I have a new friend. Well, really, she is an old friend… Actually, she is my sister’s friend. Anyway, the phone rang one night and this new/old/sister’s friend and I began talking, and kept talking. What started as an unintentional conversation is now recognizable as the grace of God in the lives of two young women that He deeply loves.
This new/old friend and I were talking the other day about the things that God is doing in our lives. As we were sharing our feeble and insecure attempts to “figure out” God (haha, that sounds so absurd in hindsight), I commented on my realization that sometimes I am guilty of taking my plans (in all of their logicality and reasonableness), shoving them recklessly into a mold of my own choosing, slapping some Jesus-colored paint on there, and calling it “God’s will.”
The image that ran through my mind was of a child with one of those devices where you put playdough inside, crank a little handle, and out comes the mushy concoction, now in the form of “spaghetti,” or some other creative pattern. Have you ever watched a child play with one of those? It’s a riot. They get such a kick out of taking a lump of something absolutely formless, and proudly creating it—all by themselves—into something recognizable and useful.
You see, there is only so much I can do with the lump of mushiness that is my life. And sometimes I get impatient and attempt to form from it things that only God can ordain. I pick a mold that I find logical, pour my heart and soul into it, pray dutifully while I’m turning the handle, and expect God’s best to be what is cranked out on the other side.
The problem here is not the clay, not the mold I have chosen, and not the turning of the handle. It has its origin in my own discontent with the lump of clay that I began with. It is rooted in a misunderstanding of the person of God and His irrevocable plan for my life. And from such a root grows fear and an intolerance for waiting. I am a block of clay impatiently longing to be a monument.
One thing I have learned from this new/old friendship is that some of the most monumental things take form when no one is trying to create them. There is no formula, no mold. Just the simple hand of God, who has shown two young women His grace in eachother.
As for my own devises… I think I’ll stick to playdough.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Thursday, June 22, 2006
joy is not a moving target
Very recently, I led a discussion with a group of women about “Joy.” The one thing that these women had in common is a dark history of pain, hurt, and suffering. For this particular group, joy was a topic that compelled a myriad of thoughts, perspectives, and even confusion. When I asked them what joy might look like, here were some of their responses:
“Being really excited about something.”
“Maybe like winning the lottery.”
“It’s being so happy you can’t stand it.”
“Something really great happens that you really wanted.”
One lady, who was the last to speak, had a response that I found particularly disturbing. In almost a whisper, she said, “Joy doesn’t happen to everyone. Joy is for those people who have everything they want and they are smart enough to have not made the mistakes that I have made. I’m not sure I’ll ever know what joy feels like.”
After some discussion, I posed the following observation to the above answers:
“What if joy wasn’t contingent on any form of external circumstances? What if joy took the form of… Contentment? Feeling safe and secure? Knowing someone loves you unconditionally?”
My question was met with eyes the size of softballs and the most piercing silence I think I have ever experienced. It nearly cut my heart right in two. These were looks of shock, wonder, and perhaps a little bit of timid hope. No one spoke, and all 15 of them leaned forward to see what I would say next, as if wondering what the catch was.
You see, this is such a common dilemma. We substitute external situations and tangible expectations for true joy and peace in our hearts. I watch these women as they struggle and toil, thrashing about in a world that keeps throwing them curve balls. They swing high, they swing low. They maneuver about in desperation, hoping beyond hope for a hit, for a break. They try, they try, and they try harder—to no avail. It’s no wonder they are in despair. They are chasing a counterfeit form of joy, and every time they grasp it in their hands, it escapes them yet again. One wrong move, and it is gone; one mistake, and it vanishes.
How often do we chase after a person, a word, a look, a purse, a drink, a book, a dress, a sport, a show, a scent, a smile, a promise, a home, maybe even a sermon, a mentor, or a class… to give us the fulfillment that we so deeply desire? We set our eyes on moving targets and begin to engage in a sort of mental gymnastics as we chase these things down, demanding the “joy” they have promised us. The entire time that we are running the gauntlet of our own dissatisfaction, God is waiting on the sidelines for us to come to our senses and rest in Him. What usually happens is that we finally collapse under our own exhaustion, and He scoops us up in His arms and carries us off the playing field of the game we were never meant to play.
The joy of God is not a moving target. It is not something we must search and seek to attain. It is a place of the heart where we rest in the comfort of the One who created us, where the world is silenced and all is forgiven.
“Being really excited about something.”
“Maybe like winning the lottery.”
“It’s being so happy you can’t stand it.”
“Something really great happens that you really wanted.”
One lady, who was the last to speak, had a response that I found particularly disturbing. In almost a whisper, she said, “Joy doesn’t happen to everyone. Joy is for those people who have everything they want and they are smart enough to have not made the mistakes that I have made. I’m not sure I’ll ever know what joy feels like.”
After some discussion, I posed the following observation to the above answers:
“What if joy wasn’t contingent on any form of external circumstances? What if joy took the form of… Contentment? Feeling safe and secure? Knowing someone loves you unconditionally?”My question was met with eyes the size of softballs and the most piercing silence I think I have ever experienced. It nearly cut my heart right in two. These were looks of shock, wonder, and perhaps a little bit of timid hope. No one spoke, and all 15 of them leaned forward to see what I would say next, as if wondering what the catch was.
You see, this is such a common dilemma. We substitute external situations and tangible expectations for true joy and peace in our hearts. I watch these women as they struggle and toil, thrashing about in a world that keeps throwing them curve balls. They swing high, they swing low. They maneuver about in desperation, hoping beyond hope for a hit, for a break. They try, they try, and they try harder—to no avail. It’s no wonder they are in despair. They are chasing a counterfeit form of joy, and every time they grasp it in their hands, it escapes them yet again. One wrong move, and it is gone; one mistake, and it vanishes.
How often do we chase after a person, a word, a look, a purse, a drink, a book, a dress, a sport, a show, a scent, a smile, a promise, a home, maybe even a sermon, a mentor, or a class… to give us the fulfillment that we so deeply desire? We set our eyes on moving targets and begin to engage in a sort of mental gymnastics as we chase these things down, demanding the “joy” they have promised us. The entire time that we are running the gauntlet of our own dissatisfaction, God is waiting on the sidelines for us to come to our senses and rest in Him. What usually happens is that we finally collapse under our own exhaustion, and He scoops us up in His arms and carries us off the playing field of the game we were never meant to play.
The joy of God is not a moving target. It is not something we must search and seek to attain. It is a place of the heart where we rest in the comfort of the One who created us, where the world is silenced and all is forgiven.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
the good fork
Decisions are so hard. At least, they are when you're faced with several very good options. I'm in the process of making some big decisions and making some plans that will have a huge impact on my life, and let me just say-- this is hard stuff! I am so grateful, however, that I am facing options that I know are of God and that suit who I am and who I am trying to become. There was a time in my life not very long ago that I was making big decisions and plans, but something deep in my heart knew I was not staying true to the person God has created me to be... now THAT is risky business. Those decisions were hard, but for a whole different reason.
In a class discussion at ORU, I remember saying once that "God's will" was not necessarily a specific path we are to follow, but that it seems to be tied more to our relationship to Him. I have learned a lot about the grace of God during the last year, and I feel like I've spent too much of my life trying to "perfect" my walk with God, to do "His will," when all he really wants is for me to be close to him, to feel when he nudges me. It sounds so simple when I write it here.
The closer I am to God, the easier it is to see what things (or situations, or people) in my life are keeping me from the purpose God has for me... simple enough. So, now that I have spent many months getting rid of those things (and will most likely continue this process throughout my life, as most of us will), I am still left at a fork in the road, with multiple excellent pathways to choose from.
At least it's not the "bad fork" in the road that I was agonizing over a year ago... But, as exciting as they are, good forks can be hard too.
In a class discussion at ORU, I remember saying once that "God's will" was not necessarily a specific path we are to follow, but that it seems to be tied more to our relationship to Him. I have learned a lot about the grace of God during the last year, and I feel like I've spent too much of my life trying to "perfect" my walk with God, to do "His will," when all he really wants is for me to be close to him, to feel when he nudges me. It sounds so simple when I write it here.
The closer I am to God, the easier it is to see what things (or situations, or people) in my life are keeping me from the purpose God has for me... simple enough. So, now that I have spent many months getting rid of those things (and will most likely continue this process throughout my life, as most of us will), I am still left at a fork in the road, with multiple excellent pathways to choose from.
At least it's not the "bad fork" in the road that I was agonizing over a year ago... But, as exciting as they are, good forks can be hard too.
Friday, June 02, 2006
let it all unfold
So, there is someone that I’ve been getting to know lately, and I have to say, I am quite surprised at what I’m learning about this person. I find it so interesting how people tend to surprise you with unanticipated tidbits about themselves, and they unfold in ways you never expected. And this person just keeps unfolding, and unfolding… and unfolding. It’s almost comical. It’s nothing I would have ever expected. But I love it, because it reminds me how unique each of our histories are.
It’s kind of like the astonishment that dashes across people’s faces when I tell them I have a tattoo. Disbelief. Shock. A part of me that no one expects. (Am I right, those of you who, until now, didn’t know that about me??? Don’t worry. I'm just a rebel wannabe).
I guess my point is, I find it interesting how startled we get when we are swayed from our little ideas of “the way things are.” What do you mean Betsy? Well, I’m glad you asked… Do we not tend to see people as we wish to see them? Or view situations in ways that most benefit us? For example, when someone hurts us, sometimes it’s easier to dig up all the dirt we can about them, and focus on that so we feel justified in our pain; or maybe we justify ourselves in circumstances we know aren’t of God so that we don’t have to face the grief of parting with our personal comfort and desires. There seems to be something almost inherent about our attachment to our self-serving perceptions. It’s somewhat disturbing.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about expecting God to speak to me when I ask Him something. I’ve realized that there have been situations in my life when I have sought God, but quite frankly, I wasn’t prepared to hear His answer. I sought God because I knew it was the right thing to do, but when it came down to it, my own answer was easier to deal with than what God expected me to do. It was easier (or at least, felt so at the time) to keep a deathly grip on my ideas, my justifications. Unfortunately, my short-term cop-out nearly cost me my life. Literally.
Perhaps this is nothing deep or moving for anyone else but me, but I am so grateful that God has been teaching me that, just like the people we get to know bit by bit, He is somewhat like a big wad of paper… (It doesn’t get any less spiritual than calling God a wad of paper, I know). He just keeps unfolding our lives for us, His will for us, piece by piece. The creases are many, and the crevices are inconsistent. And that is ok. I’ll take God’s wrinkled paper over my wadded up perceptions and excuses any day.
It’s kind of like the astonishment that dashes across people’s faces when I tell them I have a tattoo. Disbelief. Shock. A part of me that no one expects. (Am I right, those of you who, until now, didn’t know that about me??? Don’t worry. I'm just a rebel wannabe).
I guess my point is, I find it interesting how startled we get when we are swayed from our little ideas of “the way things are.” What do you mean Betsy? Well, I’m glad you asked… Do we not tend to see people as we wish to see them? Or view situations in ways that most benefit us? For example, when someone hurts us, sometimes it’s easier to dig up all the dirt we can about them, and focus on that so we feel justified in our pain; or maybe we justify ourselves in circumstances we know aren’t of God so that we don’t have to face the grief of parting with our personal comfort and desires. There seems to be something almost inherent about our attachment to our self-serving perceptions. It’s somewhat disturbing.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about expecting God to speak to me when I ask Him something. I’ve realized that there have been situations in my life when I have sought God, but quite frankly, I wasn’t prepared to hear His answer. I sought God because I knew it was the right thing to do, but when it came down to it, my own answer was easier to deal with than what God expected me to do. It was easier (or at least, felt so at the time) to keep a deathly grip on my ideas, my justifications. Unfortunately, my short-term cop-out nearly cost me my life. Literally.
Perhaps this is nothing deep or moving for anyone else but me, but I am so grateful that God has been teaching me that, just like the people we get to know bit by bit, He is somewhat like a big wad of paper… (It doesn’t get any less spiritual than calling God a wad of paper, I know). He just keeps unfolding our lives for us, His will for us, piece by piece. The creases are many, and the crevices are inconsistent. And that is ok. I’ll take God’s wrinkled paper over my wadded up perceptions and excuses any day.
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