where waves grow sweet

Keep on asking, and you will receive what you ask for. Keep on seeking, and you will find. Keep on knocking, and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks, receives. Everyone who seeks, finds. And to everyone who knocks, the door will be opened. Matthew 7:7-8

I think I’ve shared my deep affinity for the gps component on my phone. It is such an improvement on the old days of printing maps from mapquest before leaving the house. The main problem with that method was that you had to know exactly where you were going beforehand, and there could be no deviating from the plan. If you took a wrong turn or added a stop, it changed everything and your map became ineffectual.

Now, I am free to hop in the car and drive, knowing that I have help when I need it. If I am completely lost and need to get a sense of my surroundings, this heavenly little gps will locate me by satellite and tell me where I am.  And, as if a gift from God for my existence on this earth, it can tell me how to get where I need to go. With “current location” as a starting point, and an address or a store name as an ending point, it will map out my course. No matter how many times I fail or get off course, it never shames me. It just adjusts the directions and sends me on my way.

Recently I got lost trying to figure out some spiritual things, and felt all turned around and upside down and inside out and couldn’t quite grab hold of the things I felt were sitting right in front of my crossed eyes. I tried to retrace my path but ended up somewhere I didn’t recognize at all, with a useless map on the passenger seat and a bit of panic rising up.

A good friend, who was walking out a major struggle at the time and looking for some answers, arrived at the conclusion that she just needed to seek the Lord by carving out time with him and he would set everything right. It is so simple, but brought me back to the truth I knew and forgot and know again. That there is no place on, above, or below this earth that the Lord can’t find us. Not only can he track where we are, but he knows exactly how to get us where we need to go. And not only does he know how to get us there, but it is his very heart to lead us there, step by step, until we arrive at our destination.

It doesn’t matter how many times we make a wrong turn, get distracted, or are lured off the path by some unnamed coffee shop. He will never shame us, and will always, always direct us in the way we need to go. The best part is we don’t even need to know where we are or where we need to be. He knows. He has the directions for every good thing we want and need. He knows where we need to be protected, and where we need to be stretched. He knows where we need encouragement, comfort, satisfaction, strength, wisdom, and all the rest. He has our healing in his hands. And it is all ours as we seek him, ask him, listen to him, learn from him, be with him. We will arrive at the places of our hearts desire, being better people for the company, and sporting a smile instead of the disheveled look of a weary traveler.

But those who trust in the LORD will find new strength. They will soar high on wings like eagles. They will run and not grow weary. They will walk and not faint. Isaiah 40:31

Well, I just signed up for a half marathon in February which I will be walking, not running. Maybe that’s cheating, but it’s what I’ve got and I’m going with it. It’s hard to say exactly why I feel compelled to pay money to walk really far, but I do and I’m going with that too.

Here’s the funny thing. It was on one of my recent walks to the beach – on the crappy part when I’d walked like 8 miles and was almost home yet a seeming eternity away – that I decided I wanted to walk even farther. Maybe it’s because I’m learning to see some of the hard stuff as a journey; as something not only to push through but to gain from.

After deciding on this one in February, I came across another one in May, and decided it made much more sense to put it off. I mean, I have been very busy and the holidays are coming, and more time is better, right? My head said absolutely yes, but my heart said heck no.

I am coming to recognize this voice as good and wise and decidedly inspired by God because I am neither good nor wise. When I listen to it – this voice that overrides fears and doubts and laziness, that calls me into quietness and then up out of it – there is never regret; only joy.

So I went ahead with the one in February and will do what I can with the time I’ve got. Who knows, maybe by May I’ll be ready to walk the whole darn marathon. Probably not. But what I do know is that I will continue to listen to the voice of the Lord until I know it as well as my own and until I follow it more faithfully.

In repentance and rest is your salvation, in quietness and trust is your strength. (Isaiah 30:15)

It’s been a whirlwind of a weekend. Full of good things and great people. I feel lucky. And beat. But as I am finally having a chance to sit down in a quiet room with my plans wrapped up, my responsibilities accomplished, and my weekend coming to an end, I feel peace.

I was inspired tonight by a post by my dear friend, Sarah, to be quiet and reflect. So, in lieu of writing tonight, I am going to share a post from her blog, Spiritual Wheaties (www.spiritualwheaties.blogspot.com):

Whistle while you WORK, dammit!

You know, I think there is a big push in our culture to suppress ingenuity, imagination and intelligence. We end up with this massive “to do” list that consumes so much of our time that actual thinking and reflection is sacrificed for work, work, work.

I think about my students, particularly my IB students. They have a very big to do list. Between Extended Essays, Internal Assessments, External Assessments, classroom requirements, and college applications, it is a wonder that they have time for any extra-curricular activities (which of course they need in order to have sterling college applications that show their dedication to being well-rounded… whew). Then there is the life they live, which is very complicated because they are very complicated beings, emotionally turbulent, hormonally variable, tired, growing, and sensorily overloaded. It makes my head spin to think about it.

And then I think about myself. I teach, and yet so much of my job is ostensibly NOT about teaching. I have to analyze data, assess school-wide problems, determine solutions for said problems, participate in professional development, participate in surveys, individually coach failing students, promote programs, write recommendation letters, advise extra-curricular clubs, contact parents, and meet with colleagues. All of those are important, and necessary parts of a functioning school, but I wonder how much they add to my teaching practice. As a teacher, I find that in order to be a better teacher, I must reflect on my practice daily. That may involve sitting and staring at a wall. And perhaps this sitting and staring at a wall has been mistaken for “free time” by the powers that be. Henceforth, my obligatory “to do” list grows.

I tried something different with my seniors this last week. They had to visually represent a scene from Pilgrim at Tinker Creek and explain how it used the perspective of Via Positiva, which we had been talking about that day. They wowed me completely with these creative, thoughtful, funny, and ingenious ideas. And they came up with these ideas in 10 minutes! Their imagination is intact. Their ingenuity is right under the surface waiting to be unleashed!

When did reflection and thinking and considering become so suppressed? My personal belief is that this idea came about from the Puritans. We are a nation founded on a very strong work ethic. Those people had to work in order to live here. This work ethic founded America, gosh-darnit, and was amplified during the depression when my grandparents grew up. My grandfather was a hard-worker who put in an honest day’s work as a metal worker. Later, in the 60’s, my grandparents couldn’t understand my uncle’s job as a scientific researcher. They couldn’t understand how someone could be paid to think about salamanders.

Where would we be without creativity and thinking and reflection. We wouldn’t have the computer without creativity. We wouldn’t have life-saving surgical devices without reflection. We wouldn’t have the unbelievebly useless devices advertised at Bed Bath and Beyond, products like “The Mangroomer” (really? reaaaaaaallly?). Okay, I guess that isn’t the best argument for my point today.

What I do think is that reflection and thinking are critical (if somewhat pooh-poohed) aspects of any professional practice. I wonder if we can allow ourselves the time to sit and think. The time to reflect on what we do well and what we can do better. The time to stop and make decisions that aren’t based on panic, time, or desperation.

My challenge to you today is that you stop and think for 20 minutes. Stare out a window, listen to yourself, think about what you do and how you do it. Your practices will not suffer from your pausing.

By wisdom a house is built, and through understanding it is established; through knowledge its rooms are filled with rare and beautiful treasures. Proverbs 24:3-4

My sister, Karen, and her husband, Gino, put an offer in on a house last week. It was accepted and they are thrilled. Of course there are inspections and other things that still have to happen, but it is looking good. The house is all the way in Maryland, but I am extremely happy for them anyway. Especially because they have an active daughter and another on the way, and a dog that gets depressed if she doesn’t have room to romp. And maybe even more so because they have been on a long journey to get where they are and it is always nice to settle after a long journey.

This got me wondering about myself. I have never wanted to buy a house. Ever. Not that I wouldn’t like to live in a nice neighborhood, maybe even in a house with a  pool and a nice place to sit outside. But the thought of buying something feels weighty and restrictive. Maybe that’s why I like my tortoises so much. They have a sense of permanence without restriction.

This reaction may have something to do with the fact that we moved dozens of times when I was a kid, and buying and selling houses seemed to be a driving factor in that process. Moving was hard and a hassle. It made it difficult to grow roots or emotionally settle in any given place. It also made it easy to avoid problems, and created a rhythm of newness and change. If I am at all adaptable, this may be why.

But it can’t all be due to my upbringing. Two of my siblings have jumped into the settled life of home purchases, and the other will probably do the same the moment he is able. Which, again, makes me wonder about myself.

My mom has always called me a free spirit, but I’m starting to wonder it that just means I am allergic to any kind of meaningful commitment. I love wide open spaces in my physical and emotional world, and hate the idea of being pinned down. The thought of having the same job for any number of years squashes my brain against my skull like one of those spinny rides at a carnival. And being bogged down by duty sucks the life out of me like a hungry pig at a teat. I would have made a terrible queen.

I have made progress though. We have lived in this house for several years, and I’m happy about that. It has been an extraordinary pleasure to build relationships rather than start up new ones every year or two. I worked at my last job for nearly four years, which was a huge milestone, and I only left because I was laid off, so that doesn’t even really count.

I also have to pat myself on the back for having been a mom for 15 years. This role has played an enormous part in reigning in all my crazy temptations and teaching me to be still. I am coming to love that stillness. It is so good. But not stillness in a home with a my name on the mortgage. Which is also good for now, since I don’t exactly have wads of cash laying around looking for a permanent residence.

p.s. I just found that verse on the top and think it is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever read. It makes me want to change my whole post. But I have to go pick Cole up at Disneyland so you’ll just have to wait for whatever deep and meaningful thing I would have said.

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Matthew 11:28

Last week felt tumultuous on some levels. Maybe it was dredging up stories from hard times, despite the clear narrative of God’s love throughout. Maybe it was the effort involved in wrapping my unfit brain muscles around the new truth I am learning about the Bible and this great God I serve. Maybe it was the slower pace at work hindering my momentum, and the ensuing struggle with motivation to commit my heart there rather than here.

Regardless, it has been a quiet, gentle weekend. Salve to a raw soul. On Friday night, I watched an old Audrey Hepburn with my mom. We discussed our thoughts on our class and why the law does not contradict the promise of God. I then had a late-night exercise session with to my circa 1983 Callanetics video.

Yesterday, I went on a walk to think and pray. It was a stunning summer-like day and even though I planned to turn around at the bridge, I found myself walking to the beach, sorting through thoughts that have been lingering for a few years. I intended to let them go and get closure, but instead opened up a dialogue with God that will continue on until they reach a natural end. I came home and soaked my body in the tub, while rereading parts of a book that challenged me. I read some of it to Cole too, while he feigned disinterest. Then we played Life, best two out of three games, and both cheated… just a little bit. We watched a kids movie and a British sitcom, and laughed together.

I slept until 10:00 this morning and threw some clothes on to meet my friend, Kristi, at my favorite Peet’s. It’s the one on MacArthur with the tables gathered around the fountain. I sipped a chai latte while my shoulders toasted in the sun. We spent three lazy hours getting caught up on life and family and work. She got bangs and new sunglasses, and looked fantastic. She is finally getting over the cold that took her down – just in time for her trip to New York, when I will be staying at her house, watching her dogs, and ensuring enjoyment of the pool and jacuzzi.

It is a beautiful day. My soul feels as quiet as my small tortoise hibernating beneath the mossy ground. I think I might ask Cole to join me for a game of miniature golf. I know he’s getting older and I’m no longer his favorite person to spend time with, but there are these windows of connection that can be flung open from time to time for fresh air and a chance to enjoy the sweetness of a November summer.

 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. Romans 8:38-39

A few posts ago, I shared about the relentless grace of God at one point in my life and alluded to another. This is about that time.

At 19, I married Sean. We’d known each other as kids and reconnected at his sister’s wedding, which my dad did the ceremony for. I remember standing in the kitchen that night telling my mom he would be fun to party with. I’m sure she was thrilled.

And party, we did. But not quite in the fun way the word implies. There were many late nights with paranoid people in hotel rooms or neglected houses, snorting up powder that burned its way through our nostrils and sucking in cigarette smoke until it hurt to breathe.

I was in no place to step into a relationship, let alone a lifetime commitment. But I saw wonderful qualities in Sean and an unfulfilled potential that love would draw out. And he seemed to see something in me too. I felt understood. Our broken pieces fit together.

We decided to get married in a casual conversation on the way back from a trip to the desert with my family. I can’t recall how we reasoned this out after 3 months of dating, but it seemed a light and easy decision at the time. We were living together anyway, and had plans to move to Colorado. I wonder now if it was our need for perpetual motion and change; an inability to remain still. It is hard to say.

We moved to Colorado a short while later. We chose the town of Durango by throwing a finger down on a map of the state. It was a picturesque environment, but a painful time. We were explosive and damaging to each other. Hateful words were said. There were jealousies and abuses.

When Sean’s sister and her husband moved to the island of Lanai in Hawaii, their descriptions of the island sounded pleasant and alluring. We were desperate to get away from ourselves and the chaos we had created, so we sold everything and moved. We brought ourselves with us, so there was more of the same. But things were not as volatile as before. Maybe because the use of hard drugs had diminished. Mostly we smoked pot, which had a calming effect on the relationship and served as an escape for me.

But despite my attempts to disconnect from myself, I could still feel this internal alarm that something was terribly wrong. There were undercurrents in our relationship and beliefs that carried things where they shouldn’t go. There were distortions, and I could do nothing but bend into them. I was hurt more deeply during this time than almost any other; actions that marred me and spoke of my lack of value, confirming what I already believed.

But there was some happiness too. We lived in a fourplex with concrete floors that Sean painted a bright purple, with the cockroaches he eventually befriended. Rent was $200 a month. Our neighbors, native to the island, were unique and wonderful people. On one end was a quiet elderly woman who lived a modest, spotless life. In the middle was a mysterious man with long dark hair and chickens who freely wandered. And on the other end was Earl the Pearl – a gregarious man with dark skin, a beer belly, and lots of friends – who insisted anyone passing by drink a warm Budweiser with him and listen to stories.

Behind our place was a banana tree, where I stood in the morning to drink my Kona coconut coffee and smoke my cigarette. It was the highlight of my day and the only thing that got me out of bed in the morning. I took the shuttle from the center of the island where everyone lived, across the surprisingly arid landscape, and down to my job at the resort, where I spent the day overlooking the stunning colors of Manele Bay. I was no prize as a waitress, but there were good things and people in my job. I found a sense of community there, but kept it as separate as possible from the rest of my world.

After several months on the island, I started to get very emotional. I was surprised by the volume of tears and my inability to hold them in. I think Sean was surprised too. It was strange because I had become so removed from emotion, pretty much a nonentity that went about in life without really existing. It was hard to know what to do with myself.

It dawned on us one day that I just might be pregnant. So early one morning, I went to the clinic, the only place on the island to see a doctor. They sent me to the lab portion of the small wood building, where I met a friendly technician in a white coat, with short-ish curly hair and no makeup to speak of. I peed into a cup, handed it over to her, and then paced out front by the shrubbery while I nervously inhaled a cigarette.

After what seemed like an extraordinarily long time, she called me back in and reported that the test came back positive; that I was indeed pregnant. She could have had no idea what I’d been through up to that point, what my marriage looked like, or what I thought of myself. But she had to have seen the joy on my face.

It was Valentines Day of 1995, the day I experienced the most outright declaration of love I have ever known; the day I first knew that God loved me. I hated myself and felt unworthy in every way, but I knew that this little baby was clean and pure and loved, and that I had been entrusted with him so it meant I had value. And I now had a reason to live.

Faith sprung up from nowhere like a jack-in-the-box. Suddenly it all made sense. All the things I’d learned growing up in church finally applied to me.  Every day, I walked around the island for an hour or two and prayed and sang out all the songs that were in my heart. Everything looked different; brighter and warmer.

I started making decisions that were good and wise, small ones at first but they grew to be bigger and more significant. This was my second chance in life and I wasn’t going to blow it. There was joy in my heart, and I danced through the rest of the pregnancy. Sure, there were hardships. And there were plenty of heartaches as I struggled to lay down my addictions. But God was good and He loved me and I knew it.

Near the end of my pregnancy, we moved back to California to be near our families, a choice that turned out to be a huge blessing. And on October 7, 1995, on his very due date, Cole Traveler Gustavson was born.

In the heartbeat of this little person, the whole story of Christ unfolded for me – the lowly shepherds in the field being honored, the filthy prostitutes being loved and accepted, the outcasts finding a home, wretched sinners being forgiven. It is a story of love, from start to finish, and I, for one, have never been the same.

A song that seems to sum it up: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JQej67Hd1FI.

My mom and I are taking an online Bible class together, which I think is very cute. One of the assignments this week was to write a post on what legalism looks like in the church. The following was my mom’s post, which struck me as a big bright spotlight on one of our greatest (and most defeating) tendencies as believers. Enjoy.

*****

What is more, I consider everything a loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them garbage, that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which is through faith in Christ—the righteousness that comes from God on the basis of faith. Phillipians 3:8-9

There is a very subtle way legalism plays out in all of us, and filters into the church. When we first come to know the Lord, we receive the free gift of grace that Jesus’ blood dearly bought. We are so light with the wonder of it, seeing only the fullness of his life. But as we go on, we think we should begin to try to the do things we are learning; the things a Christian would do. As he is changing us, we think it is up to us to keep this up. Our acceptance, which was purely based on the finished work of Christ, is transferred into service or performance. So now we are doing things not because we are free and forgiven, but because we think we won’t be accepted by leaders, friends, and ourselves for being spiritual.

Everything in our lives has to begin and end with the childlike belief that only by the blood of Jesus are we accepted before God. Whether I am a newly born baby in Christ or 60 years in, Christ Jesus is my righteousness. Nothing added can change the truth. It is never based on what we can do, but on what has been done.

How it seeds its way into the church is that it sets up unspoken rules on how to advance or achieve acceptance and climb the ladder of church leadership. Then we grow weary in thinking we are working for Christ when we are working in what has become a legalistic system, which leads to death and no longer has any resemblance to the life and love of Christ.

Another trap is that we believe we can’t approach God if we have had a bad day or weren’t kind or patient. But if we had a good day and have been kind and helped people and read our Bible, we feel like we are in the Spirit and think how pleased God is with us. But there is just one standard for his acceptance: We can approach only by the blood of the Lamb.

*****

Yep, thought you’d like it.

Since the topic on the forefront of my mind tonight is my newfound affinity for brussel sprouts (roasted up with a little oil and salt… oh my gosh), I am happy to say that I will not be writing a post tonight. Instead, I am handing it over to my dad who wrote the following article for Worship Leader magazine. But keep it on the down low, since it hasn’t been published yet.

*****

Monday was pretty ordinary this week till I opened an email and spent the next half hour in utter bliss, playing the video over and over.  Maybe you’ve seen/heard the” flash event” that took place October 30^th at Macy’s City Center in Philadelphia – called a “random act of culture.”

The camera panned the large open area of Macy’s as the organ played with erudition in the background. People of all ages and ethnicities were busy shopping, the beautiful marble area a lovely background for their mundane mall missions.

Then with breathtaking suddenness, the organ struck the opening passage of the Hallelujah Chorus, and over 600 singers scattered among very large crowd of shoppers began singing in perfect time and four part harmony, “Hallelujah! Hallelujah … for the Lord God omnipotent reigneth … hallelujah!  Hallelujah!”  Members from choirs around the city had gathered for this “flash event” and sang with such energy, beauty, enthusiasm and precision I was almost drawn to look up to see Jesus coming.

The shoppers were stunned.  They looked around, they smiled, laughed, held up their children – some attempted to join in.  I smiled, I laughed, I cried, I joined in.  Then I played it again.  And again.  My day had been invaded by Jesus.  And as I considered what I was watching and experiencing, I realized that in a very real way Jesus had, in fact, come to that mall.  As the song ended the crowd exploded in sustained applause.

Worship, celebration, the coming of Jesus – not just “in church” but as the church lives in but not of the world.  As disciples, we’re called to be the Hallelujah Chorus as a way of life.  Whether in a mall or in school or at home and work  – we have the great privilege of “declaring the praises of him who has called us out of darkness into his marvelous light.”  Until Jesus does come, we are the light of the world, the incarnation (“Christ in you, the hope of glory”).  May we sing more.  Even hum in Macy’s as we meditate on God’s love and goodness.  May we demonstrate His love so richly that others not only stop and take notice, but join in the song of Jesus they already vaguely know.

“Hallelujah! For our Lord God Almighty reigns. Let us rejoice and give him glory.”  Rev. 19:6

*****

If you haven’t yet seen the video he’s referring to, check it out at  www.youtube.com/watch?v=wp_RHnQ-jgU. Pretty much amazing.