Pocket Rocks, Part I

Sunday, July 27th, 2008

We sat there together, suspended over the water on a one-foot-wide board stretched across the lagoon. It was a special little spot, a tiny alcove hidden away on one end of the famed fishing lake we camped at as a family as far back as I can remember. The water wasn’t deep, nor was it cold, which made for all kinds of exploratory water fun for my brothers and I. If you went at just the right time, there would be billions of tadpoles squirming around through the reeds and rocks, and we spent hours upon hours dumping them in and out of buckets and subjecting them to our many imaginative games. Poor tadpoles. But this particular afternoon, my darling brothers were elsewhere as my dad and I sat beside each other, dipping our toes in the water and unknowingly approaching a defining moment in our relationship.

I couldn’t have been more than 9 or 10, and was very much at the age of wanting to be everything my dad was, to do everything he did, and be like him in as many ways as possible. For years, he kept a little oval stone in his pocket alongside his loose change, keys, and blistex. It was white and polished to a shine, and us kids had always known it as Daddy’s pocket rock. Not sure where he got it from, but I don’t remember him ever not having it when he emptied out his pockets after a long day of work. At one point, likely in conjunction with our family rockhounding activities, I selected a pocket rock of my own to keep. It was a little smaller oval, slightly thicker, tan-colored, and also polished to a shine. I proudly kept it in my pocket ‘just like daddy’ whenever I remembered it. 

I discovered this magical lagoon one afternoon as I was “exploring” just beyond the outer edge of our campsite and in my childlike wonder, invited my dad to come see this special spot I had found. He seemed touched by the intentional gesture I made to include him in my little wonderland and it became a sort of daddy-daughter wilderness date, a moment in time we both agreed we would never forget. We carefully made our way out to the middle of this bridge, or board..whatever you’d like to call it. Not sure I can recall what we talked about, if we even talked much at all, but there was certainly a heart exchange that happened there in that spot. I don’t think either of us realized how prophetic a moment this would become, but we did recognize that this was a special experience. Reciprocating my intentional gesture to share a treasure, my dad spontaneously offered to give me his pocket rock. I was surprised and excited, because I had always thought his pocket rock was so lovely and was obviously valuable to him having lived so long in his pocket. I was more than happy to receive his gift, but was not willing to leave him no pocket rock in return. Hence, we traded our pocket rocks that day, and with them we exchanged unspoken promises that come what may, we were a pair. He loved me, and I loved him, and no matter what challenges were to come, we would stick together. That bond is one that has given me hope through many disappointments and struggles, and that very bond has proved to be God’s pipeline of healing in both of our lives–through divorce, through disobedience to the Lord, through disappointments and failures alike. And fifteen years later, we have quite a tale to tell. We’re still a pair. He loves me, and I love him. And the relationship we share is one of the most life-giving treasures I have ever had.

All About Jesus

Wednesday, July 23rd, 2008

Anxiety has always been a faithful companion to me. Those who know me well have rarely seen me without anxiety by my side or on my shoulders. We seem to have one of those twisted relationships where I full-well know there is something better out there, but I sometimes feel strangely comforted by this familiar ‘friend’. At least, that is how it has been for most of my life. I know I’m not the only person out there who has dealt with this, so if this is you, can I get a ‘whoop whoop’ or a ‘yee-haw’? Ok, so round the clock contact with a two-year-old makes me a little silly. But I DO know this is a wide-spread problem no matter your temperament or experience, especially among women. You may fret about different things than I do, but do you agree you might spend a little too much energy worrying about things you needn’t? I don’t know how many years I’ve taken off my life due to excess worry. Ah well, that is in the past now! I recently had an epiphany about the simplest lesson. Because I know you likely have struggled with unnecessary anxiety also, I will share. 

I’ll try not to be elementary about it, but I warn in advance, its not the most complicated of topics. It’s the kind of topic I usually skip right over because I think, ‘Oh, I know that’ and dismiss because I think I couldn’t possibly learn anything new from it. Silly me. The phrase/concept “It’s not about me – It’s all about Jesus” is one I’ve heard in various forms since my early childhood. I have always understood this in the contexts of the following:

1. Strive with all  your effort to look like you’re living up to the standard of Christ, whether you are or not. If you’re not, just try harder. (Mind you, by sharing this, I am NOT saying this is God’s way–only my childish perspective for years of my life)
2. Jesus is the standard we must live up to, but when it comes to measuring your success at it, you look for the affirmation of others instead of God. (Again, erroneous thinking) 
3. Don’t be selfish. If you try hard enough, you can be ‘good’ enough to please God. (Ha! It’s a good thing our salvation doesn’t depend on being ‘good’!)
4. It’s not about me = do my best to cover up the fact that much of what I do, I do for the attention it might bring me.

So there are some pretty fat confessions. Basically, I’ve pretty much missed the whole point of Jesus being the point. Truly, the more I realize what a fool I am, the more grateful I am to know that it really IS all about Jesus. And in my new understanding, this means that the point of life itself – of every blessing and trial, and of every breath we take – is to glorify God, to bring honor to Him, to proclaim the name of Jesus and His victory over darkness. That is all fine and dandy, but what does that mean to me, and how does it change me? Well. It means anxiety can no longer be my companion. My anxiety is that wily little creature that causes me to distrust that God is who He says He is, that I am His child, part of His story, and on His agenda, not mine. Anxiety is the lie that I am in control, not Him, and the pride that I know better than God what I need. It is the bondage of failing to recognize that it is for freedom that we have been set free. It is not for anxiety that we have been set free. I feel like I could smack my forehead (duh!) about now. 

“God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging. There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy place where the Most High dwells. God is within her, she will not fall; God will help her at break of day. Nations are in uproar, kingdoms fall; He lifts His voice, the earth melts. The LORD Almighty is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress.”

Psalm 46:1-7

It is an issue of trust in our loving God, in having confidence that His Spirit will renew our minds daily, and illuminate the path of freedom for us, including freedom from anxiety. So my discovery is this: ‘It’s not about me’ is not a way of proclaiming false humility, but is instead about recognizing that God is my refuge, and the One whose opinion ultimately matters. And He desires us to come to Him rather than go our own way. Blazing our own trail is a sure way to get lost! 

In practical terms, this simple realization has been changing every area of my life. When anxiety rises up (or pride, selfishness, or anger for that matter) I just close my eyes, take a deep breath, and say out loud, “This is not about me. This is about You God. So help me to respond with Your heart and be aware of Your agenda.” I think this simple epiphany has saved my life. Do you have a simple lesson that has saved yours? I’d love to hear it.

Forgiveness…

Saturday, July 19th, 2008

I started telling the story of my journey to wholeness and just barely took a breath to mention forgiveness in my “Promise Number One” entry. Let’s revisit this theme, because of any theme out there, this one is rather important! I’m no expert at forgiveness, but I will say, I have had to offer it, and ask for it more times than I can count. As a result, I’m adequately acquainted with the process and can share about how forgiveness truly was my first step forward out of my internal pain. As mentioned, I was a broken-hearted child who truly did not understand how or why my family couldn’t be mended. The divorce was done, I felt very alone and devastated that everything dear to me simply ceased to be. Yes, the individuals I loved were still there (in a manner of speaking – physically present is so different than emotionally/spiritually connected), but the bond of love that had nurtured my siblings and I since our infancy, the bond that wove us together as a single unit, the bond that had every potential to grow us into healthy, well-adjusted adults was gone. I had known for a long time that this bond was diseased, or at best, not as healthy as it could have been in my early life, but I never once thought in all the years of tension that divorce would be the result. I think children are slow to understand how it is possible for their two loving parents to cease loving each other. This was certainly my experience.

My heart was a black hole where my family had been. I held each of my parents responsible. At that time, I felt entitled to a loving peaceful home, even though it had been literally years since I had one. My injustice meter read off the chart, and I was quick to blame them for every mistake they had made. In hindsight, the ‘injustice’ meter was my realization that this is not what God ever intended for my family, and some of my anger was warranted, just perhaps not some of my actions. Choosing to trust that God would lead me into wholeness if I obeyed Him required me to consider my circumstance differently than my childish heart wanted to. I could not blame my way to freedom and I could not absolve myself of any wrongdoing. Granted, the divorce was not my fault (I learned later), and not my doing, but I was not blameless. The short stretch I chose not to forgive was agonizing for me. It hurt bad enough that our family unit no longer was, but to alienate my parents further because of my anger toward them was even worse. I had no covering, no guidance, no one to go to. And the more I tried to keep record of the injustices committed against me, the more anguish I felt. I’m not sure the actual series of events that led to me choosing forgiveness are all that important, but the choice to forgive certainly was.    

“Out of the depths I cry to you, O LORD; O Lord, hear my voice. Let your ears be attentive to my cry for mercy. If you, O LORD, kept a record of sins, O Lord, who could stand? But with You there is forgiveness; therefore You are feared. I wait for the LORD, my soul waits, and in His word I put my hope. My soul waits for the Lord…[O Broken Heart], put your hope in the LORD, for with the LORD is unfailing love and with Him is full redemption. He Himself will redeem [us] from all [our] sins.”

Ps. 130: 1-8  (Partially Paraphrased)

Somehow I found the courage to pursue each of my parents with a message of forgiveness (mine and God’s), that I desired to accept them, know them, and move forward in our healing. From my perspective, I’ve actually done this many times, through conversations and letters, and intentional gestures of love for each. I cried out to the Lord innumerable times, through tears. And He heard me. His full redemption is in full swing, and I cannot begin to describe what miracles He has worked in my relationships with my parents. More than those, He has worked miracles in little me, as I’ve now got two feet into adulthood with a new family of my own. Forgiveness…it is for your health, your life, your future that you must choose it. I suppose I’ll be writing about this again and again, because it is a predominant theme in my life, but there’s a little tale on my first lesson in it. It wasn’t easy to do, but it was worth it. More on that soon.

Another Tiny Step

Friday, July 18th, 2008

It would be easy to get discouraged about this little endeavor and the fact that more than a month has passed since I last posted. Yet, all I can do is chuckle at the fact that this just seems to be the way I birth things into being. For me, ideas (and children) come all too quickly and are brought into the world in exciting/explosive/immediate deposits of creative energy and inspiration followed by a long lull and the reality that ideas (and children) do not grow well without care, intentionality, and patience. I’ve realized that I’m quite gifted at the first part of the process, and quite slow to learn the latter. I guess that is one way my children are growing me–teaching me in the most practical way that daily diligent attention is just as important (if not more) than a season’s onset. I’m exhilarated by immediate action, immediate results…and to be honest, I’m quite impatient and restless about the “sowing” season. Shove the seeds in the ground, call the rains from the heavens, blink, hold my breath, and hope there is a bountiful garden full of delicious, nutritious, beautiful plants before my eyes when I open them. HA! Wouldn’t that be something.  Well, in all my yearning for instant results, I am rather glad I don’t often get them. I fear I would become so addicted to the moving and shaking that I’d never sit still enough to hear God. He knows this about me. Perhaps it is even one reason why He has anchored me so. Now a wife and mommy, with a heart to give my very best to those who look to me for love, support, guidance, and so much more–I have three very good (and tangible) reasons to still my heart, and learn how to become Mary, though Martha I be. 

Joy Arising is another tiny step in my process to learn how to put my whole self in for the long haul. As much as it pains me to see my ‘failure’ to get on the boat and get rolling, truth is, its rolling…just slower than I expected or wanted. I’m here and have much flowing out of my heart–I just need a little help learning how to sit still and give it time to sprout. So little seed, be at peace. Feel the sunshine, soak in the rain, and let the miracles of God burst forth in the time He has decreed. Let yourself laugh and take joy in the process, and do not worry about what tomorrow will bring, or what has been left in the past. Delight in your ever-present Lord who shepherds you now. 

More to come very soon. I’m bursting to write, but it is also nearly midnight. Wisdom says, sleep is important and tomorrow is a new day. Thanks for taking the time to read.