Letting Go of Me

This particular entry has taken quite awhile to write, simply because it's come in fits and starts.  The brilliant epiphany that startled me in the car on the way home from class faded by the next morning, convincing me that sleep is, truly, the enemy.  (What we could accomplish if we didn't have to sleep or earn a living...)  It returned, sliver by sliver, and although what initially burst onto the stage of my mind crawled back slowly, it allowed time for fermentation and the blossoming of the original idea into something that I think is really worthy of writing. 

The last time I posted, I asked, "What am I afraid of?"  What was holding me back from going where God wanted me to go.  In the several weeks I've been pondering that question, I think I've figured it out, and it's a whopper.  To be quite frank, I don't even know how to begin, so let's look at a man named Saul.

In the book of Acts, Saul was "da man."  A leader of leaders, a rising star in the Jewish community, Saul had it made in the shade.  His entire life had groomed him for prominence and prosperity, and he knew it.  He came from the right Jewish tribe, he was a Roman citizen, he had the right education and connections.  His zeal to protect God led him down a path of persecuting the new sect of Christians, until Jesus Himself crossed Saul's path.  At that moment in time, everything that made Saul, Saul, vanished.  A new person - Paul - was born, one who had to start from scratch.  All his education, all his connections, all his heritage meant nothing.  The only thing that meant anything was Christ.  Saul had to let go of himself to go where God wanted him to go, and trust that it really was God speaking to him.  As we have the benefit of history, we know that it was God who spoke to him and we reap the blessings of Paul's ministry to to the early church.  Later in his life, Paul could speak with confidence,  "It is no longer I that lives, but Christ that lives in me," and "For me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain."  Those aren't the words of a man consumed with himself - those are the words of a man who recognizes that he is nothing outside of God, one who lives, daily, as a branch connected to the Vine.

I said all that to say this: I find myself at a crossroads in my life.  On the way home from class a few weeks ago, after I had turned off the radio and was just sitting in the silence of my car with my thoughts about the nature of fear and possession, constitutional vs. social democracies, conservativism vs. liberalism, blah blah blah...(such is the nature of a social welfare policy class).  In the midst of that cognitive maelstrom, God interjected a thought: "If 'yourself' was no longer an issue, why would you ever need to be afraid?" 

In that moment, in that split second, Paul's words made sense to me.  Why could he face so much adversity, persecution, die three times, and still come back boldly proclaiming the Gospel of the Kingdom of God?  Why could he be content whether he had little or plenty, how could he be all things to all people?  Because "Paul" was no longer the issue.  He recognized that himself was merely a human expression of God's own Self, and nothing happened that was not already preordained.  Paul's steps, however self-determined they might have appeared, were ordered of the Lord. 

So, where does that leave me?  Hannah - with all her education, experience, drive, talent, ability, blah blah blah...is nothing but an expression of God's own Self.  All that I am comes from Him; it is in God alone that I live and move and have my being.  Every little piece of my life - my whole journey, including all its triumphs as well as its failures, all those little acts of "disobedience" and "rebellion" (shall I name names? Not!), all the pain and hurt and unjust situations - were ordered of the Lord.  Nothing has been outside of His purview, because nothing is outside of His purview.  Outside of God is - nothing.

And why have I been afraid to voice this?  Because it challenges everything I've ever been taught was true.  It eliminates free will, it eliminates the idea that anything can happen outside the direct, divine will of He who is truly Creator, Preserver, and Governor of all things.  It eliminates the possibility that I can ever be, or do, anything but what He wills.  It blows holes through the thought that I have any control over my life, because my life, truly, rests in Him alone.  All has been planned, orchestrated, and played out to fulfill His purpose - whether I recognize that purpose or not.  Whether I have little or plenty, whether I live or die - my life is in His hands.  And because He cannot forsake Himself, He cannot forsake me.  To live?  Christ.  To die?  Gain.  Either way - He's got my back. 

Wow - with all that said, why have I been afraid?  That same Creator, Preserver, and Governor of all things is also the ultimate Lover of all things,  Leaving me to my own devices is far more frightening than knowing that everything has already been arranged for by the one who loves.  Knowing that God is sovereign and has left no room - or possibility - for error gives me a sense of freedom and boldness that I've never had before.  And when I look at the world - crazy, chaotic, out-of-control - I realize that all of it is well within God's agenda.  Everything is as it should be, happening right on time, fulfilling its God-ordained purpose.

I guess there's really no cause for fear.  But it's like my first time on the high dive: shaking as I climb and climb and climb, trembling as I stand on the edge (with everyone in back of me screaming, "Jump, jump, jump!), closing my eyes, plugging my nose, and finally just sort of falling off the edge, hoping the water will cushion my fall.  Only after I let go of what I thought was solid ground could I experience the thrill of soaring through the air and enjoying the refreshment of the water catching me.  So, as I let go of me - the idea that I am somehow independent of God - I let go of all I thought was safe and secure.  Yeah, I tremble a bit, but as I step off the edge of that self-driven platform, I soar through the expanse of God Himself - contained, guided, and totally protected.

Do I know where this journey will lead me?  Immediately - no.  It is not for me to know where or what He has planned from day to day, only to accept that each day will unfold as planned.  But ultimately?  This journey leads back to the heart of my Creator - to that divine union I have longed for.

Facing Fear

I have a friend who I'm really growing to admire.  I met him through the master's program I'm in; we've been enrolled in the same classes for nearly two years.  He's a veteran from Operation Enduring Freedom, and was returned from Iraq short one leg; better than coming back in a body bag, although it was a pretty close shave for him.  What I admire about him is that, after having such a traumatic, life altering experience, instead of wallowing in disappointment with the way things turned out, or allowing what some might call a "disability" limit him, he has overcome multiple obstacles and now serves as an example and support to others, not only veterans, but those who have some overcoming to do.

We were chatting tonight, and he was telling me not about what wonderful things he's doing with other veterans, and not about how he's planning on using the master's degree he's earning to influence national policy (both of which I know he's actively pursuing), but about how afraid he is.  Telling his story, putting himself out there, reliving his experience time and time again - these things cause him fear.  But, in the manner of a true overcomer, he looks at his fear and walks right through it.  And in so doing, he helps others around him do the same.  A true overcomer always brings others with him.

In our adult Bible study, we've been studying the book of Revelation (ooh, aah, scary).  I am, by no means, an expert in Scripture, although I have studied it for most of my life.  And I am certainly no authority on prophetic writings, although I certainly have some opinions regarding such.  I do consider myself, however, to have a pretty keen sense of observation, and in the early chapters of this profound book, Christ exhorts the churches to "overcome", or "conquer"; not once, but seven times.  That's a lot of repetition; it must be important.  "To everyone who conquers, I will..." and He lists a variety of rewards (see chapters 2 & 3).  By extension, He promises His followers today the same rewards for conquering.

What are we to conquer?  If we take our example from those early congregations, we are to overcome: love grown old and stale (Ephesus), persecution (Smyrna), tolerance of idolatry (Pergamum & Thyatira), apathy (Sardis), fatigue & discouragement (Philadelphia), and lack of commitment (Laodicea).  In my life, I have experienced all of them, on multiple occasions (well, more like seasons - long stretches of time).  And every time I've made it through, to the other side, of a period of, say, idolatry or discouragement or fatigue, I find that not only have I grown stronger, but I also have a new weapon in my spiritual arsenal, a weapon that will not only help me in my spiritual battle, but one that will help someone else: a true overcomer always brings others with him.

My friend just published his first book*, and, despite his fear, is spreading his story of personal overcoming and victory to many, many hurting people.  I know God will use him greatly, because he has refused to give into his fear.  The question that leaves me with is this: what am I afraid of?  What phantom is terrorizing me into paralysis and inaction?  What could God possibly do with me if I looked my fear dead in the face and, by His grace, walked through it?

There's only one way to find out.

(*You can check out my friend's book, Exit Wounds, as well as the companion website, at http://www.painfoundation.org/learn/programs/military-veterans/)

Unlearn Me

"Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven."

Jesus, as quoted in Matthew 18:3

I am less than two months away from my fortieth birthday. I have earned multiple undergraduate degrees and am working on my first master's degree.  My IQ is well above average; my vocabulary, stellar.  I get bored easily and am always looking for new and greater answers to all the new and greater questions I have.  If I could do my life over again, I would want to pursue neuroscience, because I think the human brain is, quite possibly, the most fascinating thing in the universe.  Then again, astrophysics is pretty swell; have you heard about the Higgs boson particle?  They call it the "God particle"....   Takes some significant smarts to think about all that.

Problem is, I'm too smart.  Too smart for God.  My head is so full of stuff, that when God tries to teach me anything, instead of receiving and pondering and learning from Him, I have an immediate answer, a comeback, a one-up.  That's probably why I'm always full of questions; I've already got the answer, so why would God need to grace me with another?

When I was a kid, we used to sing a funny song in Sunday School, went something like this: "Oh you can't get to Heaven in roller skates; Oh you can't get to Heaven in roller skates, you'd roll right past those pearly gates."  I've been thinking of a new verse: "Oh you can't get to Heaven with too many smarts; oh you can't get to Heaven with too many smarts, 'cuz being smart don't change your heart."  Jesus told us that the only way to enter the Kingdom of heaven is to change and become like children.  Children know nothing, but they're hungry to learn.  It's only when we become adults that we think we know it all.  I would have to say that God's biggest challenge is unlearning us so that we can truly learn of Him.

I don't know what it will take for God to unlearn me.  But I'm willing - let the unlearning begin. 

Teach Me To Die

I don't have much to say today; sometimes, all I have are questions.  As I was asking my standard myriad of questions tonight, pestering God like a two-year old learning to speak, I chanced across a poem by one of my favorite authors, Madeleine L'Engle.  This poem actually shut me up for a few moments (something, I daresay, even God finds difficult).  I offer it to you here for your consideration and contemplation:

If I can learn a little how to die,
To die while body, mind, and spirit still
Move in their triune dance of unity,
To die while living, dying I'll fulfill
The purpose of the finite in infinity.
If God will help me learn to die today,
Today in time I'll touch eternity,
And dying, thus will live within God's Way.
If I can free myself from self's iron bands,
Freed from myself not by myself, but through
Christ's presence in this simple room, in hands
Outstretched in holy friendship, then, born new
In death, truth will outlive the deathly lie,
And in love's light I will be taught to die.

If I can free myself from self's iron bands, freed from myself...through Christ...Amen.

God Speaks

I've been considering, for the last few days, how God speaks to us.  We go to worship on Sunday; sometimes God shows up for that and has a few words, when we let Him.  Then there are the times when He speaks through a friend, or a TV preacher, or maybe a popular movie (i.e, The Matrix - I consider that a thundering from God).  We look to Scripture, to song, to nature...all of these are vehicles that might, can, and often do, carry the Word of God.

In 1 Kings 19, we find the story of God's prophet, Elijah, running for his life.  At the point of his deepest, most desperate frustration, fear, and longing for God to do something (we've all had days like that), God speaks.  But God doesn't speak to Elijah from the wind, or the earthquake, or the fire.  God's voice was still and small, coming from, as it's translated in the New Revised Standard Version, "a sound of sheer silence."

Sometimes, "sheer silence" is louder than a sonic boom, don't you think?

I've learned to not set boundaries on when, how, where, or why God speaks to me.  Case in point: today, He spoke on Facebook (I told you I was connecting with the unexpected on there!).  I posted about how much housework I had to do, and how much I would love  - oh, what I wouldn't give for - a nap.  Then I darted over to my cousin's site, and had the opportunity to click on an application, promising a message from God.  I had as much expectation from that as I might from one of those Magic 8 balls, but I'm always game for something silly.  Here's what popped up:

"Just rest for a moment. It's OK. Yes, things are crazy, yes, the world is going nuts. Yet, deep underneath the stormy waves, there, in the core of your being, there is pure silence, pure love. And ... it's ... just ... OK."

Okay.  So it wasn't the Magic 8 ball.  But it certainly wasn't coincidence that, as I was lamenting over my fatigue, in the face of having way too much on my plate, this spontaneous, spiritual fortune cookie generator would just tell me to rest.  But it might be my Father, God, who watched me work hard all week, struggle to keep up with my studies, fight off a little stomach bug, take care of my husband, and get home super late last night (actually, early this morning) because we were helping our son.  It might be my Father, God, who knows that when I get overtired, I also get cranky and depressed and cry way too easily.  It might be my Father, God, who says that He will give His beloved sweet sleep, who rested after a busy time of creating, and who, when He was living as a human, got tired and had no problem taking a break, having some nice R & R.

Maybe the laundry doesn't have to get done right now.  Maybe the dishes can wait.  Maybe the world won't end if I'm not three weeks ahead on my homework.  Maybe the best response I have for God's word to me isn't a reply, but a nap.  *YAWN*

"On the seventh day God finished the work that he had done, and he rested."  (Genesis 2:2)

I'm not finished with my work, but then again, I don't quite have God's stamina.  I think, however, that I'll follow His lead.  I'll wrap myself up in my Father's love, and my pink blankie, and have a nice little rest.  Maybe you'd like to do the same.

Family

When I signed up for Facebook earlier this year, I had no idea what a profound impact on my life it would have.  Sure, I anticipated meeting up with old friends, and was pretty sure that it would help me stay connected with my current circle of acquaintences, but I never gave much thought to the obvious: family.

I moved away from my hometown when I was 20 years old.  Unlike some, I generally didn't pine for my relations; in fact, I rarely thought about them.  I guess I saw life as one grand adventure and moved from place to place relishing the novelty of every new chapter.  I returned for my father's funeral, my grandfather's funeral, and then one last time to show my husband and stepchildren my hometown.  Beyond that, though, I never gave home or family a second thought.  Over the last 24 hours or so, I've been reminded that, no matter what the history has been or how disconnected you are, family is still that: family.

For whatever reason, I started searching for cousins on Facebook.  The first one I found was Walt.  Going back to memories from 10-years old, the only thing I could remember about Walt (or Wally, as we knew him then) was getting into some highly embarrassing screaming match with him at church.  That, of course, led to Aunt Joyce hauling him off by the ear and my own mother literally attempting to smack me into next Tuesday.  I don't think that incident set us up to be friends...at least not then.

But thirty years later?  I have all these warm, fuzzy feelings surfacing in my heart and am just about ready to buy a plane ticket back "home".  Conversations about Grandma's house, catching up with life stories, just the rekindled connection itself has led to the most enjoyable series of exchanges I've had in a long time.

Walt, if you're reading this...thank you.  Family's a good place to go.  Here's to the next 40 years.