Longing

Posted on March 26, 2011 by

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Aside from giving up coffee and soda for Lent, I also gave up going to Starbucks. I love their tea, their smoothies, their lemon loaf… so I would have had many other reasons to go there aside from the “no coffee” rule.

I live in a town that has Starbucks in three different grocery stores. I was at one of those stores yesterday, and as I walked through the Bakery section, Starbucks was on the left and the smell hit me. Mmmmmmmm. I love the smell of coffee, especially the smell of Starbucks coffee. It immediately transports me back to seminary, because there was a Starbucks on every corner and it was a great place to study. You could usually find me at one of their locations on Thursday and Sunday nights, as well as Saturday mornings. (I lived in a house with 5 other girls so the house was not the best place to get some work done.)

Does anyone else feel their heart hurt when they long for something? I was exploring a Doctorate program at a seminary a few days ago and I got this ache. I feel it when I miss someone, or when I remember a tough time in my life, or I feel it when my heart breaks. It really just does feel like an ache… and painful sense of longing for something that I want to be different in my life. Sometimes it’s something I can change, sometimes it’s something I can’t, sometimes it’s something I need to work on, and when it comes to Lent, I recognizing it’s something I want to WANT to change. I didn’t feel that ache at Starbucks yesterday, but I didn’t recognize my emotion as “longing” and it got me thinking.

How lovely is your dwelling place,

O Lord of hosts!

My soul longs, yes, faints

for the courts of the Lord;

my heart and flesh sing for joy

to the living God. -Psalm 84:1-2

In desiring a grande soy caramel macchiato, I saw that my soul longs for the wrong things. So often, my soul longs for comfort (see my previous post). As I read through Psalm 84 today, I was struck by the last two verses:

For a day in your courts is better

than a thousand elsewhere.

I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God

than dwell in the tents of wickedness.

For the Lord God is a sun and shield;

the Lord bestows favor and honor.

No good thing does he withhold

from those who walk uprightly.

O Lord of hosts,

blessed is the one who trusts in you. – v. 10-12

I think it’s no coincidence that the last verse mentions trust in the Lord. It’s given me much to pause on this day.

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An Early Lenten Lesson

Posted on March 14, 2011 by

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So, my first 5 days of Lent started out wonderful…. with me being sicker than a dog.

I woke up Wednesday morning without a voice and by the afternoon I was so weak I could do little more than lay on the sofa and feel sorry for myself. I was scheduled to speak at a women’s conference on Saturday, as well as lead worship at th e start of the day. So I did whatever I could not to talk in order to save my voice.

Saturday morning came and I made it through, though not sounding great at least I had some voice. But after leading worship for 30 minutes, then giving a 45 minutes workshop twice I promptly went home and crashed. When I woke up I was starving (as well as feeling a bit sorry for myself that I wasn’t at my peak that morning in front of over 100 local women). I heated up some leftovers and made a decision: to open and drink that Diet Dr. Pepper I had on the door in my fridge.

Let me back up:

I gave up coffee and soda for Lent this year. Soda is a common thing for me to give up – I drink far too much of it, it’s expensive and it’s bad for you anyway. This is the first time I’ve felt I needed to give up coffee. I’m not a “need a cup every day” kind of person. But I do find myself gravitating toward to more often than I have in the past, so I added it to the list.

So… back to Saturday. I opened that can of soda, heard that fizz of carbonation, and thought about Lent. Even before I open the can, as I was puttering around the kitchen making myself a plate of food, I kept thinking “Will I or won’t I? Should I or shouldn’t I? What does giving something up for Lent really mean, anyway? I’m not sure I really care that I stick to this anyway.”

I took the first few bites of food and felt this almost sizzle-like feeling in my mouth. I wanted that soda. So I took a drink.

And it was disgusting.

I hadn’t had soda since Tuesday, and my taste-buds had already adjusted. Each time I’ve given up soda for Lent in the past it’s been hard to go back because it simply tastes so syrupy-sweet and decidedly saccharin. I had to ask myself why, when there was tea and water available to me, that soda was where I went for my “default”? And I can’t really explain it… other than to say there is this satisfaction that happens in my brain when I take me first few drinks of any kind of carbonation.

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know where I’m going with this.

Everyone, in one way or another, has a way they comfort themselves. For some it’s taking to a certain friend. For some it’s certain kinds of food or exercise. (I had a roommate in seminary who worked out 3 hours a day.) Some people like a good nap or watching a movie as a form of comfort… maybe it’s reading a great book with a great cup of tea in your hand. I realized that soda had clearly become a form of that for me. I felt bad. I wanted to feel better. I think soda can do that for me. What was humbling (though not nearly humbling enough, for my great pride got in the way) for me was knowing that I have a much greater source of comfortable available to me. And this, my friends, is why we celebrate Lent. To discover our idols, knock them off their pedestals and put what rightly belongs on the pedestal in the first place: God.

The God of great comfort is waiting in the wings, wanting so badly to be the one I run to when I need comfort, satisfaction, and well, just to feel better. And I am choosing soda instead? What is wrong with me? It is in these kinds of revelatory moments that the devastation from the Fall brings me to my knees. I weep and mourn for the brokenness in my heart and in the world.

But as the season of Lent doesn’t last forever… neither did the Fall.  Jesus is redeeming the world, our hearts, and his people. May I not only live in the light of that fact, but learn to live in the light of his willingness and love for comforting me when I need it the most.

O LORD, you are my God;

I will exalt you; I will praise your name,

for you have done wonderful things,

plans formed of old, faithful and sure.

For you have made the city a heap, 

the fortified city a ruin;

the foreigners’ palace is a city no more;

it will never be rebuilt.

Therefore strong peoples will glorify you;

cities of ruthless nations will fear you.

For you have been a stronghold to the poor,

a stronghold to the needy in his distress,

a shelter from the storm and a shade from the heat;

for the breath of the ruthless is like a storm against a wall

-Isaiah 25: 1-4

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Hope

Posted on February 15, 2011 by

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When most people think of the book of Joshua, they don’t think of the word hope. After all, there are some kings that get hung from trees, a man named Achan and his family stoned to death because of their sin…. death, destruction, war. These are not exactly cheerful buzz words.

But I find many of the words in Joshua comforting. I guess because there is no logical reason that blowing trumpets would bring some walls down. It doesn’t make any sense those spies survived the trip to Jericho without getting caught, or that a bunch of stones could part a river to allow the Israelites to cross. It was crazy to think that all those men who were circumcised just before going to battle would actually be able to fight at all. Ouch.

All the odds were against God’s people. But there is one great truth that lies over the whole book: “The Lord fought for Israel.” (10:25)

Over and over you read impossible story upon impossible story… and God is always faithful to his people. He fulfills promises, he grants them victory, and once again, gives his chosen people what they don’t deserve: the Promised Land. That gives me hope.

Just as God’s word never returns void, I know that he always has my back. He always fights for me. I know this information, for he’s done it for me over and over again, and I’ve seen him do it for so many of the wonderful people in my life. And I can always open his Word and see how he has continually pursued us, never giving up on us. Never giving up on me. That gives me hope.

But as a wise man once said, “the longest distance in the world is the 18 inches between your head and your heart.” I believe in this hope. I really do. But am I living like a believe it? Am I living in the light of the gospel’s hope? Has it penetrated my heart?

Hmmmm. Something for me to think about.

 

 

 

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Memory Lane

Posted on February 10, 2011 by

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Today a classmate of mine was buried. After a long battle with cancer, preceded by a brain aneurysm in 2004, the Valedictorian of my class died early Tuesday morning. I found out via facebook.

He and I were not close, though there were only 20 kids in my graduating class (I’m a farm kid from the rural mid-west. My town had 370 people in it.) J.P. was always kind of an awkward guy, very interested in classical music, science and learning in general. He seemed kind-hearted to me, and one thing that always sticks in my mind was his unwillingness to compromise. You see, he was what a rural mid-west town would call “nerdy”. He wore the same grey corduroy pants every each, and olo shirts of various colors. He had big thick glasses and very pale skin. He was too uncoordinated to play sports and could barely manage to march to the right beat in band. Yet he was light years away from the rest of us on his understanding of math and science. He was proud of that, and didn’t care that he didn’t act like or dress like the popular kids. (At least, it didn’t seem as though he cared. It’s quite possible he did, behind closed doors.)

He was made fun of a lot. So was I. I knew the pain of being laughed at and called names, so I tried not to make fun of him when others did, though I am sure I was unnecessarily mean to him at some point. He was to me, so I am sure I was to him.

I’ve never had any desire to keep in touch with my high school classmates. Most of them were pretty horrible to me, and any fond memories I have of high school were in spite of them. I learned early on that I needed to find other sources of friendship and trust, so I kept myself at a significant distance from the 20 people I sat with in classrooms years after year… day after day. When graduation day came I never looked back.

Facebook has changed that for me, to an extent. I was friends with four people from high school, and since J.P.’s death, two more have friend requested me. I’ve never attended a high school reunion and probably never will. This is something my mother has always found strange, because she loved her graduating class (she was also the homecoming queen, so her high school experience was a lot different than mine). So the wounds I have from that experience are still there… they may always be. (I have a thing about wounds. To read more, click here.(I even talk about Troubadours.)

I was intrigued by how the facebook messages from classmates unfolded. One gracious classmate took charge of getting us organized to send flowers. We all took turns calling those who aren’t on facebook yet to let them know what the plan was. So many talked about how much he would be missed and how their hearts were breaking. There was much talk about how we are a “family”. While I’m sure these sentiments were heart-felt, I found myself unable to join in with the reminiscing… with the resounding agreements that we must all get together soon. I know there this whole idea of “buying the hatchet” and “letting bygones be bygones”, but my heart just doesn’t work that way. I am sad that my classmate died such an early death. He was probably intelligent enough to help find a cure for cancer. It saddens me to know his quality of life was so poor near the end. It saddens that his parents and sister lost him so soon. But do I miss him? No. I don’t miss anyone from high school. And I’m not sure what to do with that information. On the one hand, I see the point of moving on and letting a grievance past. On the other, I don’t care to let my classmates think I’m okay with how they treated me or J.P., God rest his soul.

One of the strongest characteristics of those with my personality type is a strong sense of right and wrong, and innate sense of justice. There are reasons why this is good… and I’m struggling to decided if t his is one of those times. My mother, with all her rosy-colored glasses, wants me to let bygones be bygones and let myself enjoy my graduating class at this stage in my life. I simply don’t want to.

Right after our 10 year reunion, I was performing some Oleo Spots at a melodrama. (The musical numbers in-between acts). One of my classmates was there, and she grabbed me afterwards and asked me why I didn’t attend. Gently (I promise) I said to her, “I just didn’t want to attend a reunion with people who I know don’t like me.” The mature adult in me knows I should get past this. The petulant child in me doesn’t want to budge. The Generation Xer in me wants to not care. The counselor in me wants to do the healthy thing, work through this and forgive. I’m wondering who will win.

This trip down memory lane has not been an easy one. It would be easy to roll my eyes at these facebook messages about us being a “family” (though it’s very possible they aren’t talking about me when they say that). It would be easy to go on without contact with these people and never attend a reunion. I want the easy way right now. What do I do with that?

Being the Better Person

Posted on January 27, 2011 by

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I had a friend back in college who blew up at me once – and it was for something pretty silly. He was mad that the costume designer in the play we were both in wouldn’t sew a button on his shirt. I was the messenger (I don’t remember how or why) so I was the one who felt the brunt of her message. He yelled, threw the shirt back at me, and caused a big scene in the green room. This guy was a good friend, and how he treated me was inexcusable. I let him know that. And he stomped away.

The next day in the cafeteria a mutal friend of ours came up to me and said “I think you should say something to him.” So my reply was, “Why? I didn’t do anything wrong. He should come to me if anything.” Our friend’s reply was “Sometimes it’s best to be the bigger person, no matter who’s right or wrong.”
I knew our friend was right, so of course I had no reply. But I was still my stubborn self and did nothing. That evening, I was apologized to for the whole button incident, and I forgave him just like any “good Christian girl” would do. He and I remained friends – it was really no big deal. But I remember it to this day. Why? Because “Sometimes it’s best to be the bigger person.” Those words are still with me.

Oswald Chambers wrote about the importance justice plays in forgiveness. From Daily Thoughts for Disciples:

It would be an immoral thing to forgive a person who did not say he or she was sorry…I cannot forgive my enemies and remain just unless they cease to be my enemies and give proof of their sorrow, which must be expressed in repentance. I have to remain steadfastly true to God’s justice. There are times when it would be easier to say “Oh, well, it does not matter. I forgive you,” but Jesus insists that the uttermost farthing must be paid. The love of God is based on justice and holiness, and I must forgive on the same basis.

One of Chamber’s biggest faults in this line of thinking is that forgiveness means dismissing the act you are forgiving. I disagree. The very act of forgiving, whether the person asks for it or not, says “It mattered. It hurt me. But I need to move on and not carry that hurt with me anymore.” If it didn’t matter, it wouldn’t hurt.
Where is my justice, as a forgiven sinner? My punishment is served, done, completed. My sin – not in part, but the whole – is nailed to the cross and I bear it no more. 

 Because I bear it no more, because it’s nailed to the cross, – this is my reason to be the better person. This is my reason to forgive. It’s always been about what he did for me first, not what I think it right or wrong.

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