where waves grow sweet

The mind of sinful man is death, but the mind controlled by the Spirit is life and peace. Romans 8:6

A couple girls I love were hurting today. There were some very different circumstances surrounding each, but they were both being pummeled by lies about their worth. It broke my heart because I see their value and know the beliefs to be false. I said what I could, prayed, and trusted that God would squash the enemy and speak his truth.

It reminded me of something that happened to me several months ago. I had spent a fun, adventurous evening with someone who, by being beautiful and wonderful, caused me to feel like a big, gaping, inadequate nothing. I climbed into my car to go home, with lead weights hanging from the ankles of my soul… sinking deeper by the minute with no way out.

As the oxygen was leaving my lungs and the panic setting in, my very good God asked me: “Where is this going to lead?” Being regrettably familiar with the trajectory, I said I would continue to sink into self-hatred and despair, hitting my head on every form of inadequacy on the way down, until I struck the bottom and had to breathlessly struggle back to the top. I would surface. I always did. But I would feel exhausted, beaten up, and vulnerable.

The dialogue continued. “That’ll be a bummer,” God said (I’m paraphrasing here). “That’s for sure,” I responded. “Want to see if from a different angle?” “Um, yeah.” What followed cannot be articulated by these pitiful fingers and limited mind. The best I can do is to say that the Father’s love for me – and so far beyond me – unfolded in that car over that 20 minute drive home. What looked like it was going to be a tram ride to hell did a 180 and took me straight into the arms of heaven. It was one of the most profound experiences of my life.

I had been learning through my son that love does not control; it does not cling; it lets go. Otherwise, it is a selfish or fearful love, which isn’t love at all. The Lord showed me that it was not a lack of love – but love itself – that caused him to let me go so far in my choices. He hadn’t abandoned me; he was as close as my very breath. But he is not a controlling God who will step in and make things go his way. He love is relentless but it is not forceful.

He also showed me that he is a parent who risks greatly by releasing us to our choices. He has lost children; children he loved with a purity we couldn’t begin to touch. I pictured the grief of an earthly parent losing a child, and was broken by the thought of this kind of love on the scale of loss this heavenly Father has experienced. That night, my trajectory was altered and I can honestly say that I have never felt so loved and accepted in all of my life.

The following morning, I was driving to work and saw two pictures in my mind. The first was of a circuit board. It was a chaotic mess of tiny trails winding about. I felt like God said this is what it looks like to live from the soul. One thought will lead to a million possible outcomes and even if you spent years taking each one of those outcomes to its natural end, you would never, ever arrive at peace.

The second picture was of a dirt path covered by leafy trees and a blue sky. I couldn’t see very far up the path because it started to bend, but it didn’t matter because my heart longed to be on it – no matter where it went. There was no rush, no struggle, only stillness and life. I felt like God said this is what it looks like to live in the Spirit. All of our thoughts, our struggles, our burdens are filtered into the oneness of God who speaks with one voice from one heart in perfect wisdom, and directs us in peace. He carries the weight of decision, as we wander down the path that he has laid out.

I believe that night in the car I saw a living example of each of those pictures. I have not again experienced this to the same degree, but I know that in each circumstance we have a choice. We can choose to think and act according to our own understanding, which will lead us to places we don’t want to be. Or we can choose to lay down our thoughts and take up his infinite wisdom, trusting that he knows and cares… and walk down that path of peace.

As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts. Isaiah 55:9

He said to them, “Let the children come to me. Don’t stop them! For the Kingdom of God belongs to those who are like these children.” Mark 10:14

One: A mystery solved

I am a messy toothbrusher. This is not new. I have to stay close to the sink to catch the toothpaste I can’t seem to keep in my mouth. Yet, still, I was finding little white trails down my bathrobe… the sleeve, the front, the belt part. Really? I’ve been brushing my teeth for years now. You’d think I’d have it down. I started paying attention and noticed something. I start my sonicare, get things going, and then close my eyes. Yes, I close my eyes while brushing my teeth as if it were a slow dance or a kiss. Anyone else find this a little strange?

Two: A complaint

If you’ve been reading this blog for a while, you’re probably familiar with my eharmony experience from the summer. I was decidedly one of the worst internet daters ever, and was giddy to wrap up that membership and move on. Freedom! (Not quite William Wallace material, but close.) But I’m still getting icebreakers from “matches” made during that time. This is obviously eharmony’s attempt to keep me connected and lure me back. It seems they haven’t read my blog. I want this to end. Really. And while it may appear flattering that a guy would want to talk to me, it also seems likely that they spent the past 3 months pursing the matches in their cart, and are now moving onto their “save for later” list. The worst part is they don’t seem to know that I’ve bailed on the site – and I’m unable to communicate this info unless I sign up for another round. Egad.

Three: An analogy

I bit the inside of my lip eating the other day. Yes, I’m just coordinated like that. It swelled up a little bit so I managed to do it again. And then another, oh, 8 times or so. Each time, it gets easier to add to the injury and the situation just keeps escalating. I must have had time on my hands because I started thinking about how much this is like rejection or resentment or any of those other things we struggle with. It takes some special circumstance for the initial wound, but until it’s healed, even going about our normal business will cause pain and trouble. Didn’t Solomon use this example in Proverbs somewhere?

Four: A delight

I stopped by a friend’s house after work for a brief visit before picking up Cole. It was wonderful to chat, drink some holiday coffee, and eat chocolate caramels with sea salt on top. Her kids – 2 and (almost) 4 years old – woke up from a nap very reserved before the bushy-haired stranger (must’ve been humid today). Before long, they were introducing me to Honey Bear & Dolly, and counting for me in Japanese, German, Spanish, and French (seriously). It was sheer delight to hear the little voices and see the chubby bodies move around. I particularly appreciated the wedding dress and fancy shoes paired with the pink princess helmet.

But nothing could have prepared me for the greatest sendoff of all time. As I got up to leave, my heart melted as I got a hug, a kiss, and an “I love you” from each kid. But that was just the beginning. They followed around me shouting enthusiastic “I love you!’s” as I grabbed my purse and headed to the car, where they continued their hearty goodbyes. Talk about a boost. Kind of makes me wish I would act that way around some of the people I meet. So don’t be surprised if I follow you around yelling “I love you” over and over with the earnestness of an (almost) 4 year old.

Five: A question

As I shared about my very enjoyable date from the weekend, I started wondering about your experiences. So I’m asking you to hand over some dating stories… the good, the laughable, the dreadful, or that one you’ve conjured up in your head that hasn’t happened yet. Do tell.

Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, “This is the way; walk in it.” Isaiah 30:21

It’s felt warm and summery these past couple days in Southern California. We complain that we don’t have enough “weather” and envy the fall colors, brisk air, or flurries falling in other places. But the reality is that we have it good and I think we know it.

The sun has returned to my heart as well. I am feeling calm and hopeful. The fear that was scratching apart my insides and the toxic rebellion on open flames are nowhere to be found. I found myself smiling today as I was driving, just because.

I had a revelation this week that my son, though he’s getting older, still needs a mom. In an attempt to give him freedom and refrain from coddling him, I ended up abandoning him. Then I shamed him for the negative results of this hands-off approach. Part of this was my own helplessness. Since Cole has become a teenager, I’ve had a hard time finding my role. Do I back off or step in? How much and when? As a single parent, this aspect may be trickier. Or maybe that’s just a big, fat copout. It must be because I know that God gives us what we need to do whatever he’s put before us. And, shoot, he does say that he’s a father to the fatherless. How can you go wrong with the creator of the universe as a dad?

It was important to see the big picture, but there also needed to be practical applications. Cole does well with concrete data. So I typed a contract that outlines expectations from homework and bedtime to chores and tv time. We both signed it, and posted it on Cole’s wall. This has worked well the past few years, but this semester I had flaked. I committed to be home on weeknights to facilitate this structure, which is surprisingly difficult yet also pleasant and good. The remarkable thing is how well Cole has responded. He has lost freedom, but seems happier than before. He is catching up on sleep, keeping up with homework, and doing well in general. It is Saturday night and he is sitting next to me doing his math and vocab, and asking when he can go to bed. Fancy that.

Another practical thing smacked my tush this week. Joyce Meyer told those of us who feel cruddy and tired – and insist on whining about it – to eat better and get sleep. Duh, right? But I was whining about fatigue, staying up til 2 a.m. and eating every cookie that crossed my path (mmmm…. cookies). I’m not interested in reading any more books on diet and health, which now make me nauseated. But I know what makes my body feel good. Not my mouth. Not my emotions. My body. I started fueling it up with this stuff and wow, it helped. I still have wacky sleep habits, but I can see that eating better makes me want to exercise, which helps me sleep better. And if I’m feeling better, I don’t take naps, which means I won’t stay up until the wee hours and wake up feeling wiped out and need a nap. Common sense, I was so very happy to bump into you this week.

Regarding the detention I griped about, an interesting thing happened there. On Friday Cole was tardy again… or too darn close to call. I felt exasperated. Here we are restructuring our whole world to do life better, and striving to get this punctuality thing down. And still failing miserably. I started wondering if are best efforts aren’t enough, then what? The school takes tardies seriously, so we could be looking at a suspension if we keep this up. Next year’s financial aid could be compromised. It is clear there is not going to be grace for our mistakes in this area.

It was then that God’s voice cut through my defeat. He said, in essence, that effort is great but pretty much worthless if he doesn’t breathe life into it. In that moment, with the kindness in his voice, I knew that if we asked for his help, he would do what we couldn’t. He would bridge the gap. He would give the grace needed and make a way through our weakness. Oh how thrilling it is to do things with a guy like that backing you up.

I have my second date tomorrow – church and a hike. Definitely feeling better about this one. Still have no idea about what will come of it, but it doesn’t really seem to matter at the moment. I’ll just enjoy the day, and go from there.

Good night everyone. Sleep well.

For he has rescued us from the dominion of darkness and brought us into the kingdom of the Son he loves, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins. Colossians 1:13-14

One

A Christmas letter from a family friend that speaks for itself. It is being posted here with permission:

Dr. Bern came in and calmly told me that I had breast cancer. My world came to a halt. I remember sitting with a dear friend a few weeks later, listening to her talk about her vision for the future and how she was pursuing God and He was opening doors for ministry for her. All I could think of was, “well, I wish that was my story.” At this point in my life I was trying not to think about chemotherapy, losing my hair and how much time did I have left on this earth.

It’s now three months later. I am in my fifth week of radiation with eight sessions left. I feel peaceful although my flesh is uncomfortable. I was listening to Brian Houston from Hillsong on the DayStar channel this morning. He said sometimes you have to tell your soul to just “shut up.” I loved that, because that’s what I have had to do a lot over the last few weeks. Healing is in the atonement and I believe Jesus will do what He says He will do. When my mind goes to fearful thoughts I say, “be still” God loves me and has plans to do awesome and wonderful things for me (Jeremiah 29:11). When my soul feels fear I say, God is righteous in all His ways and loving toward all He has made (Psalm 145:17).

What would the human race have ever done without the birth of Jesus? No salvation, no healing, no freedom from sin, no freedom from the harassment of the enemy, no eternal life, no comfort from the storms of life, no direction from a wisdom greater than ours. I am so grateful to have been transferred from the kingdom of darkness into the kingdom of light.

Two

A song by Sara Groves that I listened to about a dozen times in a row. It pressed on some deep place in my heart about what compassion looks like and, as seems to be the trend this week, brought me to tears.

Three

A sermon by Joyce Meyer called “The Lord Our Peace.” I can’t even tell you what it was about – I’m thinking peace – but I know it was good. And that I’ll give it another listen.

http://jmmdownloads.org.edgesuite.net/podcast/tv/december/120310_video.mp4?siteid=itunes

For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago. Ephesians 2:10

I did well enough in school but didn’t have much of a passion or focus, like those kids who knew since birth – or maybe second grade – that they wanted to be a doctor or rockstar or veterinarian. When I met Jesus, I found a passion and a purpose, which was good and essential. But I’ve continued to fumble through my jobs, trying to be content and do well, knowing with all my heart that I was not created to do coordinate calendars, plan events, or type up minutes from meetings I can’t seem to focus on.

And I’ve fumbled through the other areas of my life, trying to find that spark – where I fit in this master plan – which so often seems to misfire and die out. I have never been a great communicator. I am not quick on my feet. Emotions are hard to define. My mind is frequently scattered and confused.

But I sit down in front of this banged-up MacBook and everything on this earth starts to make sense. God, people, life, myself. All of it. Each of the places I haven’t fit don’t matter, because I fit here. Everything is just as it should be for this little bit of time in front of this little white screen with the scotch-taped corner. It is easy and beautiful and free. And I am at perfect peace.

So thank you for being here with me, in my special place. It is a pleasure to have you, and I want you to know that are always, always welcome.

Rebellion is as sinful as witchcraft, and stubbornness as bad as worshiping idols. 1 Samuel 15:23

Do you remember a couple months ago when Cole got a two-hour Saturday detention and $20 fine for tardies? You may recall that I got coiled up, bared by fangs, and started shaking my tail like a maraca. Now that I think of it, I used some sort of horse analogy. Whatever. Picture an angry animal and go with it. Thankfully, the great Snake Charmer (or Horse Whisperer or other appropriate calmer of angry animals) settled my fuming spirit, wiped the spit off my eyes, and helped me to see the great benefit of this discipline. Yes, even to be grateful for it and joyful about it.

Morning is a dark and scary time for us, but we have spent the past two months working very hard to change our routine, using September’s chastening to become people of a more disciplined sort. Apart from two freak mornings when the sky fell in, we have been on time – even early – each day. So when Cole hopped in the little green Camry after school last week and told me he had another detention for tardies, I was confused. Baffled. Perplexed. Mystified. Bewildered. Befuddled.

But when Cole kicked my gut with the details that detention leaped to 4 hours on a Saturday morning and the fine to $40, I got ticked. Angry. Mad. Infuriated. Livid. Irate. Enraged.

I’ve been stewing about this for a few days and decided tonight to voice my frustration to my parents over this cruel and unusual punishment. I mean, is this a school or a group of vindictive people masquerading as teachers and administrators? Do they not know what real life looks like or how damn hard we’ve been trying? When my dad pointed out that punctuality is a good thing to learn and that we should get to bed earlier, I plunged my poisony fangs into his tender flesh and then slithered away in a huff.

I pouted a while, feeling sorry for myself, misunderstood, and justified in my anger. Upon reading the handbook, I learned that after the first infraction, it only takes two more tardies to get the more severe punishment. Guilty. Any tardies that follow the second infraction incur disciplinary action of the school’s choosing. Yikes.

The bottom line is that the school is trying to instill something in students (and parents) and preserve order. We are guilty of breaking the “law” in this context. I, who agreed to doing things the school’s way when I registered Cole, am acting like a rebellious brat who wants things done my way. (Turns out I’m one of the crazy parents I used to gawk at when I worked at a high school.)

I’m still not in complete agreement with the steep incline of punishment for these offenses, but that is completely irrelevant. It doesn’t matter what I think. Cole and I both agreed to the rules (they have it in writing), whether we grasped them or not (it appears we didn’t). I mean, I’m free to settle down and share my perspective with the administration, but God has allowed me this opportunity to lay down my pride and be an example for my son. It is easy for me to tell Cole to submit to authority, but holy wow, it is another thing to show him how to do it. As hard as it may be, this is real deal kingdom life. Following Jesus isn’t easy, but it’s oh so good.

Then he got into the boat and his disciples followed him. Suddenly a furious storm came up on the lake, so that the waves swept over the boat. But Jesus was sleeping. The disciples went and woke him, saying, “Lord, save us! We’re going to drown!”

He replied, “You of little faith, why are you so afraid?” Then he got up and rebuked the winds and the waves, and it was completely calm. Matthew 8:23-26

My life this past week felt like Knight and Day, a Tom Cruise/Cameron Diaz movie I watched with friends tonight. Not in the “hey, life is suddenly stressful, but I look great, and I’m hanging out with a sexy guy” way. There was the same sort of intensity, but mine felt more like “hey, life is suddenly stressful, my face is breaking out, and I want to crawl in a hole for a year.”

There was a lot to accomplish, a lack of sleep, an emotional carnival going on inside, and an absolute desert of alone time. When I am processing things, I go inward. When I am processing things with inadequate opportunities for solitude and rest, I get abrasive and mean. Which I was, for sure.

The bottom line is that I’m being stretched beyond what is comfortable. It is good, and I know this. But I also know that I will not be able to make it through if I don’t press into God and receive his peace. Sleep is important, but there is a deeper rest that brings a surety that all is well; a confidence that God will be enough; an internal calm no matter how big the external storm.

As long as life appears manageable, the sun bright and waves small, I develop some illusion that I can handle it. When the waves get bigger and the wind starts blowing, it becomes apparent that I’m in this tiny little boat in a wide open sea and I am in no place to navigate my way alone. I feel like the disciples, well-seasoned fisherman who panicked in the storm and cried out for help. Yet on this same boat, Jesus slept. Storm outside. Peace inside.

Staying in this state of anxiety will bring torment, and seeking escape will bring another sort of the same. The only true rescue will come as I bow low before God, acknowledge my need and his ability to meet it, receive his comfort and empowerment, grab hold of his peace, and walk in it. I’ll let you know how that goes.