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.