tutus

What is it about stillness that makes me such a coward?  Give me a mission, a job, a goal - and a deadline for my slight tendency towards procrastination - and I'm off like an arrow.  But put me in a quiet room and give me a vague notion of something like holiness that I should be striving for, and I will completely shut down.

This week I read our summer reading book for work (yes, teachers have summer reading too).  Check it out: With by Skye Jethani.  It is amazing.  You should buy it.  Now.  And I've begun working on our memory passage, James 1.  Of course I'm still at the very beginning:

James, a servant of God and of the Lord Jesus Christ,
To the twelve tribes scattered among the nations:  Greetings. 

Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds,because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you. But when you ask, you must believe and not doubt, because the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind. That person should not expect to receive anything from the Lord. Such a person is double-minded and unstable in all they do.

I'm not sure you could combine two more convicting texts right now.  This passage in James makes me so uncomfortable.  I can't tell you how many times I've read this passage in the past years, even before Emmett was sick, and yet I think I secretly hate it even though I can't stop coming back to it.  So I chuckled out loud when I found out we were supposed to memorize this passage for work.  I'm pretty sure my stubborn spirit will be stuck on this part for the rest of my life.

I'm currently in a love-hate relationship with perseverance right now, as it seems to have taken on a personality of it's own.  I mean, you might be able to call it the Spirit of God at work in my life, but then I couldn't argue with it as much.  When I want to stay in bed or indulge in sinful habits that one word - perseverance - gets in my face just like my dog when she wants attention.  And I can smell it's breath and it won't leave me alone until I get out of bed or stop distracting myself with sinful thoughts or stop playing scrabble on my phone (oops.  did I just confess that in public?).

Ironically, this interference of the Spirit is exactly what I've been praying for: Lord help me keep going, Lord help me not sin, Lord help me know you, etc.  But it is seriously annoying when conviction arrives at a time you'd rather be ignoring God.

And yet...

There is a deepening in my soul that very quietly rejoices when I feel the warm breath of the Spirit in my face pressing me on to keep going.  My soul is like a crotchety old man that is really, secretly a big push-over.  I may grumble and complain about being redirected, but secretly I'm thrilled to be noticed and loved and cared for by such a generous and compassionate Lord.  Maybe one day I'll be able to adopt less of a "crotchety-old-man" response and cultivate more of a "three-year-old-girl-in-a-tutu-doing-a-crazy-wild-dance" response.  But for now I'm stuck in the "crotchety-old-man" phase.

Perhaps I have trouble embracing my inner tutu because of the second half of that passage in James, which has always weighed me down.  When you ask you must believe and not doubt because he who doubts is like a wave of the sea and should not expect to receive anything from the Lord.  Um.  Problem.  I feel constantly riddled with doubts, and without fail, every time I read this passage it presses down upon me and makes me wonder if I'll ever get anywhere in my walk with Christ.

And here is where I'd like to insert quotable words of wisdom, but frankly, I have no idea how to reconcile faith, doubt, and my crazy head.  But it seems that the more I press on, the less I need to reconcile them.  When I turn away from the presence of God, when I run away from perseverance, then I hide my lazy self-indulgence by elevating my questions and doubts.  My crazy head fills up with all sorts of excuses that are really just pretenses to avoid action that seems unpleasant.  But when I simply dwell with God, when I get out of bed and take every thought captive to Christ (sometimes just so the Spirit will stop harassing me), when I quietly move forward - then, only then, do I realize that the questions aren't important, and somehow things make sense without me ever really being able to explain it.  Ironically, the very actions I dreaded produce peace and contentment, despite all my fears to the contrary.  The crotchety old man inside smiles a little bit, and for a moment I catch a glimpse of what it means to have a child-like faith.

I went shopping recently with a friend, and I tried on a few running skirts, which just make me happy for some inexplicable reason.  I tried on a sparkly pink running skirt just for fun, and when the attendant remarked, "It's like a tutu for grownups," then I knew I needed it.  (Yes, mom, it was sparkly AND pink, and I can see you dropping your jaw as you read this, but don't get too excited because I still hate lace.)  My life and my faith need a few more tutu moments, a few more moments of child-like delight and wonder to cultivate the proper kind of love that leads to dancing and running and throwing off everything that hinders... and to perseverance, yeah - that too.  hmm...

Ugly

So I don't suppose it's uncommon to dream about your dead spouse.  I've had more than a few dreams about Emmett over the past year, but in all of them, one thing remain the same.  He always has something he wants to give me but is always prevented from doing so for various reasons. Now I don't really think it takes a Freud to figure out why I'm having those dreams, but a couple nights ago I dreamt that Emmett was a fish.  Analyze that one, Freud.  Not one of those hunky mermaids with tails, but a straight up human sized slimy fish with gills, but completely human too. Don't ask me how that works. I can also swim through the air and change my superpowers in my dreams. It's a dream, therefore it always makes sense except that in this dream we couldn't communicate because, ironically, that part of my dream had to follow the laws of common sense.


A lot I people like to talk about the stages of grief.  I briefly read about them at some point but never found that description helpful because it felt too shallow and linear.  Honestly, grief feels more like a hurricane to me.  A friend, who also happens to be a counselor, though happened to mention that she sees two types/stages (not sure which word is more appropriate there) of grief, a beautiful grief and an ugly grief.  Quickly after that we got off topic, so I wasn't able to grill her on the specifics and get all sorts of nifty counselor jargon to add to my vocabulary which I plan to do at the next possible chance.  


BUT.  


My soul immediately jumped up and said, "Eureka, that's it!"  I have felt something change in my spirit these last few months, and I don't even know how to describe it except to say that my grief is transitioning from beautiful to ugly.  And not the kind of kind of ugly you see in preteen girly movies where they take someone beautiful and put glasses on her and dress her in clothes too large and give her bushy eyebrows.  You know, the "you-just-need-a-little-makeover-to-be-gorgeous" kind of ugly.  No.  This is slimy, sweaty, warty mythical troll, "ain't-nuthin-in-all-creation-gonna-help-this-poor-guy" kind of ugly, and no spiritual or emotional makeover is going to take away the ugliness.


The best way I can describe it, and I promise to confess later if I'm taking this illustration out of context, is that initially grief provided freedom and a sense of empowerment.  As odd as it may seem, for a long time after Emmett passed away grief was easy.  It was so big that it carried me almost without effort or thought; it was so huge I felt insulated from everyday discouragements and concerns.  In some ways, grief was a sweet companion that helped me along the road.  But now grief is oppressive, suffocating, debilitating.  Because it is smaller and more hidden it latches on to normal fears and insecurities and negative emotions, attempting to magnify their power over me.  It worms its way into my heart and tells me there is something wrong with me, that I can't keep going, that I shouldn't even try.  It feels like my helpful companion has now become my fiercest enemy trying to destroy me.  While I understand that everybody struggles with fear and insecurity and discouragement, not only does grief no longer insulate me from these struggles, it seems to have switched allegiances and is now actively trying to destroy me.


As a side note, I am not talking about depression.  Recently I heard a helpful NPR discussion between psychologists about the difference between grief and depression.  The most helpful illustration someone gave was the people who grieve can still experience joy and may do so on a daily basis, while people who are depressed have lost the ability to experience joy.  I can still feel joy and fulfillment and thankfulness.  I still know and believe the truth, but grief no longer carries me forward and insulates me.  I can see how this type of grief, when suffered without the grace of God, could lead to depression.


I've wondered what I've been doing wrong these past couple months, as if something I did suddenly made life so much harder.  Everything I have read or felt from the Spirit has pointed me towards this darkness, this desert as I have described in previous posts.  No matter how much I've prayed or read, it seems certain that God will lead me here, most likely to fulfill his purpose to make me more like Christ, though I've promised to be all kinds of good if he will let me skip over this part of my sanctification.  For whatever reason, though, I need to experience this kind of warfare.  I need to do battle against myself and all the lying voices in my head, not so that I can be famous or rich or powerful or successful, but so that I can be free.  So that I may, as Psalm 119 puts it, "run in the paths of your commands for you have set my heart free."


But the Lord has given me a promise in my struggle.  Normally when I struggle, I do not particularly enjoy reading Psalms about victory.  They tend to make me bitterly annoyed with people in general, but my heart is currently drawn to Psalm 116, which I quoted in a previous blog but will quote again below.  When I wrap up Romans 8 and Hebrews 12, I am planning to move on and memorize this Psalm because it will be my victory cry.


Psalm 116 

I love the Lord, for he heard my voice;

    he heard my cry for mercy.

Because he turned his ear to me,

    I will call on him as long as I live.

    The cords of death entangled me,

the anguish of the grave came over me;

    I was overcome by distress and sorrow. 

Then I called on the name of the Lord:

    "Lord, save me!"

The Lord is gracious and righteous;

    our God is full of compassion.

The Lord protects the unwary;

    when I was brought low, he saved me.

Return to your rest, my soul,

    for the Lord has been good to you.

For you, Lord, have delivered me from death,

    my eyes from tears,

    my feet from stumbling,

that I may walk before the Lord

   in the land of the living.

I trusted in the Lord when I said,

    "I am greatly afflicted";

in my alarm I said,

   "Everyone is a liar."

What shall I return to the Lord

    for all his goodness to me?

I will lift up the cup of salvation

    and call on the name of the Lord.

I will fulfill my vows to the Lord

    in the presence of all his people.

Precious in the sight of the Lord

    is the death of his faithful servants.

Truly I am your servant, Lord;

    I serve you just as my mother did;

you have freed me from my chains.

I will sacrifice a thank offering to you

    and call on the name of the Lord.

I will fulfill my vows to the Lord

    in the presence of all his people,

    in the courts of the house of the Lord—

in your midst, Jerusalem.

Praise the Lord.

Sunrise

This morning I woke up in time to wander out to the dunes and watch the sunrise.  Clouds had gathered on the horizon, piling up like a wild throng of people waiting for a celebrity, so I wasn't sure how much I would be able to see.  But I nestled myself into the dunes between tall grasses and bushy yellow flowers that looked like very short black eyed susans.  As I waited, I worked on remembering the psalm I memorized last summer, psalm 42:

As the deer pants for streams of water,

so my soul pants for you, my God.

My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.

When can I go and meet with God?

My tears have been my food

day and night,

while people say to me all day long,

"Where is your God?"

These things I remember

as I pour out my soul:

how I used to go to the house of God

under the protection of the Mighty One

with shouts of joy and praise

among the festive throng.

Why, my soul, are you downcast?

Why so disturbed within me?

Put your hope in God,

for I will yet praise him,

my Savior and my God.

My soul is downcast within me;

therefore I will remember you

from the land of the Jordan,

the heights of Hermon—from Mount Mizar.

Deep calls to deep

in the roar of your waterfalls;

all your waves and breakers

have swept over me.

By day the Lord directs his love,

at night his song is with me—

a prayer to the God of my life.

I say to God my Rock,

"Why have you forgotten me?

Why must I go about mourning,

oppressed by the enemy?"

My bones suffer mortal agony

as my foes taunt me,

saying to me all day long,

"Where is your God?"

Why, my soul, are you downcast?

Why so disturbed within me?

Put your hope in God,

for I will yet praise him,

my Savior and my God.

In a previous post, I mentioned feeling on the edge of a vast spiritual desert, and I was reminded the other day of being smack in the middle of that desert.  Being at the beach has reminded me that being in a desert isn't just about being hot and dry, it means having sand and grit irritate every inch of your body, having everything taste wrong because you can't get the salt out of your mouth, and having searing headaches from sunlight bouncing off of every exposed surface. But the beach is also deeply beautiful. If you look past the people frying themselves like bacon and the little old couples with metal detectors, when you look out at the ocean, you're looking at one of the last great wildernesses on earth.  The breadth and depth of the ocean is staggering, even what we can measure is incomprehensible when you stand before it.  No wonder normally gregarious people walk along the edge of the waves in subdued quiet.  Just being close to something so wild and untamable is oddly reassuring.

Can you draw your own spiritual parallels there?  As I waited for the sunrise this morning while mulling over psalm 42 and feeling gritty and greasy and slightly cold, I was afraid I had missed it with all the clouds.  But I began to notice a spot on the horizon where pink was showing through, and sure enough, as I watched the sun didn't just rise, it melted away the clouds on the horizon.


And I was reminded of the other psalm I memorized last summer (that I also need to work on again), psalm 130:

Out of the depths I cry to you, Lord;

Lord, hear my voice.

Let your ears be attentive

to my cry for mercy.

If you, Lord, kept a record of sins,

Lord, who could stand?

But with you there is forgiveness,

so that we can, with reverence, serve you.

I wait for the Lord, my whole being waits,

and in his word I put my hope.

I wait for the Lord

more than watchmen wait for the morning,

more than watchmen wait for the morning.

Israel, put your hope in the Lord,

for with the Lord is unfailing love

and with him is full redemption.

He himself will redeem Israel

from all their sins.

And I am once again encouraged to wait on the Lord, no matter how greasy or gritty my life seems at the moment.  He will come and everything unimportant, including my sin and struggles, will melt away.

One Year

Exactly one year ago I was crawling into bed to sleep for the first time in days.  Unimaginable grief gave way momentarily to sheer exhaustion, and I enjoyed a deep, dreamless sleep for a few short hours.  The only problem was that when I woke up, nothing had changed.  Emmett was still dead, I was still a widow.

One year later, as people call, text or write a note about how they're praying for me, I smile and I'm genuinely grateful for their kind thoughts and prayers.  But the flip side is that what other people are reminded of occasionally, I am reminded of a thousand times a day.  From the moment I wake up on the wrong side of the bed until I shut the house down at night, I am more painfully aware of Emmett's absence than I perhaps ever was of his presence.  

So it is fortuitous that I'm approaching the end of Romans 8 for my memory verses:

And we know that in all things, God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.  For those God foreknew, he also predestined to be conformed to the likeness of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brothers.  And those he predestined, he also called; those he called, he also justified; those he justified, he also glorified.   

What then, shall we say in response to this?  If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all - how will he not also along with him graciously give us all things?  Who will bring any charge against those whom God has chosen? It is God who justifies Who is he that condemns?  Christ Jesus who died - more than that, who was raised to life - is at the right hand of God and is also interceding for us.  Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword?  As it is written: "For your sake, we face death all day long; we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered."  No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.  For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.  

Then this was my Psalm reading for the morning. Psalm 116:

I love the Lord, for he heard my voice;
    he heard my cry for mercy.
Because he turned his ear to me,
    I will call on him as long as I live.
    The cords of death entangled me,
the anguish of the grave came over me;
    I was overcome by distress and sorrow. 
Then I called on the name of the Lord:
    "Lord, save me!"


The Lord is gracious and righteous;
    our God is full of compassion.
The Lord protects the unwary;
    when I was brought low, he saved me.
Return to your rest, my soul,
    for the Lord has been good to you.
For you, Lord, have delivered me from death,
    my eyes from tears,
    my feet from stumbling,
that I may walk before the Lord
   in the land of the living.


I trusted in the Lord when I said,
    "I am greatly afflicted";
in my alarm I said,
   "Everyone is a liar."


What shall I return to the Lord
    for all his goodness to me?
I will lift up the cup of salvation
    and call on the name of the Lord.
I will fulfill my vows to the Lord
    in the presence of all his people.


Precious in the sight of the Lord
    is the death of his faithful servants.
Truly I am your servant, Lord;
    I serve you just as my mother did;
you have freed me from my chains.
I will sacrifice a thank offering to you
    and call on the name of the Lord.
I will fulfill my vows to the Lord
    in the presence of all his people,
    in the courts of the house of the Lord—
in your midst, Jerusalem.
Praise the Lord.

I don't make any claim to have suffered like Paul or David, and my suffering is nothing unusual caused by particularly great faith, but I am still encouraged to press on in the midst of it.