Preaching to the Choir

"It is so strange how sometimes life just takes us over and makes us its own. I mean, we're supposed to live day-by-day as strangers just passing through this world on our way to heaven, and yet this place, this existence, grabs hold of us by our t-shirts and has a way of shaking us until we can't ignore it anymore. That's what it has felt like this week, anyway."

These are the first phrases in that infamous 'book' I'm supposed to be writing. As for the book, they are probably a terrible beginning, but in review, they are so deeply true of my life. At the time, I was describing the loss of a pet. Recently--meaning today--I find the aspects of life grabbing and shaking me are ones even uglier than death.

I am in the process of seeing clearly the depth of unforgiveness, jealousy, hatred and fear residing within me. You'd think I would have explored all this the past several weeks waiting for a miracle for my mom. Nope. I clung like duct tape to God through all that. So what does He do? Send me a whole new set of circumstances that truly tests my character. And I'm failing miserably.

The book continues...

"This journey isn't really about the pain and grief of loss. Maybe our whole journey of life is about the people and places and things we give the pieces of our eternal selves to. And what experiences in our lives influence how well, how often, how completely we do that giving. We were built to withstand the grief that comes with the territory of loving, because that was God's grandest gift to us. He sent His Son to die in our place because when He counted the cost, love would gain more than it lost.

It can be a long way to travel, sometimes, on the trail to true love. Not the romantic kind of love, which is clouded over with the idiosyncrasies of people, but love that really speaks of God's character. So many of the great passages that comfort us from the Scripture were forged in the darkest suffering the authors knew. The places where they truly saw themselves, and then looked toward God.

My own journey has taken me down a trail tailored by sorrow. Many of you, too, have been down paths that give you the dubious privilege of being able to identify with the psalmist's phrase 'the valley of the shadow of death.' If you have already found the path up from that valley, let me rejoice with you. Let us share what we know of the places we all have walked and delight one another with the deliverance of God. If you are still there, in that time of weighty darkness pressing in on your soul, let's pray together for just a single ray of light that leads to the Savior and the wonders He can do with the travels you are struggling through. Be guided by a moment by something--SomeOne--greater than your circumstance, and see the grand hope that a God who redeems can, and does, provide."

Ever heard the phrase 'preaching to the choir?' In this case, I am both the preacher and the choir. It drives me crazy when people use my own words against me...even if that person is God. Now, how in the world do I go about pursuing a love that reflects His character? Love that gives wholly and fully not because it feels wonderful, but because there is a deeper, hidden joy in the sacrifice of choosing what does not come naturally. How do I love the circumstances that are shaking me to the core? How to I embrace the source of the sorrow? How do I change my tune from sarcasm to song? How do I regain that grand hope in God?

I suppose if this 'book' of mine had the answers to those questions, I could actually sell the thing!

"In the multitude of my anxieties within me,

Your comforts delight my soul"

-Psalm 94:19

Hakuna Matata

Hakuna Matata. "It's our problem-free philosophy," so says the song. "It means no worries for the rest of our days. Hakuna matata!"

Let me just say here that I think the Lion King has gotten it all wrong. Sitting in Bible study tonight gave me a whole new perspective on the worry issue. I needed one because I--like most, I imagine--am far from worry-free.

Take my friend, for example, who is moving out of her house in two weeks and a day...but has no idea where she is moving to. Or another friend who is facing job insecurity. Or another whose husband needs potentially life-saving surgery. Or yet another who has been going through scary tests on her 7-month old baby. And I won't even get started on all the worrying I've done the past three weeks. No worries?!? No way!

And yet the passage we read in Matthew chapter 6 seems to demand that very thing. "Why do you worry for your life, as to what you will eat or what you will drink?" (verse 25). Uh, God, I worry cause I NEED that stuff! But instead He asks us to make a trade. Our troubles traded for complete trust. Our worries for His watchcare.

Sounds simple, until I think about watching my mom almost die. Hakuna matata seems to be based on lack of worry due to lack of care. If we love nothing, strive for nothing, seek nothing, then we have nothing to stress over. I however, love deeply, strive for more than I will possibly ever achieve, and seek reassurance over everything from the weather to the future. So do most of the people I know. It's why my girlfriend worries about my toddler falling down the stairs despite the fact that he lives in a tri-level house and mastered the art about half his life ago. She cares. And I don't want her to quit.

Hakuna matata sings out that care-free Caribbean concept that it will all turn out. "No problem, man." To me, though, God asks something so much deeper and harder. He asks that I trust Him enough with the things I do care about to let go of my attempts to control the outcome. To see His purpose for my pain. To trust in His provision for my problem. To seek His strength in the midst of the stress. This principle...well, command actually...is the direct opposite of laissez faire. Instead of a lack of restriction, God requires that we relinquish our requests and let Him rule. That we submit to His supremacy, even when we care deeply about His potential decision.

Honestly, the study went on for another several verses. I remain floored by the first. Does He realize how much faith He wants from me? Do I even believe in "letting go and letting God"? And yet, the question fills me: What did I do to make my mom breathe again? I prayed. Oh, how I prayed! But I was powerless. God holds our very breath and life in His hand. And hasn't He just proven how trustworthy He is? There is no way to live out the "do not worry" of Matthew 6 unless I daily practice the "walk by faith" of 2 Corinthians 5.

For me, and dare I suggest for any Christian, Hakuna Matata is a poor theme song indeed. Perhaps better suited is a much older song. This one goes:

When peace like a river attendeth my way

When sorrows like sea-billows roll

Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say

It is well, It is well, With my soul.

Now that takes faith. To care deeply, love completely, and still yield. My mom's waking words remind me that having a faith free from worry rests on God alone. May He teach me gently how to live it!

"Be still, and know that I am God..."

--Psalm 46:10a

The Valley of the Shadow

So much for my renewed commitment to keep up my writing. I admit I haven't even thought about the blog, or my email, or facebook or any such thing in the past couple of weeks. I've spent my time...well, occupied.

Mostly, I've been pacing the ICU waiting room at the not-so-local hospital while my mom hovered near death from some unidentified illness. She went in on day one with "pneumonia" and on day seven was placed on a ventilator, had a lung collapse, and sent into a medically-induced coma from which we didn't know if she would ever awake. It was like living an episode of that medical show, House, where the weirdest illnesses almost kill every patient before they find the right treatment.

Needless to say, blogging was far from foremost in my thoughts. Heavenly communication trumped all as I prayed like crazy for God to give my mom another chance. I recited the Twenty-third Psalm to mom (and myself, I suppose) repeatedly as she lay there, very literally in the "valley of the shadow of death."

The blessing came early in week three of her illness. The day she re-learned how to breathe on her own. I celebrated with tears and tremedous praise. A couple more days passed and she could speak and smile at me. Reunion! Relief!

She is now at the rehab hospital, learning just how weak she has become and how strong she still is. I have to appreciate all the care she is being given, but the thing that has impacted me the most is how very involved God is in our lives. He watched over me while I worried, took care of my family when I spent most waking moments away from them, and best of all woke Mom both physically and spiritually.

I have discovered that in that valley where darkness and death are so very, very near, the Shadow that triumphs is the one cast by God's presence as He covers us. Surely His goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life--and my mom's!

"Even though I walk through the

valley of the shadow of death,

I fear no evil; for Thou art with me;

Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me....

Surely goodness and mercy will follow me

all the days of my life,

And I will dwell in the house of the Lord

forever."

--Psalm 23:4,6

Back to the Book

My book is in there, staring at me. Silently accusing me. I see it, I feel it. And it is making me crazy.

Currently it is an essay of sorts, 60 pages in total, most of which probably needs to be edited out. It is not an outline, or a plot construct, or anything else useful. It is my life, and it is preachy and wordy and I hate it.

It needs all sorts of work. Major work. The kind they do on Extreme Home Makeover. Where they destroy everything they started with and create something new and beautiful in its place. That is what my "book" needs; but I feel it in there, almost a living thing willing me to allow it to breathe. Now I sound creepy.

It could be because it is after 3 am. I should be sleeping. Who knew Starbucks made such strong coffee? I am not normally a caffeine drinker, and never thought twice about a venti at 8:30 at night. Now I sit here at the computer instead of snuggled in my bed. And on the one night in a week my youngest has slept through the night, too. My caffeine high will probably drain away about the time he decides to wake up.

So, what do my thoughts turn to at 3 am? The current sitcom? The list of things that need to be done tomorrow? People to pray for? Sure, those too. But what I really think about is that pathetic manuscript I keep in the closet. I haven't even looked at it in months. Haven't looked at this blog in months, either, actually. But my mind drifts back to it. It settles on me sometimes when I should be sleeping that I am missing the mark in this matter.

I was born to write. I know it, although the Lord alone knows why. I've got a story. I just have flat out no idea what it is...or how to tell it. If you were to take your life, choose a central theme for it, fictionalize it, create a cast of believable but not identifiable characters, throw in some conflict, a hero, and end with happily-ever-after....what would yours look like? No clue? Me either. If you've got some ideas, let me know so I can steal them.

And if you've stored up some spare moments of sleep, let me know that too. I have a feeling that I'll be wanting to steal them as well, when tomorrow....I mean today....rolls around.