where waves grow sweet

An alluring view

Do you remember that first hike I took with John? It was so hot that day and we arrived at the top with red faces and sweat pouring down. Our spot on the hilltop provided a clear and expansive view of the ocean, but no access to approach it. We wanted so much to dive in. Instead, we just had to look and imagine what it would be like to be refreshed by the cool water… before turning our backs to the ocean, drinking a few sips from the drinking fountain, and hiking back down to where we started. As we descended, the trees provided shade that cooled and energized our bodies. Beautiful fragrances were released into the air. It was sweet and lovely. But not nearly as satisfying as it would have been to dive into the fresh waves of that wild sea.

Can I tell you how very much I feel like this right now? It’s as though I am standing on that hilltop with a vista before me that is calling me to dive in, splash around, and be cooled. But it’s inaccessible and all I can do is admire it from here and trust that at some point I will be on the seashore with my toes in the sand and not a single thing between me and the waves.

Enlarge the place of your tent, stretch your tent curtains wide, do not hold back; lengthen your cords, strengthen your stakes. Isaiah 54:2

Note: I promise to stop making Karate Kid references soon; the movie’s almost over anyway. But, for now, I just can’t resist.

Friday morning was tough. On my way to victory, the sensei with the huge arms and “show no mercy” mantra directed my opponent to sweep my leg. I fell to the mat grabbing my leg and writhing in pain. Except it wasn’t my leg. It was my heart. And it wasn’t a mat in a karate tournament. I was sitting in front of my boss venting my frustrations with strong words and a couple tears, trying to make sense of things.

I was tired. Really tired, which always makes me feel like the world is ending. But it felt like I was once again bumping into that issue of Too Many Groceries (see previous post), and grieving (in a ticked off sort of way) about having to lay down – yet again – things that truly mattered to me in order to maintain the immovable pieces I need to do.

Fortunately, I didn’t stay in the frustrated place very long, but took all my cares to God and told him I was once again willing to lay down anything that didn’t fit. That I would surrender the very things that mattered to me. That I would trust him with my heart and passions. The prayer ended. I cancelled some weekend plans and restructured the following few weeks. My heart was soft toward the Lord, but it felt throbby and achy. I did research for work, entered the data on my spreadsheet, listened to hymns, and cried a bit.

It reminded me of a sleeping bag we bought for Cole when he was in boy scouts. The thing came nicely rolled up in a fabric bag with a drawstring at the top. I think the intent was to be able to store the sleeping bag in this thing after each use, but it was a scientific impossibility. After it had been removed from the bag, the darn thing expanded to a size that would never allow it reentry in that claustrophobic little space. Believe me, we tried. And tried. And ended up wrapping it up with bungee chords or something.

Well, that’s about how my heart felt. Like it had been taken out of a small enclosure where it had been packed away so tightly, had been given the chance to expand, and was then directed back into that confined space. It seemed an impossibility for my heart to go back in there. And an awful thing to do anyway. But I was determined to get instructions from God on my prayer walk at lunch about how to make it fit.

My crushed hopes were revived when Mr. Miyagi (okay, God) rubbed his hands together and touched the hurting place. What he spoke to my heart was not what I was expecting. He didn’t give me directions about how to reign in my time, cut things and people out, and make tidy little compartments for what remained. He said he wasn’t asking me to shove my heart back in the space he’d freed it from. The gist was, “Relax. Don’t worry about it. I’ll work it out.”

My heart continued to be a little achy as I walked out the day. But, if you’ll remember, Daniel didn’t exactly run back out onto the mat either. He limped out there, but he still fought. The thing I knew was that I felt a great release has transpired. I felt joy and, believe it or not, a considerable amount of physical energy that was decidedly absent beforehand.

It turned out to be one of the most satisfying weekends I have ever had. The burden of making everything fit was lifted and replaced by a trust that someone bigger and wiser would do that. I didn’t get much physical rest, but my soul was refreshed and nourished. Instead of worrying and tiring myself out in the process, I was left to enjoy all the rich things portioned out to me – going to a friend’s birthday party, helping another friend move, spending invaluable time with John, participating in a church service that sang to me, dinner with the sweetest community of people, conversation with my brother and time with Cole and his friend. Oh yeah, and walking, hiking, biking, time on the beach with a dip in the ocean. Ah, and here I am at the end of this unbelievable weekend with the blog I love to write. So relaxed, carrying a light load, and full of all that is good.

When hearts grow

My covenant was with him, a covenant of life and peace… He walked with me in peace and uprightness… Malachi 2:5-6

An unlikely paradise

I’ve now arrived at the part of the movie when trust has been built and training is getting fun… practicing my balance in Mr. Miyagi’s boat and the ocean waves, working on my crane kick, laughing with my teacher, enjoying the support of Elisabeth Shue. A medley of 80’s music playing in the background.

I’m coming back to a place of contentment and it is delicious. My work is enjoyable again. Yes, even yesterday’s expense reports and today’s conference call on nonprofit liability insurance. Gratitude came out to play and entitlement ran into the shadows, grabbing the hand of its whiny friend, self-pity, on the way. Nothing external has changed, but I’m feeling lucky and spoiled by my very good God for this very good life. I’d just forgotten it for a moment or two.

I’m figuring out what matters the most and letting go of the rest, rather than resenting what most matters for robbing me of the things I most enjoy. Which is enabling me to enjoy the most what matters the most. Funny how that works. So I’m setting aside some things I’d really like to do, like write my blog whenever I please, to make way for some other valuable things… like sleep. There have been so many things I’ve wanted to say, but I’m realizing that not everything that flies through my head is of the greatest importance to myself or humanity. And, if it is, it will wait.

I was thinking this week of something a friend of mine said a few years back, which really impacted me. She was 38-years old, had never been married, and was dating a man named Dave. As they were moving along in their relationship and getting past the initial self-conscious and giddy stages, she said “You know, I just want to water the lawn with this guy.” I don’t know how that hits you, but I thought it was the most romantic thing I’d ever heard. It represented everything good in a relationship to me because it had nothing to do with what Dave could do for her or give to her or how he could make her feel. It was about Dave himself, and she just wanted to be with him.*

This is hitting even closer to home for me these days. Time with John has become safe and treasured. There is very little self-gratification… nothing romantic for now and nothing physical, except for some handholding and the occasional hug. But it is rich and good and real. We talk on the phone, go to church, hike with our kids. Tonight we walked around the neighborhood catching up on life and praying for our families and friends. This is my version of watering a lawn with this guy, and it is beautiful.

When I was praying with my boss a few weeks back, I felt like God kept cutting through our many words to say “walk with me.” Tonight, I pictured Him showing up for a stroll to catch up on daily life, talk about some deep things, maybe laugh a little, pray. Not because He wants something from me, but because of a heart that loves me and wants to connect. And I pictured myself so happy to walk with him to Moon Park in the rain. And maybe one more loop around the neighborhood to talk some more. Not because of the things I wanted Him to do in me or for me or through me. But because I love to be with Him and want to hear how He is and what He’s thinking about. There is absolutely romance with God, but more and more I’m learning what a pleasure it is just to walk with Him, to be with Him, and to know Him.

*Dave and Julie are now married and adapting to life with newborn twins. Maybe not quite the serenity of watering the lawn, but they are indeed doing life together… and doing it well.

Click here to hear “Walk in Your Ways” [by Todd Proctor]

For he was looking forward to the city with foundations, whose architect and builder is God. Hebrews 11:10

I hesitate to launch into yet another post about intentionality for fear that you might take the word, roll it up like a bat, and bop me over the head with it. But I’m going to risk it from this side of the monitor where you can’t touch me.

Remember those two weeks of prayer and surrender I wrote a lot about but kept kind of vague? Time to explain. As you’ll recall, a few months back I stepped into a relationship with a pretty great guy named John. We were moving forward as couples do, which was good and fine for a time. But it reached a point when a pause was necessary to get God’s heart. So we agreed not to connect for two weeks, laid everything on the altar – including the possibility of not moving forward, and listened to what God had to say. Scary? Yeah.  Heart-wrenching? Yeah. Deepening and incredibly wonderful? Oh my word, yes.

This may seem overly religious to some and maybe just odd to others. But something was forged through the intentionality of this discipline. Separation from each other and fasting from physical comforts were not the end goals, but means to clear away distractions so the bigger picture could emerge. As believers, it’s our ultimate goal to live from this place, yet we so often miss it.

We serve an orderly God who loves to build things according to his perfect wisdom, but we tend to disregard his instruction and build our lives like many ill-constructed habitations in third world countries, leaning walls against other walls without any supporting structure. Or we draw up our own plans for our glorious abode without the skill or knowledge required for such an undertaking, ending up with a disastrous building that is neither pleasing nor sound. It’s no surprise much of what God spoke to me and John during this time was in building terminology. He seemed to be saying that he did indeed want to construct something, but it had to be done according to his blueprints and built on his foundation for it to be the safe and joyful blessing it was intended to be.

What this has meant for us is a focus on a deepening friendship. We have completely severed some areas in order to accomplish this…. laying down the lesser for the greater. I can promise you that it is not the way I would have constructed this, but it is the sweetest and most honest form of relationship I’ve experienced. So I’m thinking God must really know what he’s doing. Fancy that.

The remarkable thing is that surrender in one area has opened up my whole vista. I mean, I’m seeing the big picture everywhere I set my eyes. The renderings are so spectacular, I can’t wait until my eyes get to behold the true structures in all their sound and perfect glory.

And let us run walk with perseverance the race marked out for us. Hebrews 12:1b

Sandi & a fave sign around mile 12

There was energy and excitement in the atmosphere last Sunday as thousands of runners and walkers gathered by Pacific Coast Highway in Huntington Beach for the Surf City Half Marathon and Marathon. (Does that sound like the beginning of a cheesy local newspaper article to you too?) I felt zippy myself, which may have had to do with the pot of coffee I drank beforehand, the anticipation of talking to someone I was eager to see, or maybe just being part of something bigger than my typical solo walks.

My friend, Sandi, met me at Edison High School where we were shuttled to the coast in a big yellow school bus. Making sure to avoid seats with the hump underneath, we settled in and I launched into the incessant chatter of a schoolgirl. Not my normal morning personality, I can assure you. Before long, we were gathered together with other half-marathoners of our estimated time of ‘slowpoke,’ including an animated 84-year old woman named Dorothy who had been written up in the OC Register and Shape magazine. For the record, she beat us. (I think she was just angling for more attention.)

When it was finally our turn to start the race, it was pretty anticlimactic. I mean, hundreds of walkers being released is about as exciting as loosing hundreds of turtles for a mad dash. Might be a curious sight, but not quite the beauty or shapely explosion of the stallions running at the front. But, hey, at least we were out there and moving and would – eventually – traverse 13.1 miles.

You probably know by now that I love walking and sometimes feel like I could do it for centuries. But this was, to be honest, not that satisfying. Sandi was great company and a complaintless adventurer, so my experience is no poor reflection on her. But the miles kind of dribbled down, like drool on my chin, and I knew almost immediately that I needed a greater challenge. The only excitement after the race had begun was running to catch up with Sandi after using the port-a-potty, which completely winded me, and seeing the finish line 3 1/2 hours after we began, which Sandi blessed me to run across. You’d think the next challenge might be running a half marathon. Maybe. But I don’t really like running and suspect that it may not satisfy either. I think the mountains are calling. And I think they have something to offer.

___________________

On a separate note, the situation I was feeling fearful about has turned out quite nicely for the time. The two weeks of prayer and surrender produced something good, I think. Still so cryptic. But a little mystery never hurt anyone. Well, except those mysteries my parents watch where someone always ends up dead.