that God is putting objects in my way to remind me of things. But that perhaps those are just normal objects that mean something different because something in me has changed.

St. John of the Cross says that, "God Himself feeds and refreshes the soul without the active participation of her discursive mind...God transmits his secret teachings to the soul and instructs her...He supernaturally imparts His divine wisdom...She does not have to do a thing, nor will she understand a thing... Contemplatives call it infused contempation or mystical theology."

Lately I've been waking up mentally humming worship music, finding myself mid-song before I am even fully aware of my state or surroundings. I've also been waking with theological words or concepts in mind, the details of which quickly slip away upon the coming of morning like those of a good dream. God surely is a part of my night. Which makes me wonder - perhaps He is downloading information into me as I sleep. Things I can't possibly understand because I'm not divine. And then waking me morning by morning, wakening my ear to listen like one being taught (Isaiah 50:4).

John 14:16-17, 26 says, I will ask the Father, and He will give you another advocate to help you and be with you forever - the Spirit of truth. The Advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you all things and will remind you of everything I have said to you.

So, best I can attempt to theorize: since I have the Holy Spirit in me, perhaps when I come across a normal word or phrase, the part of me that is spirit (the tiny part of me that has the capacity to understand the imparted information), sees these words and resonates within me ever so slightly in this moment of soulful deja vu - my spirit gently pulsing in recognition of the divine like the warm glow of ET's heartlight in response to the mothership's return.

But, because it is impossible for me in my limited humanness to decipher such information, I must settle for an undefinable awareness, a knowledge of merely the existence of some important yet hidden truth. Rather like a lost name on the tip of one's tongue, unable to be recalled but there nonetheless...

Auto Kabod-o

[Note:This is part 4 of 4 in a series. Please read Kabod Crane, iKabod Shuffle and Please Sir, May I Have Another? to sufficiently understand the following blog.]

Holy, holy, holy is the LORD Almighty; the whole earth is full of His glory. Isaiah 6:3

Ok, well, you're never going to believe me. You are probably going to think I made this up because it's just way too perfect. But seriously, it happened. I think God is messing with me. I love it.

So, I've been praying for God to put me in uncomfortable situations, to teach me to boldly walk up my personal Mt. Sinai's instead of running away scared. And Sunday night, I got what I asked for - my big opportunity. I'd like to say I confidently forged forth, but boy, did I RUN! It was not even close. A total loss. And I was really beating myself up about it.

I drove home thinking about my loserish self, who seemingly continues to regress day after day instead of growing and improving. In the midst of my self-flagellation, I was getting ready to turn into my apartment complex when I noticed the car in front of me had a Maryland license plate...with a crane on it. I guess it's possible it was a heron or an egret, (I'm not a member of The Audabon Society), but I smiled nonetheless and thought how kind God was to remind me of His presence in the middle of that painful moment. I realized that He has not given up on me, that He has not lost all hope, despite the fact that I have entertained the truthiness of those very ideas.

Anyway, when I left for work this morning, I drove out of the apartments and entered the very same intersection. I remembered the crane plate and smiled. In front of me sat a nice, shiny, white Lexus. The personalized license plate on it? K-A-B-O-D.

KABOD! Seriously! For real! No lie!

Tee hee. Silly God. Love, love, love... :)

I'm Dying, Here!

To come to the pleasure you have not, you must go by a way in which you enjoy not.
St. John of the Cross

So, one of our pastors did a sermon on the power vs. the presence of God. He said that the power of God is meant for one use - to usher people into the presence of God, but that many people never cross the line into His presence. He discussed the biblical scene in Exodus when Israel set at the base of Mt. Sinai. When God began to show His power in big ways, most of Israel took off. Moses alone walked up the mountain and into the presence of God.

He asked us, why do you think the rest ran from God's presence?

Tommy Tenney writes in his book The God Chasers:
"With one hand, [God says], 'Call Me closer and I will come because I want to come near.' Yet at the same time, He holds out His other hand in warning while saying, 'Be careful. If you're going to get any closer, make sure that everything is dead. If you really want to know Me, then everything must die.' So, when we beg for God to come closer, He will, but He also says, 'I can't really get any closer, because if I do, your flesh will be destroyed. I want you to understand that if you will just go ahead and die, then I can come near you.' That is why repentance and brokenness - the New Testament equivalent of death - brings the manifest presence of God so near."

So, we are only able to draw near to God, and He to us, when we die to self. Perhaps this fear of death, this repulsion of self-sacrifice, is why the Israelis shoved Moses forward while taking themselves two steps back. David Crowder has a song called Everybody Wants To Go To Heaven, But Nobody Wants To Die. I understand this paradox.

I remember how terrified I was to do anything "religious" when I was first saved. Even now, I am often anxious. I get more wigged out than most around religion. I'm not sure why. Everytime I find myself having to do something religiously scary, I say things like, "I'm dying!" or "You're killing me!" Seems a bit overdramatic, but the fear I feel is real.

I realized awhile back that if such tiny things like talking with someone or having someone pray for me caused such a large recoil reaction, it was more than likely something that involved God, something He probably wanted me to do, and so I should probably do it. Sometimes I did.

But now I am starting to realize that my panicked reactions of "I'm dying!" and "You're killing me!" were more true than I knew at the time. I do pray and ask God to draw near. And He says, Ok, but you have to die a bit first. When I soon find myself in a situation that requires me to step out in faith, I either back away like the scared Israelis at Mt. Sinai (mostly), or walk toward Him like Moses (rarely).

When I do attempt to take a step forward, what I experience is a sort of death. It is, as Roberta Flack would say, killing me softly. At least the parts of me that aren't of God. My fleshly self has to be pruned, the ungodly bits of me removed like the excess growth on a Disney World topiary. But after I writhe around for a bit, cringing at the torture invoked by these mini self-ocides, my reward is that God and I can take one step closer.

I am learning to rejoice in the midst of the agony of it all, because I know the eventual end outweighs the means.

Please Sir, May I Have Another?

One thing I do know. I was blind but now I see! John 9:25

Seriously? You want another story about my kabod crane? Personally I thought the whole subject was getting quite old, like an overplayed American Idol hit. But I am devoted to my public, all three of you, so I will cater to your commands. I promise to at least keep this one short.

So, today when I was running around the lake, I passed my kabod crane at the .5 mile mark. Or so I thought. Then I passed another at the mile mark. And another near the 1.5 mile mark. I've never seen more than one crane. So maybe it was the same guy, following me around the lake, popping up here and there, around every corner. But I think it's kind of cool that once you choose to believe, you start seeing signs of God's glory everywhere you look.

(If you are reading this and you don't know what my kabod crane is...well, shame on you. You haven't been reading my blog faithfully. Why do you hate America? But there is hope. Check out Kabod Crane and iKabod Shuffle).

iKabod Shuffle

My son, give glory to the LORD, the God of Israel, and give him the praise. Joshua 7:19(a)

After reading about kabod (God's glory) and Ichabod (no glory or God's glory departing) for my last blog, I came across a discussion on these words in another book. However, this particular book used the original spelling for Ichabod - ikabod. And I thought it quite fitting that the only literal, as well as figurative, difference between the two - being in the midst of God's glory and being removed from His glory - is putting "I" (ourselves) before kabod (God's glory).

I wonder if God was thinking about that when he created grammar.

Kabod Crane

She named the boy Ichabod, saying, “The glory has departed from Israel” – because of the capture of the ark of God and the deaths of her father-in-law and her husband. 1 Samuel 4:21

Two weeks ago I started running again after an extended delay from a messed up knee. Previous to this injury, I had been running six miles a day, but the exercise sabbatical has taken its toll on my body. I was only able to run about half a mile before stopping to walk the rest of the 2.2 miles around the lake. Everyday I attempt to increase my distance by a little bit more. A new iPod full of worship music has helped motivate me to keep going. It also directs my focus to God as I jog through His creation and ponder His ways.

By the beginning of last week I had worked up to the one-mile mark. As I walked from there on, my thoughts again turned to God. Around the one and a half mile mark, I came to a turn in the bridge. Sitting in the water, amidst the normal assundry of ducks, was a beautiful crane. Its long legs were jutting out of the water, its pointy beak arched upwards, confident. “Hi, crane!” I said, as I passed. (Yes, I talk to birds.) The long, thin head rotated so its eyes could follow me as I turned the corner and walked up the next hill and back into the cover of the trees.

The next day I ran a bit further before I started to walk. Soon, I strolled into the same clearing, there again sat my new buddy, the crane, looking so dignified. It fluffed its feathers as I passed. I chose to interpret that motion as a friendly wave. I returned the greeting.

The following day I was feeling strong, the day was cool, and the worship music thumping. It propelled me onward, this time all the way to the point of my friend, Señor Crane. As I reached him I slowed and smiled. I was happy he was able to share in my newest victory.

Day 4, I ran again. I was not feeling as powerful as the day before. It was humid and thunderstormy. The rain-soaked pants I sported stuck to my legs, making me feel claustrophobic. I told myself, “no distance backsliding”…that I had to at least run to the crane again. And as I turned that familiar corner, there he was. Just a few more steps…a few more…

But just then, his large wings unfolded and up he flew! The graceful pose he maintained in the water evolved into rather gawky-looking, bottom heavy flight. He lumbered down a ways, over the bridge, and plopped back into the water on the other side. I was slightly annoyed by my delayed reprieve, but then smiled a bit at how similar he was to a perky aerobics teacher, "And three more, and two more, and one more.......and just ten more!" So I kept true to my promise to “run to the crane.” As we once again met, I smiled and said hello as I stopped to walk.

That night I finished reading a book that explored how to listen for God’s voice. It referenced the story from 1 Samuel where Samuel learns to distinguish God’s voice from Eli’s. After reading through that small passage, I wanted more, so I started at the beginning of 1 Samuel and read through Chapter 4 before going to bed. Chapter 4 tells the story of the Philistines stealing the Ark of the Covenant from Israel. In response to the glory of the Lord being stolen from Israel, one of the Israeli women in the chapter gives birth to a son and names him "Ichabod". The name immediately made me think of Ichabod Crane, the character from the scarytale "Legend of Sleepy Hollow".

Now, I'm not sure if it was a sweet dream about my friend Mr. Crane or a nightmare about Ichabod Crane and the headless horseman, but somehow in the middle of the night, the two characters entwined, and I woke up with major crane on the brain.

That morning as I was looking in my commentary about the passages I had read the night before, I noticed that it said Ichabod means "no glory" while conversely kabod means "God's glory".

As my thoughts again strayed to Ichabod Crane, his surname called to mind my little friend out their on the lake. And unlike Ichabod Crane - this "no glory Crane" of spooky tales - I thought that perhaps my friend at the lake was my kabod crane, my "glory crane" - a little angel sent from God to make me smile, to motivate and push me further when I felt like giving up, to act as a sign that He will always be there for me, rain or shine.

Afterwards, I got online to check my email. I opened my Scripture of the Day to see: "The LORD will send His angel before you," Genesis 24:7; "God also is bearing witness by signs and wonders," Hebrews 2:4; and the prayer, "Creator of all, heaven and earth are full of your glory," and I chuckled.

Perhaps you think I am reading too far into things. Perhaps I am. Perhaps it is just a crane. But Charles Stanley says it is not only appropriate, but it is our duty, as a child of God, walking in the Spirit, to look for the handiwork, the footprint, and the handprint of almighty God in every single situation of life. And I am choosing to believe.

Roller Coasters

Glorify the LORD with me; let us exalt His name together. I sought the LORD, and he answered me; he delivered me from all my fears. Those who look to him are radiant; their faces are never covered with shame. Psalm 34:4-5

When I was a child, my dad somehow convinced me to ride a big roller coaster with him on our trip to Disney World. As we started slowly chugging upward, I was filled with overwhelming fear. I turned to him and said, "Can you ask them to stop the ride? I don't want to do this anymore." He laughed and tried to calm me, but I said, "No really, I need to get off the ride." He tried to explain that it was too late. I reasoned that "If they only knew how scared I was, they would stop it for me!" But at that point, the point of no return, we were off, and no amount of my tears would stop gravity. His helpful advice was to close my eyes, hold on tight and "don't forget to scream!"

Sometimes I feel this same gripping fear when it comes to being bold for God. When I first got saved, everything in regards to religion was scary to me. Faced with a simple task such as introducing myself to a pastor or talking with someone about God felt like slowly clicking up the rickety tracks to the apex of a wild ride. I often would find myself panicking and running away from the situation in fear, telling God, "Turn off the ride! I want to get off!" And because He knows me and every inch of my gigantic, irrational fear, in most cases God has let me get off the ride until I can re-collect my nerves.

Lately though, I've been feeling more like God has climbed up next to me, looked me square in the face and said, "April, now you're just stalling. The time has come to ride the ride. Just trust me."

After my traumatic experience at Disney World, I spent many years at theme parks avoiding the bigger rides. But watching my excited friends having such fun while I sat on the sidelines holding their sunglasses made me long to join in. So, one day nearing the close of my senior year in high school, spurred by my own disappointment-fueled anger, I just jumped up and did it. I rode a scary ride. And I survived. And all I could think when it was over was - AGAIN!

Casting Crowns sings, "I wish I had the kind of faith it takes to climb out of the boat again, on to the crashing waves. To step out of my comfort zone, into the realm of the unknown where Jesus is." I often pray for this kind of faith. And God has been faithful in return. He has grown me in my desire for more awkwardness, more uncomfortable situations, more anything if it will mold me into what He wants me to be. And when I am of sound mind and body, I beg Him for these things - for God to push me, to grow me, to basically bring it on. But in the midst of fear, it's terribly hard to ask for MORE.

But, just like the disappointment found in living vicariously through others' experiences at the amusement park, today I see other people living the life I want to live for God. And I am tired of sitting out, of skulking passively on the sidelines, removed from all the action.

Third Day has a song called Take From Me with the lyrics, "Please take from me my life when I don't have the strength to give it away to You, Jesus." And this is my newest prayer - that God wouldn't wait for me to be 100% OK with His plans for me. That He would start ignoring my frightened pleas to "Stop!", forcefully weaning me from the insulated waiting room I've been residing in for so long now - even if that means the only other option is to close my eyes, hold on tight and SCREAM!

So, yeah - for my first ride: I'm getting baptized on July 30th.

[Woooooshh] "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!"

No Beginner's Luck?

So, I wrote in my blog More, More, More about how I want more of God immediately. How is that for patience? Anyway, I recently read this in Dark Night of the Soul, by St. John of the Cross...

"Imperfections of Spiritual Greed and Gluttony Suffered by Beginners:"

"Many beginners are discontent with the spirituality God has given them. They go around melancholy and petulant because they cannot access the consolation they crave in their spiritual practices. They are greedy. There are the ones who cannot get enough of listening to spiritual counsels, of studying religious precepts, of acquiring and consuming sacred literature. Their efforts are imbalanced toward these pursuits and away from the simple commitment to cultivating inner poverty of spirit.

"Those who begin well and progress along their path are the souls who are not interested in knowing more than is necessary to do good works. They set their eyes on God alone, on being right with him. This is their passion! Others have no patience to wait for God to give them what they need when He sees fit.

"Hardly any beginners, no matter how excellent their progress, avoid falling into some of the myriad imperfections of spiritual gluttony, tempted by the sweet flavors of their initial spiritual experiences. Many, seduced by the delights they discover in spiritual practice, strive more for these tasty juices than for the spiritual purity and wisdom that God is really after throughout the spiritual journey. So eager to partake of holy rites, they fail to partake with purity and perfection. The kind of boldness we speak of is a particularly dangerous thing and will only bring harm.

"In ceremonies, beginners may strain to squeeze out feelings of pleasure, instead of offering humble praise and reverence to God within themselves. They are so attached to reaping a sensual harvest, that when no such feelings come, they think they have failed. This is a negative judgment against God. Don't they realize that the sensory benefits are the least of the gifts offered by the divine? They desire to feel and taste of God as if he were comprehensible and accessible, not only in group worship, but in private spiritual practice, as well. This is an imperfection; it is impurity of faith, in opposition to the divine nature. Such souls give everything over to the pursuit of spiritual gratification and consolation.

"Beginners like these never get tired of reading sacred literature. They dedicate themselves to one meditation and then another, in constant search of some pleasure in the things of God. Those who are inclined toward gratification are generally lazy and reluctant to tread the rough road to union."

Ok, so......crap! Back to square one, then? (Sigh...)

I'm glad God loves me even when I'm the poster child for imperfection.

Oh, Snap!

Deal with your servant according to your love and teach me your decrees. I am your servant; give me discernment that I may understand your statutes. Psalm 119:124-5

So, tempers scare me. Always have. I think part of the problem was growing up with a father with an arbitrary temper. It took a lot to get him to the point of anger, but once there, whoo - watch out!

I was such a brat as a kid. For some reason, I just loved to tease that line of his sanity. Push. [Nothing.] Push, push. [Stone cold.] Push. Nudge. [Poker face.] Push, push, pu – [BANG!] And there he went past the point of no return.

One story retold often in my family occured when I was around 5 years old and feeling lucky (punk). My family and I were sitting at the table eating hotdogs for dinner. Apparently I was in a foul mood. I turned to my dad and said, “Pass the mustard.” “Pass the mustard, what?” he sing-songed back. “Pass the mustard, now,” I sneered. He turned, looking at me calmly: “You either say it right, or you can go upstairs and not eat at all.” I looked at him straight in the eye, western shoot-out style cool, concluding, “Well, I guess I’m going upstairs.”

Immediately, anger exploded on his face. He lept up from his chair and chased me to my room. Needless to say, my rear was not happy with my choice of words and reminded me of that every time I sat down for several days afterwards.

Granted, I brought that one on myself. But sometimes his temper flared in the most unexpected of circumstances. And my brother and I always knew we'd crossed that fatal line when the dreaded sign appeared - the ominous extension of the pointer finger in our direction, slowly turning and curling in “come hither” fashion. And my brother and I would play innocent, looking at one another and back at him in scared confusion, like the SNL Roxbury brothers when asked to dance at the club, “Him? Me? Me, him? Him? Me?” And then the heavy finger would more specifically select the unlucky perpetrator who would tarry a bit, wringing their hands, bowing their head and slowly walking towards their doom, all the while espousing last minute appeals for a political pardon: “Gee, daddy, I’m sorry. I love you. It’s ok. Please, I won’t do it anymore. I promise. You’re the best dad ever!” But he would have none of it. Ears deaf to our pleas of forgiveness, once set into motion, his wrath needed to be avenged.

So, like my dad, God has a duel nature. He is love and He is just. Unlike my dad, God's love and justice are perfect. Scripture says that God is slow to anger, abounding in love. But I think sometimes in my all out ignorance (or sometimes blatent disobedience), I can prime the holy justice of even our utmost patient and compassionate God.

I've been reading Dark Night of the Soul by St. John of the Cross. The first half of the book discusses mistakes many new believers make in their journey. One of the chapters talked about how new Christians who are feeling confident in their journey often start getting puffed up with spiritual pride and presumption, vanity and arrogance. St. John says that many times they lose their holy awe and instead become bold with God. I felt convicted by that. It seems like an easy trap to fall into. Now, I know that boldness itself isn't a bad thing. Scripture says we can walk confidently toward God with all requests and questions and complaints. But I've found out the hard way that approaching boldly without humbling myself can soon evolve to irreverence or even sacrilege.

When I began to go to church, I had a Christian coworker who bought me my first bible and tons of books to read. And every Monday morning, we discussed the sermon from church on Sunday. I also wrote a lot of stories to process my feelings. Having ideas down in black and white seems to help me understand concepts better. When I was feeling particularly brave, I would share them with her.

I had written one blurb about how dumb I felt using Christian “lingo”. Adapting this Christian-ese made me feel like a poser (and as a child of the 80’s, being thought of as a poser is so “gag-me-with-a-spoon!”) I included a list of words in my story that made me blush when I said them outloud…words like testimony, witness, things like that. She smirked as I read. I had also included some reference in scripture - Holy of Holies, King of Kings, Prince of Peace, Risen One, etc. As I read those names out loud in the story, I again felt silly and “churchy” and was starting to laugh in embarassment. But when I looked up, her face looked stricken. Giving her full credit for knowing my words were coming from ignorance and not intentional attack, she quietly but firmly said to me, “April, some of those words I guess I can understand, but what I can’t understand is your being embarrassed to say the names of the Lord. Those are all descriptive words of our Savior and laughing at them is a little too close to blasphemy for my tastes. I know you don’t truly realize what it is you are saying, but I’d like you to take some time and think about why those words are funny to you.”

Immediately I felt socked in the gut. Not in a “Man, I just made a social faux pas and now she thinks I'm stupid!” kind of way. But a, “Wow, just I crossed the line and God sure got my attention!” kind of way. As if God, with His mighty hand and outstretched arm, had pointed right at me, slowly curling up that index finger to come, come closer, so we could talk. I wanted to fall face down, prostrate, penitent, and crawl toward God, reverting back to my 5 year old self, begging, “Gee, Daddy, I’m sorry. I won’t do it anymore. I promise!"

There has been a few other times since then when my logorrhea has gotten me into trouble, where I felt like I had just crossed the border of God's invisible electric fence. And in each case, I felt like His firm rebuke reigned me back in to legal territory.

My father would often tell me after a spanking, "Now, you know I had to punish you." And I never understood that. I would think to my childhood self, "No! You didn't have to do anything!" But some sort of discipline (dolled out with an agenda of love and guidance) is necessary to equip all children properly for their future. As I learn more, I can see why my comments would dishonor God and therefore why they need to be evaluated. I can appreciate Him instructing me by setting more detailed boundries for the future. Not with a punishing spanking, but with correcting and directing mercy.

Hebrews 12:8-10 says: If you are not disciplined then you are illegitimate children and not true sons. Moreover, we have all had human fathers who disciplined us and we respected them for it. How much more should we submit to the Father of our spirits and live! Our fathers disciplined us for a little while as they thought best; but God disciplines us for our good, that we may share in his holiness. And in the same way, God disciplines us for our good, that we may share in His holiness when we are fully mature.

So, yes, even His discipline is for my good. I just wish I could forsee the triggers to His holy temper before getting into any more hot water. :)

Be Still (Wiggle, Wiggle)

Being, not doing, is my first joy.
Theodore Roethke

Scripture has tons of references to being still and waiting on God. Psalm 37:7 - Be still before the LORD and wait patiently for him. Psalm 46:10 - Be still and know that I am God. Zechariah 2:13 - Be still before the LORD, all mankind, because he has roused himself from his holy dwelling.

So, here's the problem. I don't like to be still. I mean, lazy, I can do...but still? If I am going to sit around motionless, I tend to need music or TV or something to think about. I'm not good at just being...I must do. I come across this problem often when I pray as well. My mind wanders to shopping lists and laundry piles and work calls. I know God desires us to just crawl up onto his lap and sit with Him, but in a busy world, sometimes I find it difficult to wind my brain down and log off for the night.

I have tried meditating on scripture. I chose, "Be still and know that I am God." But as my mind imagined the words visually in my head, I suddenly noticed that "Be Still" looked a lot like "Ben Stiller" and I started thinking of the movie Zoolander and how silly it all was and soon found mysef back at square one.

A few weeks ago I took a trip to Ohio for an extended family reunion. We stayed at some cabins on the tip of the lake. It was not that nice of a place: saloon doors on the coffin-sized bedrooms, a TV from the 80's that received only a few channels, no phone, no internet, no radio, no central A/C. The kids had playgrounds and a pool to play on, but as an adult who doesn't do swimsuits, there was very little for me. We talked some, played games, things like that, but I spent most of the trip asking to borrow the car to drive to the mall, to the coffee shop, to the stores, to anywhere! Because I can't just sit and be still. It makes me bonkers. Cabin fever is a real disease.

My cousin and his family were at the reunion. One of his daughters is nine months old. She loves The Wiggles. If you haven't seen the videos of grown men dancing around, you really are missing out. Anyway, there's a song called Wiggle that she loves to dance to, as much as a girl who can't yet stand can dance. Anytime someone would sing out, "Wiggle wiggle!", she would rock back and forth, shake her diapered booty and smile.

I think that is a fitting description of me when trying to peacefully wait on God. Wiggle wiggling all over instead of sitting in the stillness. It's like the frustrating wanderlust just builds up in me until I can't take it anymore. Eventually the energy flies forth like a sprung slinky and I'm off!

Sadly, it took me until the last day of the trip to truly notice my surroundings. After six days of bounding around town looking for something (anything!), I sat for a few moments and found the something that had been in front of me all along. And when I did, I realized that I had left an oppressively hot, busy 40-hour work week in the humid south in exchange for this gorgeous, mid-70's, lazy vacation complete with sparkling lake views and a scarlet sunset - and I was complaining! It made me wonder what amazing beauty I am missing out on when I wiggle wiggle past God on my way to a flashier place that caters to my weak attention span. Sigh...

I desperately need to figure out why I am such a nincompoop.

Weeping and Gnashing

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Galatians 5:22-23

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Phew, that made me feel a little better. This week, man! And it's only Wednesday. That can't be good. My job is driving me cuckoo. No matter how hard I work, things spring up last minute - the nature of a scheduling job - and the stress sometimes gets to me. The last words of the girl in this position before me? "Paxil worked for me. Later."

One of the pharmacists who works for me called this morning. A phone friendship has grown between us over the years of me scheduling him. He is a Christian and a wise, sweet grandfather type that I sometimes wish would adopt me as his very own. :)

Today he said to me, "April, do you know what the fruits of the spirit are? You know, peace, joy, lovingkindness, etc?" I nodded through the phone.

"Well, what effect does fruit have in our lives?" he asked. "It nourishes us? Sustains us? Is a blessing to others?" I agreed.

"Well, April" he continued, "After talking with you the last few times, I am starting to wonder if this company isn't walking through your garden and stepping all over your fruit!" I laughed.

"Seems to me, whatever my opinion is worth, you need to ignore work a bit and spend some more time in your garden. Because your fruit has always been such a blessing to me, and I miss hearing your laugh."

What a great guy! I promised him I would. Then I drove straight to Starbucks and got a Venti Caramel Frappaccino Light. They say coffee grounds are good for your garden. Close enough.

Good Things Come...

I wait for you, O LORD; you will answer, O Lord my God. Psalm 38:15

So, a few weeks ago our pastor read from Genesis chapter 40 about Joseph's extended period in captivity. He related it to the number 40 and the role that number plays in the bible as a "season of probation" (ie: how many days Jesus was tempted in the wild, how many days it rained during the great flood, how many years Israel wandered in the desert, etc). This Ch 40 time was to be a productive period of tempering patience, and of readying and molding the person into a person of God.

He said at different times during our life we go through these chapter 40's, where our high expectations intersect with our lesser realities and thus, frustration blooms. He said that our frustration often cries out, "Don't wait on God!" So our doubting, fearful selves start taking short cuts instead of waiting on Him. And these knee-jerk reactions often veer us off the correct path, the detour causing further delay. Nancy DeMoss agrees: "Those who insist on having their own way often end up with unnecessary heartache, while those who wait on the LORD always get His best."

So, God calls us to be patient and wait on Him. But it's so hard to do! To wait on God. Because from my point of view, all I can see is this ticking secondhand quickly counting down on my dream clock. And admitting that perhaps God's plan for my life might not parallel my own? Well, somedays I can't even entertain the notion that might be true. It's enough to make me want to drink a 40!

Our pastor encouraged us to pray: "God, give me the courage to stay with you in my head, and in my heart, and where you have me until you bring me out." What a voice for the feelings I've been unable to express! But in practice, a little easier said than done.

Tonight I invited a friend to meet me for coffee. I asked her because I was feeling frustrated with my life. I knew she was feeling the same way and as misery loves company, I wanted to immerse myself in a pool of peers stuck in a similar holding pattern. But she had the nerve to show up with good news! She met a guy, gone on a few dates, had some great God experiences, felt positive about her future career - so much for birds of a feather! I wanted to kick her in the shins, grab her joy and run. Instead I listened to her giddy talk with a plastic smile on my face, trying to look sincerely happy for her.

Maybe this bitter reaction is evidence why I am still stuck in chapter 40 and she's moved on to chapter 41.

Every Which Way

Even in laughter the heart may ache, and joy may end in grief. Proverbs 14:13

So, I have this old magnet on my fridge. The background is full of a bunch of pictures of the common emotional states a person can experience: ANGRY, EXHAUSTED, FRUSTRATED, JEALOUS, SAD, LONELY, HOPEFUL, HAPPY, LOVESTRUCK, etc. On top of that is a small magnetic frame with the words "Today I feel…" on it. The purpose is to discern your true emotional state for the day by selecting it with the box.

Before I was a Christian, the frame sat on "LONELY" for a long time. One day around six months after I started going to church, I woke up, got some OJ from the fridge and found myself almost subconsciously repositioning the frame on "HOPEFUL". Then I stopped and came back to look at it again. I realized how big that tiny movement was. It was the first tangible evidence of positive change in my life. And I think it was perhaps the exact moment I started re-entertaining the idea that God was real.

The other day I heard a pastor say that emotions are "cakalacka crazy". What a sound bite. When experiencing loneliness or hopefulness or any state in between, these overwhelming feelings can alter our perceptions, beliefs, attitudes, expectations and actions. And individual emotions are hard enough to deal with, but I feel like lately I've been struggling with a slew of them. Some sort of emotional jambalaya.

I didn't realize my multiple personalities until the other night when our youth pastor showed the kids a series of pictures of people portraying various emotions. He asked them to pray about the one they most closely identified with. It was then I realized that each seemed somewhat familiar to me as of late. I felt some dissonance in that. How could I simultaneously feel happy and sad, frustrated and free, tired and refreshed? But after reading The Dark Night of the Soul, by St. John of the Cross, it clicked.

St. John says our soul is made up of two parts: the spirit - which reaches upward to adore God, and the sense - which reaches down to wallow in fleshly pleasure. And like the others before me, I realized that my soul, too, is divided:

While my spirit is joyfully clamoring towards God in love, singing confident praise like the Psalmist – “Lord, You are good and all You do is good!”; my senses side - my flesh, my ego, my self – while still surrounded in worldly expectation, begins to realize in the midst of God's presence, "I am not God, I am not in control, I might not get my way and I hate not getting my way!" And so the sense must now face what St. John calls a slow annihilation. And this painful tug-of-war between spirit and sense can leave me at times emotionally mixed up and internally black and blue.

Jesus says in the gospels that we must lose our life to save it, that we must die to self to live. And now this paradoxical riddle is beginning to make sense to me as I flounder about in what St. John calls a “wondrous wound of love”: this strange state of blissful brokeness, of crushing despair mingling with glorious joy, completely disoriented and not sure which way is up.

Teach me your way, O Lord, and I will walk in your truth; give me an undivided heart, that I may fear your name. Psalm 86:11

Loving God

My heart says of you, "Seek his face!" You face, LORD, I will seek. Psalm 27:8

So, Tommy Tenney writes in his book The God Chasers: "There's a driving passion in my heart that whispers to me that there's more than what I already know, more than what I already have. It makes me jealous of John, who wrote Revelation. It makes me envious of people who get glimpses out of this world into that world and see things that I only dream about. I know there's more. One reason I know there's more is because of those who have encountered the "more" and were never the same. God chasers! My prayer is, I want to see You like John saw You!"

And so I guess this is what I've been trying to verbalize. This MORE. Now I've been warned that in seeking more of God, one might wander off course a bit and start seeking the manifestations of God instead of God Himself. And I guess I sort of understand the danger of this. But at the same time, that idea leaves me wondering. I guess I suspect the catalyst of my love for God to be the personal experiences I've had with Him. And so I struggle with how to integrate these dichotomous ideas, to seek God and seek intimacy with Him without seeking the "signs and wonders" often found amidst personal experience with God.

Unlike God, who loves us perfectly, unconditionally and needlessly, our human love is an imperfect love, based on need and condition. St. Bernard of Clairvaux, in his book On Loving God, describes our love as: "Not given gratuitously, but in payment of a debt." In other words, not freely given, but given with condition. He continues on, "Whatever you seem to love because of something else, you do not really love. True love merits its reward, it does not seek it." In other words, love of God is the goal, not the means.

So, it boils down to the fact that God loves (period), while we love (because). Our love always has a reason. We love people because of what they do, who they are, or in response to their actions; while God just loves, for He is love and that is what He does.

If this is true, and since we aren't divine and therefore incapable of perfect love, don't we need a reason to love? It seems to me that these personal experiences with God act as our motivation. Without sensory, tangible, emotional or spiritual experiences with God, how else can our imperfect love be activated? Is it impossible to love God without these? Or at least a history of them to fall back on? Shouldn't we seek these experiences to grow closer to God? Shouldn't we seek this MORE, as Shane Barnard sings in his song, Be Near?: "[It's] beautiful and wonderful to trust in grace through faith, but i'm asking to taste. Your fullness is mine, revelation divine. But oh to taste, to know much more than a page, to feel your embrace..."

St. John of the Cross, in his book Dark Night of the Soul counters my theory: "The soul, at times, will begin to feel a certain yearning for God. The more this intensifies, the closer the soul is drawn to God, beginning to burn brightly in love for him. She does not know or understand where such love and longing comes from…Eventually [the soul] finds herself madly in love, without knowing why." Later St. John goes on to explain that this happens because God enkindles this love within us and that divine love is ignited within our spirit.

So, perhaps we don't need our own reasons to love. Perhaps God provides this love spark too. And so maybe these amazing experiences aren't necessary, but just icing on the cake. Hmmm....

More, More, More

The eyes of all look to you, and you give them their food at the proper time. Psalm 145:15

I want more and I want it now. I sound like petulant child. But I desire more of God - to, as Bono sings, "see and touch and taste as much as a man can…" I was trying to explain my feelings on this topic to a friend but couldn't quite express it accurately through the frustrated yammering that exited my mouth.

After I hung up the phone, I opened my bible and started reading where I had left off in the Psalms, chapter 145. I came across verse 15 and laughed again at the way God often speaks so clearly through scripture.

I do know in my head that God has perfect timing, but in my heart I am feeling restless. I want it all to come faster, louder, clearer, better! I want more! I am pouting like a two year old having a temper tantrum.

Taking a step back, I just counted the word "I" 16 times in this short blog. A clue I might possibly have forgotten that it's not all about me? I hope I don't get sent to time out.

Pink Fuzzy Psalms

When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place, what is man that you are mindful of him, the son of man that you care for him? Psalm 8:3-4

So, I went to visit the fam over the holiday weekend. My mother, sister-in-law, newborn niece and I flew to Chicago to stay with my grandparents. Six people crammed into a tiny condo! And not having the perfect relationship with any of them, especially mom, I was a little trepidacious about the visit.

I have spent a lot of time reading the Psalms lately. I've worn out my highlighter. Two of the verses that I wanted to bring with me to Chicago were Psalm 34:7 – The angel of the LORD encamps around those who fear him, and he delivers them – and Psalm 91:11 – For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways. Prior to the trip, I prayed that God would send His angels as some kind of celestial force field to guard me, my mind and especially my mouth, because I knew the next few days might be somewhat difficult.

When I woke up that first morning, I was surrounded in a deep funk. I think it started when I walked into my grandparent’s bedroom and noticed the family portraits lining the dresser – my brother, sister in law and baby; my aunt, uncle and their kids; my cousin, his wife and their son – and then a picture of just me. My greatest fear – being single forever in a world of marrieds – illuminated in that dresser top of tacky frames.

I walked around the rest of the day like that depressed, bouncing dot on the Prozac ads. I was blinded by a fog of sad I couldn’t break out of. I took long walks and called friends on my cell phone and asked them to pray for me. I went back to the condo and resented everyone there for being happily married. (Or at least married).

The next morning I passed those taunting photographs again on the way to take a shower. As I set my stack of clean clothes on top of the fuzzy, rose-colored toilet cozy, I noticed a basket of devotional books off to the side. I sat down on the tile and opened one. The scripture for the day was my precious Psalm 91:11. And I smiled. And I realized that big, mighty, supreme, powerful God, who created the heavens and the earth and everything in them, was sitting there with me on the floor of this lacy, Pepto Bismol pink bathroom.

And then I remembered that God rocked.

Another Bloomin' Prayer Failure

Then the time came when the risk it took to remain tight in a bud was more painful then the risk it took to blossom.
Anais Nin

So, when I was growing up, our family didn’t easily say “I love you.” Possibly an uncomfortable muttering of “Lufyoo” if someone died, but most of the time, not even then. I have watched friends throughout my life say those three little words with an ease that astounded me. But with no practice of my own growing up, I felt inept. I became an adult who cringed at the words. I couldn't tell my family or even my friends. Only my dog.

That all changed several years ago when I dated a wonderful guy. He is the only man I have ever truly loved. I knew I loved him before he told me, but I wasn't about to say it first. When he finally did scrounge up enough nerve to sweetly stammer out his feelings for me - I laughed in his face!

What a horrid response. I apologized and poorly tried to explain that I did - well, you know - but I just couldn't say it. My fears were enormous and they overwhelmed me to the point I couldn't see straight. I'm not sure what I was so afraid of, just that those words made me want to flee for the border. But he was so kind and patient. He tried to invent silly tricks to make the transition easier on me, such as spacing each syllable of the dreaded phrase over increasingly closer increments of time, or saying it in other languages -"Te amo!"

During this time my love for him, and therefore my desire to tell him, continued to grow to the point where it eventually dwarfed my fears. And when the day came that I finally blurted it out - nearly two months later - he turned to look at me in shock. And I, panicky and mortified at feeling so exposed and vulnerable, begged him not to look at me. But instead he came to me, cradled my chin in his hands and said my name. I reluctantly opened my eyes and found myself miraculously still alive. Despite my worries to the contrary, the world had not imploded like I thought it might. In fact, the only thing that seemed to have changed was the now gigantic smile on said boy’s face. As the initial terror wore off and I began to feel more secure, I love you's began to gush out of me to the point I am quite sure he was gagging with the overkill. But this was a true story of love conquering all. And it was beautiful.

David Crowder writes of a similar experience with God in his song You Are My Joy:

And He set me on fire and I am burning alive
With his breath in my lungs, I am coming undone
And I cannot hold it in and remain composed
Love’s taken over me and so I propose
To letting myself go, I am letting myself go
You are my joy!

St. John of the Cross reiterates the idea: "The power of love and desire makes one bold. The intoxication of love gives the soul crazy courage."

I love God but I have this pesky worry that my love must not be enough because I still fear so much when it comes to expressing that love. I fear public prayer. I fear public worship. I fear appearing too "churchy" to the secular world. I do hold back. I can't seem to let myself go, especially around people who know me well. I wonder if this means I fear man more than I fear God. And even though I know those kinds of priorities are screwed up to high heaven, I don’t know how to fix it.

When I chicken out, I feel disappointed in myself. In the situation with the boy, my love overcame my fear after only a few months, but I've been a Christian for several years now and I still get shaky hands and knocky knees at the very thought of praying outloud in large groups or worshipping the way I want to.

1 John 4:18 says that perfect love casts out fear. And while I know my love isn't perfect, God's love is. So why am I still terrified? What am I doing wrong? When does the fear leave? Does it leave? Can love overtake my fear, or are those song lyrics beautiful poetry and nothing more? Do I have to act in faith while I'm still afraid in order to initiate a change? If so, ugh. Although that totally sounds like something God would have me do...

Shine Through Me

I’m not trying to be all Joseph Smith about it, but sometimes God speaks to me in weird ways. Not on gold plates, but it has happened on metal license plates - a story for another day. He's also used my dog to teach me truths - dog is just God spelled backwards, you know. And while historically not having been much of a fan of Apples since Eve's day, I believe God is getting quite adept at speaking through my iPod.

[pause - to allow time for Mac users to admire my geeky joke]

As silly or heretical as it might sound, I’m not kidding. God knows how much I enjoy writing and music, so I think He often uses song lyrics when He wants to communicate with me, knowing I am more surrendered in those moments than anywhere else. I have had so many experiences that began by me asking God questions or begging for confirmation mere seconds before a lyric generally, or more often extremely specifically, answered me.

One of my favorite memories was in regards to the scripture from Isaiah 60:1 – Arise, shine for your light has come and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you. That verse had been playing on repeat for weeks. It sprang up and out of everything I heard and read. The words Arise and Shine echoed everywhere around me. I knew it had to be a God thing. I believe God gave me that scripture because it descriptively spoke to what I had begun to desire and seek: God's empowerment and a holy boldness to actively go forth and shine for Him.

Anyway, one day I was walking into a situation that made me nervous. It involved a person I had always found to be extremely intimidating. The old me more than likely would have avoided the entire scene. But this time I didn’t run away.

Now, I’ve heard many Christians say, “God told me …” over the years, but I never quite understood how they could be certain it was God speaking without literally hearing a voice that sounded like Charlton Heston. All I know is at that moment, I was sure in a way I can’t quite explain, God gave me some advice which helped my heart conclude what my brain had been unable to put to words: God could make me shine.

As I approached Scary Person, I began to silently repeat a prayer for God to “shine through me, shine through me…” And as silly as it might sound, it worked. I instantly felt more at ease than I can ever remember being in a situation such as this. The negative voices normally found residing in my noggin were drowned out by the edifying thud of the scripture’s simple but weighty statement. I was not necessarily confident in myself, but I was confident of God in me.

I felt such faith in that small prayer because I think it might be the purest of prayers I have ever prayed. I believed that asking God to shine through me was the kind of prayer that would be answered without hesitation. I also knew that if God was shining through me, others would see it and respond to that light. And if for some reason they didn't, then they were really rejecting God and not me, which took off quite a bit of pressure.

Since that experience I’ve continued to exhale that same silent plea for God to shine when walking into any awkward situation. And He does. And the response has been amazing.

I was overjoyed at the effectiveness of this revelation, so I told several people about it. One particular friend's response was to look at me rather oddly. I assume he thought I had gone crazy - or else he just had an eyelash in his eye - I can’t be quite sure. But as my brain is prone to do when given such a reception, it galloped off into Doubtville, quenching my previous confidence. Was this scripture truly for me? Was this concept of shining really from God? Or was I just losing my mind?

I went into church service with my thoughts playing mental Pong, but as the worship band kicked off, God rocked it out. The first song they played was Arise. I smirked a little at the coincidence. The band ended with a song called Shine. The smirk turned into a big grin. As they reached the final chorus of the song and sang out, “Holy, holy, holy Lord, shine through me!” I threw my head back and laughed.

God confirming scripture. God confirming truth. God making me giggle. And me - falling more and more in love with a God who can speak so sweetly.

I'm Mental

Anyone in Christ is a new creation.
The old is gone, the new has come.
2 Corinthians 5:17

So, tonight at small group we talked about how the mean words and biting criticism we received during our formative years have helped to shape us into the adults we have become. A painful childhood is a pretty common story, I think. Adam and Eve are probably the only people in history to not identify with such trauma.

Mark Twain once said that life does not consist mainly, or even largely, of facts and happenings but mostly of the storm of thought that is forever flowing through one's head. I am becoming more and more aware of the libraries of negative thoughts queued up and continually looping in my brain, but it wasn't always so clear to me. I am beginning to see how over time, this corrupt data has built a dangerous altar of deception that has drastically reshaped the skyline of my reality into one of discouragement and fear. (Wow, that was really overdramatic - but true).

One of my favorite movie scenes is from the film Pretty Woman. Julia Roberts plays a hooker named Vivian and Richard Gere her wealthy john, named Edward. They have a strange and unparalled relationship that grows into a friendship and later, a love. One night they are lying next to each other and Edward asks Vivian how she ended up as a prostitute. She tells him her hardluck story which involved family and "friends" telling her she was a nobody and would amount to nothing, and she admits she fulfilled that prophecy. Then Edward says to her, "I think you are a very bright, very special woman with a lot of potential." And she says to him, "Ever notice the bad stuff is easier to believe?"

Truer words were never spoken. The bad stuff is so much easier to believe. In my bible study, Beth Moore says, "Often satan works this way: he watches your life and figures out what you are scared you will become and then spends the rest of his time finding ways to 'confirm' that is exactly what you are." John 8:44 reiterates that lies are satan's native language and that he is the father of lies. I have wasted so much time believing lies that it makes me angry. But I am also hopeful, because I know this era is coming to a close. I know my fears don't have to be my destiny.

Our small group leader said knowing the Bible is helpful in this struggle because it deconstructs the negative ideas we hold about who we are and rebuilds us as new creations of Christ. In this way, it becomes a weapon in our lives and helps us to "take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ" (2 Corinthians 10:5).

Rick Renner says we have to take charge of our minds and learn how to speak to ourselves rather than listen to ourselves. I am learning to speak God's Word to myself. Sometimes it works, other times not so much. 28 years of habit can be hard to break.

Eggshells

I think the suckiest thing about panic attacks are obviously the panic attacks themselves. But I think the weirdest thing about panic attacks is the reactional aftermath. Not with me, but with those who witnessed me have the attack. I mean, truthfully I feel a little like a sane person accidentally dropped off at a psych ward that is trying to reason with the unbelieving staff! Their exaggerated happiness feels forced and patronizing. It annoys me to no end. They speak loudly and slowly, like an ignorant American attempting to communicate with someone who doesn't speak English: "How....are....YOU....today?" they question, with extra large eyes and an overly wide smile. I think they expect my head to start spinning. Perhaps some pea soup to spray out of my mouth? It's kind of embarassing.

Or maybe I'm just being paranoid.

Modus Operandi

Be self-controlled and alert. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. 1 Peter 5:8

There is a scene in the movie Jurassic Park where a sad victim unfortunately learns up-close-and-personal about the hunting methods of velociraptors, a carnivorous species of dinosaur. They travel in packs, and as one stands in front of the prey to distract his attention, the other raptors take him out from the sides. I feel like satan attacks this way. I find myself fixed in the direction I am assuming he will be throwing punches, feeling rather confidant with all my defenses up in expectation, and as I get surprisingly steamrolled from the side, I think, "Wow, never saw that coming!"

My latest sideways assault came tonight at a concert. I was feeling fine, enjoying the bands, footlose and fancy free - and then I got blasted by a huge panic attack. It came out of nowhere. It happened so fast this time: the spasms in my chest which seem to always preclude an event; a racing heart; the shakes; hot flashes; sweat.

1 Peter 5:7 says: "Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you," and Phillipians 4:6-7 says: "Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." But in the midst of the tidal waves of overwhelming emotions and irrational fears and harsh physical reactions, I can't bring myself to conjure a single lucid thought, let alone remember to call on God for help. The limited options I have found myself electing in the thick of it are Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh! and RUN RUN RUN!

I started having panic attacks about a year and a half ago, right after I became a Christian. My pastor told me it might be a response to giving up control to God, or perhaps one last attempt by satan to keep me from trusting Him, or most likely, a combination of the two. I saw a counselor who helped me deal with the attacks themselves, as well as figuring out the underlying causes behind why I was having them. I have struggled with anxiety every now and then since those visits but have not had another full fledged panic attack until tonight.

They make me feel so silly because I see it as me attacking myself. That my own head is causing all of this. The worst kind of toxic relationship. And I begin to feel like a loony bird. It makes me feel like crying. And I want to run out of wherever I am to a safer place - a place where I can hide and be a loony bird and no one will know or see but me. But this time I denied my normal inclinations and grabbed two friends, brought them into the other room and asked them just to sit and talk with me til it was over. And eventually, it was.

But what I want to know is, if everything that happens to us has to be filtered through God's fingers to come to pass, why is God giving His OK to this mess? Why couldn't I have "suffered" from something more appealing? Like an overly active metabolism, a grossly excessive income, or too cute a nose? Ugh, I hate it.

But Paul says in 2 Corinthians 12:7-9: To keep me from becoming conceited because of these surpassingly great revelations, there was given me a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me.

So, maybe my anxiety is the thorn in my flesh, the torment which reminds me that I can't do this on my own. I'm sure I've pleaded with God way more than three times to take it away from me, so I guess it does continually bring me back to Him. But apparently his magnanimous grace is more than sufficient, even for my pathetic self-inflicted weaknesses.

I wish I felt that was true as much as I know it is true.

Floating

Calm thyself, O my soul, so that the divine can act in thee! Calm thyself, O my soul, so that God is able to repose in thee, so that His peace may cover thee! Soren Kierkegaard

Soren, have you been reading my diary?

So, I don't deal well with change and there is a lot of change on the horizon. And oh my, how lost I can get in the maze of my own thoughts!

Proverbs 3:23-6 says, "When you lie down, you will not be afraid; when you lie down, your sleep will be sweet. Have no fear of sudden disaster or of the ruin that overtakes the wicked, for the LORD will be your confidence and will keep your foot from being snared."

It says nothing about lying down to fitful sleep, perchance to dream, of money issues and time management problems and "What on earth am I going to wear tomorrow since I haven't done the laundry in a gazillion years?"

Psalm 94:19 says, "When my anxious thoughts multiply within me, Your consolations delight my soul."

It says nothing of the pseudo-consolation I find in obsessively biting my frazzled fingernails or the satisfaction I find in hankering down with a life-numbing high carbohydrate snack. Yet I do all these things and more when I am seeking to self-console and comfort and calm.

I truly believe that God is good. All the time. I really do! So why do I stress and worry? Why can't I just "let go and let God"?

Thomas Green compares our Christian life with floating in water:"It is puzzling to see what a difficult art floating really is – difficult not because it demands much skill but because it demands much letting go. The secret of floating is in learning not to do all the things we instinctively want to do. We want to keep ourselves rigid, ready to save ourselves the moment a big wave comes along – and yet the more rigid we are the more likely we are to be swamped by the waves; if we relax in the water we can be carried up and down by the rolling sea and never be swamped. To learn to float, it seems, is essentially to learn to trust."

This is the best analogy I’ve ever heard for walking with God. The more we try to keep control and prevent disaster, the more we flail around in danger of drowning. Praising God (just this once) for the density of body fat, I never had a problem floating. It was the only athletic venture I conquered faster than my brother - the stringbean who sunk to the bottom of the pool. But during our childhood swim lessons, I watched him struggle. He would thrash around the deep end, tears streaming down his cheeks in anguish, panicked and clawing at the leader as if she might just leave him there to drown. It was only when he learned to calm down, stop striving, and trust in the teacher that was he able to lean his head back into the water and float.

I know a similar surrender and self-abandonment is what I need. I've been trying. I do trust God. But the way I live my life doesn't reflect that, because quite often I find myself floundering about, trying to act as my own life preserver and doggie paddling in circles til I'm exhausted and gasping for breath.

Calm thyself, O my soul. God, cover me in Your peace. Help me to trust you. Completely.