Faith and Falling

Have you ever experienced a time in your life when a leap of faith felt more like a distinctive push? I think it's happening to me, right here, right now...real time. I feel like I am standing at the edge of a cliff, I know I should do it, I know I should jump, but I'm still staring down, down, down at that deep, long drop and thinking...You know, it's not so bad right here, right here where I am. Yet, there's that push, gentle prodding is maybe more like it, but it's inching me closer and closer...and I'm running out of ledge.

Last year, a miracle happened.  Out of the blue, against all odds, I was called by the Principal of a small school within a deeply religious community and offered a job.  It came exactly at the right time - I had no job, and no backup plan.  God stepped in.  I had a good year, as teaching goes, and so when things began to unravel quickly, like when you try to hold on to a bunch of sand, so you hold tight, and more of it gets away in spite of your best efforts, I couldn't help but wondering what on earth God was doing.  He practically dropped me into that job, and now he is pushing me out.  Standing at the top, looking down toward the bottom, is harder I imagine, than staring up toward the top.

I think that one day I'll look back on all of this and be able to see the big picture - for now I just see the really big drop.  Yet, somehow I know if I can let go, really....let it all go, God will do both the pushing and the catching.

So, just in case you are standing there, like me - c'mon let's jump.

Faith Like a Child

A few nights ago I was sitting in the living room with my son, he was playing and having fun, when outside a group of scruffy looking guys, bedecked in strange long beards, tattoos and chains passed by the house.  Though we see many passers by our large picture window, I'd never seen that specific group before, and just as I recoiled inwardly and my brain bounded around thoughts like, Who are they? I wouldn't want to run into them in a dark alley. Why are they walking near our house? What do they want? I hope we locked the car. My son bounded over to the front window, with a wide, welcoming smile - and he waved.  To my surprise, several of the "gang" members smiled, and one even waved back. As my son hurried back to playing and chatter, I thought When did I lose that? 

I'm not sure. When was the last time I looked at people, ALL people and instead of being frustrated that they are in my way, or not moving fast enough, or intruding on my personal space, or rude because they look different than what I think they should, or upset because people haven't given me recognition lately? It's been a while.  When did I forget that I should be treating ALL people with the same warmth, and smile that emanated from my son? A smile never hurt anyone, nor did a kind hello ever kill anybody...but sometimes I act like if I have to do it, it might just kill me.

Thinking about the way my son hopped up, and ran to the window with a smile on his face, and his energetic wave as if he were welcoming friends instead of strangers, made me think, that's what Jesus is like. He isn't stopped by what we look like on the outside, or how we try to protect ourselves by the way we look, or an attitude that we hang onto.  Instead he greets strangers as friends.  It's easy to be polite, or superficial - but that's always what it comes across as - superficial. There was something about the genuinely innocent welcome that made all of the difference.  And aren't all people valuable enough to be treated that way? They are. It just takes some effort and a bit of forethought.

It's a goal I have.
Something to work at.
I'll let you know when its perfected.


For Bobbi - Who never misses an opportunity to treat people like they are important.

Fighting Rest

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

Rest? How can I rest? How can this be what God is asking me to do? I'm weary, that's for sure.  I've been trying to organize my life, my future, which feels a lot like its dependent on how I perform for interviews and such things.  It means waiting, not knowing, while fearful visions of failure or being forgotten, or not quite being good enough play themselves out in my dreams with alarming frequency.  And God wants me to rest?

But, that means that I have to hand it all over to Him, because as I've learned over the last few nights, holding on to the stress and pressure of it all, makes for an uncomfortable mattress.  The students in my classes look at me with alarm and ask, "Are you tired?" Tired? I'm exhausted.  But, if I want to sleep, that means giving it all up.  Handing it all over, and not being in control.  I don't like not being in control. Because, if I'm not in control - what will that mean? 

I guess it means, that still, after everything, I don't trust God.  I think that I have the one answer, the right answer, and have barely consulted Him about the question.   That he truly couldn't have what's best for me at heart, because he's busy with other things.  Haven't you watched the news? It's overwhelming.  God must have his hands full - and then what are things left up to? Chance? I don't like chance.  Besides, I'm a Christian, and if God is busy helping elsewhere, I should be competant enough to take care of myself. 

But, the words don't change.  Come to ME. If I take the time, and go to Him, I might find that His hands aren't full after all.  All you who are weary and heavy laden. He want's me to put this burden I am carrying down at his feet?  To just leave it there unattended? Or worse yet, what if He goes through it and finds that all of the things I am trying to control are really little and kind of embarassing after all.  I will give you rest. Sleep.  Refreshment. A long chat, where He reminds me again that He loves me, and He wants the best for me. When this is all over, and I look behind me, I think what I'll see is his leading, all the way along, and all of my carrying, picking things up to tote around and worry about, won't amount to anything after all.

Just Get Over It

I haven't been able to write anything I've been happy with for the last two weeks.  I used to think that when hard times happened in people's lives, people wasted time over exaggerating their circumstances. I always wondered was there really an excuse not to function?

And yet, here I am trying to make decisions about a future that is out of my hands, impress a boss at work when I feel overwhelmed with what's already on my plate - in a place I literally, barely understand. I am pretending that I know how to be a Christian wife and mother with a positive and enriching home environment, when I feel like if I have to have one more sudden death match over cooked asparagus, or the wii, or bedtime, I'll just have to let the cats raise the kids, 'cause they'll do a better job. Not to mention, that sometimes I really don't think I understand my husband at all and we're supposed to be best friends.  Hand in hand is the pressure of trying to please everyone all the time - because still, at thirty, sometimes I feel like I just want people to like me - and I'm not sure if they do - I'm not sure if I do. 

I'm not trying to fish for accolades or compliments, or even condolences.  I also sincerely apologize to those of you who read this and can only think, For goodness sake, quit complaining - get over yourself, get over IT. I'm not saying that this little slice of reality is pertinent - I'm just saying that, it's real. I could go on about how to stifle the negativity in your own life, tell you about some magic solution I've developed to push it away, but I'd be lying.  That's one thing I'm not, a liar.  In fact, I think part of the problem is, I've been pushing it down for far too long.  I don't like to deal with negativity - I like to ignore it.  Save it for another day, but the only problem is, it compounds, it doesn't disintegrate.  It creeps in, and suddenly I've made myself sick, I can't write any more, and the thought of running my own life is overwhelming. 

I heard at church last week, that time doesn't heal all wounds.  I think that's true.  I know that God heals, but if I don't bring him my struggles, my hurts and the truth of my own darkness, then I'll never get anywhere.  You can’t force these things. They only come about through my Spirit,’ says God-of-the-Angel-Armies. Zechariah 4: 5-7 or Not by might, nor by power, but by my Spirit, says the Lord of Hosts. It's not within my strength - it's God. He is the only one that can take me - or any of us, from the truths of our own realities, and move us into the life that he wants for us. Of course, I want to offer a solution - it's only natural for me, I feel as a writer, my writing should always conclude. But this one doesn't. Know that whatever is the truth of your reality, you aren't alone - I'm walking through it too. Day by day, sometimes moment by moment, God is with you, like he's with me.  Just keep walking with him, going to him, because he is the truth, and he says, Come to me all you who are weary and heavy laden - and I will give you rest. Matthew 11:28. 

Scaling the Wall

Unfortunately, lately I've been stuck where no writer enjoys - standing beside a great chasm and looking across, I can catch the smallest glimpse of a fertile land with ideas frolicking beside a bubbly spring, and characters sprawling languidly on the grass, waiting to tell me their stories.  I can see them, I can almost hear them - I just can't reach them.  I'll find a way to get to them, but for now, I'm sitting and looking at the gaping divide and I know I have to fly over, I just don't have anything with which to make wings...

Though you hear about it most often from writers, I am sure that others must experience the same phenomenon. Like...a Baker's Block, or Musician Misalignment or Cook's Catastrophes, I don't know, but this particular evil can't only haunt writers...it wouldn't be fair. So, what causes it? Life? Maybe...my last writers block lasted nearly two years - the business of a baby, and being a new Mom didn't lend itself well to my imaginary friends and their interesting issues.  The only time I had to talk to them was in the shower, or in the car, and who has a pen handy on such occasions as those? Maybe stress? I've been experiencing a bit of that lately - and my propensity to latch on to any niggling worry that floats through my skull might be somewhat of a distraction.  

Or maybe, just maybe - the thing that makes you good at something, that brings out the very best in you are the times where your own creativity and passion have momentarily dried up.  It makes me aware of them, aware of myself. Maybe it's good to fight through something now and then, to build that determination that pushes you forward.  Uncertainty is a hard one for me, it makes me feel like someone else is directing my future, and I don't like that.  But, I'm learning - slowly - that part of the fight is letting it go, giving it up, and letting God take things in his hands. It's then I find that I didn't actually have to fight so hard to work things out my own way, that what I saw as a chasm was only a crack. 

The Curse of Beautiful

Today I had the opportunity to sit and talk with one of my students.  Earlier in the year she wrote an essay for my class called Beauty and the Beast, in which she explained in a very heartfelt manner her own perspective about beauty. Her point of view was very focused on finding what is beautiful in people, instead of always looking at someone's appearance.  She is a beautiful girl, and sometimes I've wondered, and judged her, about the depth of her own character.  She showed me a message she received from a male friend that she had sent her essay to. She put a lot of time and effort into her essay and he had returned it with a "kind" but scathing review, particularly of her opinion.  

Though his words reeked of that rhetorical pseudo-maturity so often found clinging to the shirt tails of misguided early twenties university goers - I could tell she felt like she didn't have enough of a point to respond to his argument.  As I read the message over, with her sitting with me, we talked about his words and I started to point out some of the problems with his logic, and I could see her turning these thoughts over in her mind.  His general point was that all women can be beautiful, if they choose to treat their bodies properly, are thin, then they can be adored by their peers.  His point was that beautiful was defined at a thin woman, no matter what she was like.  He even went so far as to say that if his own daughter was overweight, he wouldn't force her to diet, but he wouldn't go out of his way to tell her she was beautiful, either.  The first thing that ran through my mind, was that this young person was going to get the shock of his life when he became a father, but also it saddened me to see the hurt in the eyes and heart of my student.  When we were finished talking extensively about his words, she looked at me and said, "He actually kind of proved my point. I used to think that he was good-looking, but now seeing what he thinks, he's not so hot anymore." I was proud of her.

I can't wait for her to find out that not all men are like this boy, who says he's her friend.  I can't wait for her to learn that whatever imperfection that she may see, the rest of the world sees as uniqueness that make her shine.   It is for all of us to remember...beautiful is an opinion, and yours is the only one that counts.

Dove Beauty Sketch 

I watched this link earlier, and very much appreciated what it had to say.  

To Have and to Hold

Celebrating 65 Years of Marriage
John and Louise, April 1948
We Love You

 There are times I feel like I live in a small, protective bubble.  I'm not a marriage expert, I've only been at it for eight years. I don't have a perfect marriage - I couldn't even really say what that looks like. We fight, we laugh, we talk, we agree to disagree, and I could definitely live without the burping. My husband is my best friend, my soft place to fall, my security. I love him more than Elizabeth Bennet loved Mr. Darcy, when I see him gather our children in his arms, and love them and hug them and breathe them in. If the words I love you were currency, we'd be millionaires, and we are - in more ways than one.  

But, recently I have connected with people who's views of marriage are drastically different from my own.  It is their cage, their battlefield, their nightmare.  Marriage is supposed to be a sacred, safe, loving place, and these problems between husbands and wives seem to be suddenly common.  Cheating - the sanitized word for adultery, sexual addiction and deviation from marriage, rejecting children and destroying family, pulling away from the sanctity, the safe place in marriage for purely selfish reasons - no thought to the future.  My heart breaks, and I don't know the answers, because I feel like I won the lottery, and how can someone who's indescribably rich reach out to someone who is poor?  I only know that my heart breaks, and that I need to give.

For those of us who are so blessed, protect your marriage, keep the spark - the work is well worth the reward.  For those of you who find yourselves in desperate situations, reach out. There are people who love you, who are ready to support you. For those of you starting out, a poem I read by Lena Lathrop when I was young really spoke to me, and stays with me even today.

A Woman's Question
By Mary "Lena" Lathrop


Do you know you have asked for the costliest thing
Ever made by the hand above--
A woman's heart, and a woman's life
And a woman's wonderful love?

Do you know you have asked for this priceless thing
As a child might ask for a toy,
Demanding what others have died to win,
With the reckless dash of a boy?

You have written my lesson of duty out,
Man-like you have questioned me;
Now stand at the bar of my woman's soul
Until I shall question thee.

You require your mutton shall always be hot,
Your socks and your shirt be whole;
I require your heart to be true as God's stars,
And as pure as heaven your soul.

You require a cook for your mutton and beef;
I require a far better thing.
A seamstress you're wanting for socks and shirts;
I look for a man and a king.

A king for the beautiful realm called home,
And a man that the maker, God,
Shall look upon as he did the first
And say, "It is very good."

I am fair and young, but the rose will fade
From my soft, young cheek one day,
Will you love me then 'mid the falling leaves,
As you did 'mid the bloom of May?

Is your heart an ocean so strong and deep,
I may launch my all on its tide?
A loving woman finds heaven or hell
On the day she is made a bride.

I require all things that are grand and true,
All things that a man should be;
If you give all this, I would stake my life
To be all you demand of me.

If you cannot do this -- a laundress and cook
You can hire, with little to pay,
But a woman's heart and a woman's life
Are not to be won that way.

For my dear Grandparents.  
Thank you.