Stitch Me Up

Monday, January 26th, 2009

I was in Fred Meyer yesterday picking up some iron on patches for my husband’s jeans when I turned down the craft aisle and was confronted with stacks and stacks of yarn all on sale.  Something in my brain that is usually dormant, suddenly sprang alive and started yelling at me.  “Knitting!  You have always wanted to try knitting, now is a perfect opportunity to do it, everything is on sale; yarn, needles, what else do you need?”  Feeling the spontaneous juices flowing, I picked out a skein of variegated grey yarn and a pair of size 10 knitting needles, a small booklet illustrating different stitches, as well as the patches I came in for, and set out on my adventure in domestic art.  My prior knitting experience ended in Preschool.  I had made a tiny rectangle, one inch by two, out of green yarn that matched perfectly the hue on my preschool color wall.  I remember treasuring that small green rectangle.  Proud of what I had created, I found use for it as a lap blanket for my Barbie dolls.

I decided I would knit a scarf, essentially a bigger rectangle, and I would give it to my husband if it turned out not to be an embarrassment to wear.  I have roughly eight inches completed and I must tell you, I look at my creation with such pride and joy for tackling a project I have always been interested in but never gave myself the opportunity to partake in.  I am having so much fun creating this scarf, and my hands are sore and fatigued from the strange movements unfamiliar to my everyday life, but I can’t help enjoying every moment; feeling things I have never felt before physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

As I intently watched the ever growing scarf proceed from my knitting needles I couldn’t help but feel a strange connection to the woman described in Proverbs 31, thus a deep connection with God.  I am not sure what it was specifically that made me feel this connection, maybe the fact that the Proverbs 31 woman made things for her family with her hands, but I felt peaceful, weirdly feminine.  A debate and investigation began in my mind as to why the simple act of knitting would make me feel peaceful and feminine and connected to God.

I have personally been examining my anxiety about being a woman in American society, career woman, aspiring mother, and wife.  Music surrounds my struggle as I am a vocal major at Cornish College of the Arts here in Seattle, and this is my senior year and I have a mandatory recital to perform soon.  Naturally, this event produces anxiety, but additionally I have been perplexed as to how to use this hard earned music degree to make a living, to not render useless my investment of time and money in its achievement.  I feel a pressure to make singing and performance my career, and I am trying to understand what to do about this pressure.  It could serve as a motivation to continue the work I have done musically, and grow to even new heights as a professional musician.  However, my experience with knitting was so powerful, that I am forced to reckon with the sterotypical idioms surrounding “homemaker.”  While I have put much significance on being educated and having a career I am finding my heart truly yearns to have equal significance placed on the things that for millenia have surrounded the female gender, being the force who nurtures a family and makes a house a home.  It is so hard to know if having both worlds is even possible, based upon observation I know I have not seen a woman live the life I want for myself.  Perhaps that is because I am the only woman who can live my life and realize my purpose here on Earth.  If God can speak so loudly to my heart through the simple quiet act of knitting, then I know that if I am still and know He is God then he will help reveal to me my purpose through peacefulness and joy.

Small Fish

Friday, January 23rd, 2009

I feel small a lot of the time. Not small in stature, and not even small in the self-depreciating sense, but small in comparison to the story I’m a part of. I feel like a small fish in a big sea…but even if I could trade up and be a big fish in a small sea, I think I’d have to pass. There is something compelling, something captivating about being part of a story bigger than myself; something refreshing about being part of a movement that is beyond my control or my imagination. I find great comfort in knowing that my adventures are just beginning, and the best years of my life are still ahead, because though I’ve had a few in my day, God continues to surprise me in delightful ways as I gain some distance and perspective from those passed.

When I more closely resembled a belly-up fish, I couldn’t really register the movement of the water, or the significance of the story outside my small, broken heart. I was consumed with myself, my pain, my struggle, and my loss. Granted, when you lose everything you hold dear, I think there is grace for the time you need to come to terms with it and search for hope as well as what comes next. It took me almost a decade, but grace faithfully held me up. Now the ‘my’ part of the story seems so small…like me…And the bigger story is becoming clearer in my spirit. I feel like a strong, but little fish who is ready to be caught up in the wonder of God’s epic tale of love. 

I feel small because my understanding is quite elementary. I’m able to stack up the blocks of truth, ‘He is love,’ and ‘I am His,’ but these are really only the ABC’s of God’s Kingdom. There are 123’s and what I imagine to be more like encyclopedias than storybooks about the riches of God’s heart, waiting on shelves in places I’ve not yet discovered. I feel small because I feel like God has hidden me in my own little space, where He visits me personally, gives life to my weary soul, and speaks His mysteries when I’m still enough to listen. It’s just me and Him, though I know there are schools and schools of saints also hidden away in their own little spaces. I love the privacy and community of life in God. I love that it is intended to be both personal and public. More than ever, as I make new friends who love Jesus, I’m thankful to be a small fish amongst other small fish with big faith. 

When you’re a small fish, there is a lot to explore, a lot to experience and enjoy. Simple trues are welcome because complex ones seem more like a fisherman’s hook. When you’re a small fish, you can swim in the shadows of the depths of the deep, and even the smallest spaces can accommodate you. I envision some of the corners of God’s heart to be like the tiny spaces in a coral reef…hidden treasures in unreachable places except by the smallest sea creatures that dart through and around them with ease. Small fish rarely brave the waves all by their lonesome. They hang with their gang and journey together. That’s why I like to think of myself as a small fish. Speaking of my gang, I appreciate those of you who are journeying with me. Writing this frequently and faithfully has always been a big challenge for me and your continued encouragement helps me to continue. Bless you, small fish friends.

Goodbye, Restless Heart

Tuesday, January 20th, 2009

I will not miss you. I once thought I’d be lonely without you. Lonely or lost. Truth is, you never were a terrific companion. You clung to me with feverish desperation, but your constant presence was anything but loyalty…anything but faithfulness. You were not a friend. You were more like a blister, constantly reminding me of my pain instead of my promise. The half-empty cup instead of the one running over with restoration. You let me believe, or at least entertain, that hope for healing was futile. You put mufflers on my ears to keep me from embracing the kindest words I’ve ever heard. Jesus loves me. Jesus loves me. He loves me, and the future and hope He has promised is now under my feet. He is my future and hope, as well as the Rock on which I am standing.

You’ve spent far too much time illuminating my wounds, letting me live as a victim instead of a victor. You’ve let me wander and wail without direction. You built a seemingly strong and sturdy wall around me, and though your intention was to protect me, walls can never take the place of the One who is refuge. The trumpets have sounded, and your stones have crumbled to the ground. Still, I am protected…by walls, or hands if you will, that do not fail. You tried to be the glue that held all things together, but as we’ve concurred, that didn’t hold. You tried to be the solver of problems, but accepting one packaged problem to throw up on your back in the giant bag of others you carry is no way to resolve. It is a quick way to be buried. But the funeral is over, and there no more lies a lifeless body in the ground. 

You’ve been with me for many years, on a journey I have been proud to take. I would not change it, but I will not miss you. I bid you farewell as I discover new purpose and a new heart of confidence in the Holy One who has carried away my sorrow. I no longer need you to hold me together. So goodbye, restless heart.

Hunger

Thursday, January 15th, 2009

Longings come in all shapes and sizes. Some are selfish, and some are noble. Some are easily satisfied. Some are far out of reach, or seemingly so. It’s fascinating that all of humanity shares a common experience…that of aching hunger. The cycle of hunger to nourishment is so much more important than the surface illustration. How wise of God to create in us a daily recurring reminder that we do not sustain ourselves. It’s almost like He knows how wayward we would be if we don’t have basic things to attend to each day. Still, I know plenty of people who neglect their physical and emotional needs all the time…Ones who deny themselves food for the ‘gain’ of a more appealing figure, and ones who fail to create healthy boundaries in their lives because they think their constant outflow of giving is somehow a measure of ‘niceness’ or ‘goodness’. I’m all for selflessness, but it must be said that each of the above pay a dear price for ignoring their own needs. At some point, you’ll simply shut down or break down because your tank is too empty.

Most people don’t get to the far extreme. They end up consuming something in attempts to curb the pangs inside that do not go away when ignored. The physically famished make a desperate decision to feed themselves, although, I’d be willing to bet more often than not they choose either a very unhealthy food, or just barely enough food to hold off the hunger. The emotionally-famished end up consuming relationships, either by self-sabotage, inflated expectations, or a significant imbalance of the giving and receiving in the relationship.  The spiritually hungry search for significance, and will continue searching until they land at Jesus’ feet. Even those who think they are there still find an ache inside while they busy themselves doing all they can to achieve goodness. All the Martha’s think they are Mary’s until they realize that they do NOT have an easy yoke and a light burden, nor the peace that passes all understanding. They are too busy to recognize that while they’re bustling, they are literally starving themselves of the spiritual nourishment they need.

I am a recovering Martha. I’ve always had a propensity to fill the still space with something. I’ve always been slightly unnerved by solitude, by the simplicity of rest, thinking, ’surely, it has to be more strenuous than this to follow Jesus’. And while there is a time for hard labor and dutiful tasking,  there is also a much more important time for being still and listening to God. A time to give Him the attention He is due. A place, right at His feet, that will not disappoint, will not leave you hungry, and will not leave you the same as you came. I’m thankful for God’s enduring patience with me. I’ll get it one day. Meanwhile, I sit down and turn my face upward to hear. He catches me between tasks that I spring up to do. And though I still only manage a half-serving of nourishment, I’m gaining. I’m captivated by His kindness toward me, and in awe that He really does fill the hungry.

Surrender

Wednesday, January 14th, 2009

I’ve had this topic open in my editor for months now, knowing that I want to write about, to learn about, and to live in surrender to God’s desires for my life. It is one of those things that is so often looked at as a sign of weakness…of failure or defeat. But I have glimpsed the tip of an iceberg called ’surrender’, and I’m convinced that there is more to it than meets the eye. For one, I don’t believe that to surrender is to admit defeat, at least not in the case of surrendering to God. If anything, to surrender is to truly claim the victory that Christ won on the Cross in giving up His own will in exchange for God’s. I know I really only see a small glimpse into what this means, but I’ve seen it nonetheless, and even now, it changes me.

I’m a can-do, capable girl, and there has been very little in my life that I’ve not been able to do with a little ingenuity. My strength and stubbornness leave few things unconquered (or at least untested for what is conquerable), and I’m more readily known for my fortitude than my grace. That’s ok. I happen to think both qualities (in their truest form) are bestowed by the Lord, and He can choose at any time to make the most stubborn soul a graceful one…and the most tender soul a mighty one. All in the right time for the challenges before them. Still, I think surrender is a precursor to receiving anything from God. It has been my experience that the most intimate treasures of His heart do not come like a brick to the head, but more like a ribbon-tied paper package on the doorstep. If you don’t answer the door, if you don’t untie the ribbon and open it up, you may not find the gift. And brown paper isn’t the most alluring material in the world…some people take one look at the package and decide its not for them, even though they have no idea what they’re missing. 

I find motherhood to be much like this. Many women who are not yet mothers find themselves less than eager to take on the hardships and challenges that mothers face in order to welcome their children into the world, not to mention all the hard work that follows in raising them. Some women simply have plans for other things which do not include child-rearing, and some are simply uninspired by the thought of an unpaid 24/7 job with no benefits. Ahh, but there are benefits. You just don’t discover them until you’re full-swing into your mothering. It’s about more than big eyes, chubby cheeks, and sweet cuddles. Those are very wonderful indeed, but the treasures of motherhood surface as the God-fearing mother surrenders her will to the Lord, and lets His strength and grace become her own. It is in that space that the true beauty of motherhood can flower into what God intended it to be. I don’t claim to know how this looks in other households, but for me, it has been a process of peeling back the layers of my ambition and desires to discover that at the center of all that is ‘me’, I want to honor the Lord and spend my time doing things that are eternally important, not just temporarily satisfying. On the days I can remember this very point, the mundane tasks become a joy, and the sacrifice I’ve made seems small in comparison to all that I have gained. 

I find this in faith as well. My oozing and swollen heart knows the fatigue of carrying globe-sized cares, and I’m familiar with the oppressive yoke of religion. Its not just annoying that most people feel pressure to work hard enough or be good enough to earn God’s love or favor…It is dangerous. In fact, I think it is one of the ugliest and sneakiest ways that the enemy keeps God’s children from truly experiencing His love. He (the enemy) knows as well as we do that we cannot earn it. But if he can make you believe that you must, or that by your own failings you’re not worthy (insinuating that by your merits you are)…he can successfully rob you of the greatest gift imaginable. And if he can make you believe that your muscle or ingenuity will bring you satisfaction to the deep longing for significance, you’ll spin your wheels for years. There are some gifts that can only be given by God, at the time He chooses. He chose the time and trajectory of my healing journey. But I do believe there is one gift you can give yourself–its actually more like a gift God has already laid on your doorstep in a ribbon-tied paper package. It is the choice to untie the ribbon and open the box…to choose to surrender to the One who Loves you more than He loved His own life. You’ll find no greater friend anywhere, and you wouldn’t believe the treasures that await you when you do.

Mustard Seeds

Tuesday, January 13th, 2009

You might not know it from the joy I wear today, but there have been whole years of my life that I was fully immersed in a violent blackness that left me severely lacking the peace, the comfort, and the hope every soul needs to survive. There were times I wondered if I would survive. If I could survive. If I had counted on ’survival of the fittest’ to get me through, I’m fairly certain I would have been some lion’s lunch. Beneath it’s case, my pillow took on yellow stains from the buckets of tears I poured into it during that season. It wasn’t old. It wasn’t dirty. It was simply well-watered with the many things being purged from deep inside. I didn’t see much of the sunshine then. First of all, I lived in Seattle. Secondly, the first year I spent at college I left my dorm for three reasons only…the cafeteria, class, and church. Church was the only reason I left campus at all. It didn’t help that I sailed to Seattle on the wake of 9-11, and truly feared that I might die of anthrax or in some terrorist attack on Seattle, and no one might ever know what had happened to me. Fear danced all kinds of rhythms in my imagination when I let him in. It also didn’t help that I felt more alone at that time than ever in my life. In my dysfunctional childhood home, the air may not have been clear, but at least their were other bodies there…bodies with beating hearts, though broken they be. 

My first year in college was a tough but very important year for me. I was buried under mountains of heartache, and so engaged with my internal process that I could literally not engage with anyone outside my very tiny circle of trusted friends. The circle was smaller than it had ever been, or has been since that time, and included about 2 people, give or take a friend. I couldn’t smile. I couldn’t sigh. All the deepest wounds of my heart bled out as I cried and cried and cried for months at a time. Sometimes I became dehydrated because I cried so much. No joke. I was emptier than empty. I was weaker than weak. And yet, through my tears, I was finding some kind of relief. See, all these things I was crying out of myself had been stuffed away down deep for years, where I never had to show anyone how broken I was. How hurt and lost I felt. I stuffed it all away so I could give my best effort to comfort those whom I love. How deeply I longed for restoration and reconciliation in a circumstance that wasn’t mine to fix. I tried to fix it. I tried with all my muscle and might. And I failed. 

There are some things I wish would never happen. Divorce is one. The divorce I experienced was the most devastating fracture of my life. It wasn’t the dissolution of the bond of love between two people, it was the destruction of 5 people whose hearts and health depended on the commitment of the others to stick it out through thick and thin. Unfortunately for us, the thin became too thin, and broke in to bzillions of pieces. To this day, I ache, but not in the same way I once did. The ache used to pierce me with every breath I drew, and now it is simply a dull ache of remembrance, and ache of praise if you will–that what the enemy meant for evil, God has worked (and is working) for good. There has been nothing ‘fun’ about the experience of brokenness leading to forgiveness leading to healing, but there has neither been any process with more impact on me than this journey.   

It was during this season that I began to understand Jesus as my hope…that like a mustard seed, the tiniest speck of hope in the right person is powerful enough to transform complete brokenness into pure joy. I’m beginning to think that mustard seeds of many things are much more powerful than we know. We’ve been told that a mustard seed of faith can move a mountain. I’d venture to say a mustard seed of hope in Jesus can make a dead man alive again. I’m alive. Alive and full of joy I never thought I’d have. I’d also guess that a mustard seed of peace, when planted in fertile soil, grows into a regal tree–larger than any redwood ever seen. Though mine is yet a sapling, I foresee it growing tall and strong, thanks to the Faithful One who has called me out of my sorrow. So as I write, let me sprinkle these seeds around, to those of you reading. This peace, this joy, this transformation…this Savior. It’s all for you too.

Hero’s Strength

Tuesday, January 6th, 2009

I love my dreams, even the frightening ones because each one is full of so many details I am anxious to decipher.  Some dreams require contemplation while others are so perfectly evident that I can just sit back and take in all of the truths presented to me.  Saturday night, I had one of the latter dreams and it spoke volumes.

One night walking along the street, my husband and I encountered a man with a very dark temperament who was prone to outbursts of grisly violence.  For some reason he had an unprovoked grudge with my husband.  Sensing this, the tough talking bruiser came out of me and I began firing threats at the guy in my husband’s defense.  Apparently the guy also lived in our apartment building on the second floor and we would pass by his apartment on the way up the stairs.  The guy stopped at his door and my husband was coming up the stairs behind him.  I saw him lunge at my husband and the two began fighting.  I quickly ran down the stairs with the full intention of kicking the guy in the head, but when I got there my husband had him on his back and was standing over him.  My husband looked up at me and then he grabbed the guy by the shirt collar and drug him up to his feet. Without saying a word my husband communicated “I’ve got you beat, and I don’t need to waste my time knocking you out.”  Scorned, the guy stormed off into his apartment and slammed the door.  The dream ended.

I awoke with admiration and respect for my husband, who knew exactly what he was made of the whole time.  He was not afraid to stand up and did not use words, he just acted when it was necessary.  Christ is our mighty husband and when we experience His might we are left feeling small and defenseless in comparison.  However, He is our defense and like my husband, He knows exactly what He is made of.  I don’t know about you but I feel safe in that knowledge, and will gladly curl up in those arms.  I praise God for His strength and for the blessing of a constant reminder of His powerful spirit and love for me made manifest in my wonderful husband.  I am attracted to my husband’s quiet confidence but I wonder at times if he could possibly be as strong as I sense him to be.  I am nervous to be exposed to his powerful side because I fear I am not equally matched.  But, when I do see just how mighty my husband is I am forced to unveil my feminine strength rather than donning the masculine version.

I must have something I feel I need to prove, not to others but to myself, perhaps that  feminine strength is just as strong as masculine strength but completely different on every other level.  Maybe my desire to robe myself in masculine strength is because I clearly understand the power associated with it whereas feminine strength escapes me.  Did I just not have enough role female role models who personified strength?  I dare say I am not quite sure what a strong woman looks like.  Is a woman strong when she can physically overpower a man?  I would certainly hope she would be touted as having strength, but this is not the feminine strength I am referring to.  When I see my husband’s strength, I can clearly see it as being specifically placed in him to suit his nature, but my nature is not masculine, so therefore my strength is not naturally masculine.  Feminine strength, like woman, is mysterious, it is not easily discernible like a cloak of animal pelts, but is more like a cleverly hidden tattoo or delicate lace underwear.  A woman confident in her femininity feels good about what she has on under the surface, and knows she doesn’t need to be overtly vocal about it for it to exist.  Personally, I am still shy about mentioning my tattoo of feminine strength but I am working on it.  I have a feeling when masculine strengh and real feminine strength mesh, the result is extremely intimate the way God intended.  I am slowly learning to be awstruck by my husband’s masculinity and to embrace my femininity and rid myself of my fear of said intimacy, and fall headlong into the throngs of divinely orchestrated love between a man and a woman.

Love Handles

Monday, January 5th, 2009

I like food a little too much. I don’t have many vices in my life, but carbohydrates are definitely one of them. As a result, I have some lovely friends most people know as ‘Love Handles’. For sure, the holiday season is the most challenging time to think about your figure, and I have the compounded factor of stretch-mark central after growing two big babies in my belly. I’m not as down about it as  you might expect. I’m proud to wear my stretch marks as the battle scars that come with new life…though I don’t plan on sharing them in public venue. However, I do know that health is important, and I’ve been relaxed (at best) about fitness and nutrition. I do think improvement has been made in recent years as I’ve started stocking the house with healthy foods for my little ones, but the activity level (other than chasing the boogers around) is still lacking. As my heart affairs get in order, I’m seeking ways to get my health affairs to follow, and make the most of the youthful years I still have. 

I think I am well-disciplined in most other areas of my life, but this one is a struggle for me. In part, I’m not all that unsatisfied when I look at myself in the mirror. I don’t need fitness for appearances or self-esteem (well…most days). I don’t need it for my husband to be super nuts about me (he’s already more nutty than I can manage). I don’t need fitness for some aching void in my soul. I just need fitness because it is good for me, and good for my family. I give them the best that I have, but how can I continue doing that if I’m not taking care of myself? By observation, I think most mothers neglect their hearts as they serve their families (I’m not guilty of that, if you’ve not caught on yet) but for me…its neglecting to take care of my whole self. I don’t want to lose out on years I might have had with my loved ones simply because I didn’t take a little extra time and effort to care for my body. I’m still formulating my plan of attack for the year, but I’ve set some very reasonable…and actually quite necessary goals for myself. I don’t want it to be about ‘trying harder’ as much as I want it to be about ‘living smarter’, and making the necessary adjustments to everyday life–the ones that should realistically be how things are from here forward, not just for 2009. Anyway, I’m up for hearing your tips! What are your favorite healthy recipes? How do you keep vegetables fun and delicious? Those of you with children, how do you tend to your fitness in the midst of 24/7 kid care? I need all the help I can get here!

Response to Jen

Sunday, January 4th, 2009

Jen, I want to begin by thanking you for your willingness to make a contribution to Joy Arising. I’ve spent months pouring my own heart out, hoping others might join me on the journey, and I’m truly excited for you (and for me) that you are starting this time of reflection and writing. Your honesty about the internal struggles you face regarding fear and jealousy is an important part of you moving forward from that place of feeling powerless to change, and I am believing that someone, somewhere might relate to what you’re writing about. I’ve known you for a long time, and while I don’t claim to know you better than you know yourself, I DO know there is something in you that longs to come out of the shadows–a part of you that longs for the light of God, and the peace of His presence to invade your life, to free you from your internal prison, and set to you on the track again to run the race set before you. I also know that some of your struggle is yourself…but some of your struggle is the sneaky ways the evil one tries to rob us all of God’s best for our lives. The enemy would like for you to believe that the problem is all you, that you are worthless, and that your absence from the world wouldn’t make a difference to anyone. Lies! All lies! I tell you. God LOVES you. Just the way you are…which doesn’t mean He’s going to leave you just the way you are, but you do not have to earn His love. In fact, you cannot earn it. So please continue sharing. And continue opening your heart to the wonderful things I believe He has in store for you. 

And readers–please help encourage Jen as she surrenders her privacy in order that God might do an amazing work in her. Comment!

Jealousy

Sunday, January 4th, 2009

In this day in age it is so easy to keep up to speed on someone’s life and only remain a germ on a fly on the wall of a friend’s periphery.  I find that I deeply want to be involved in the lives of my friends but I am not motivated to have an encounter be it a phone call, or a note of some kind.  I suppose it is fear creeping in and rendering me lifeless, as I often wonder if I have let too much time go by without engaging.  Is there a shelf life on an friendship in which one friend has gone AWOL?  Is there any way to be reconciled?  I long for things to be as they once were before I sequestered myself for no apparent reason, except it was too difficult and scary to proclaim I wanted to be known and to know someone deeply.  I have but one or two friends who have tirelessly put gargantuan amounts of effort into keeping my friendship blip on the radar.   Had it not been for their efforts, I am quite sure I would not have those friendships either.  I have said before that I am programmed to destroy myself against my better judgment, and I don’t get that.  I am the inflicter of pain in my own life and I dash all hope of realizing the things I dream for.

The jealousy is born from all this.  I see my friends living their lives in such journalistic vibrancy and discovering, upon examination of my own life, that I have a great lack.  This alone puts me in a dismal frame of mind; wondering if i’ll ever have what they have?  Pictures documenting all of the milestones, smiles, and utter joys of life are smeared by my envious green tinge.  It is not the pictures, or the blogs or the webpages, or having an exact copy of their lives,  it is that they are not afraid to show themselves to the world, and I always have been.  A seed of hope still lives that I may expose my vibrancy in such a way that displays proudly my love for the blessing of life.  My life is beautiful, my lovestory unique, and I pray I may regard their value among the highest in my own mind, because only then will I be able to love earnestly.  Only when I have dispelled the green fog that hovers around my heart can I step out in unshakeable confidence and live as an equal who is completely worthy to love and be loved.