I had the privilege to teach at our church Sunday evening. And when I say "teach" I mean preach, as in, behind the pulpit. This was a big deal for me for so many reasons and I must say I really loved sharing my heart with my church family. They are so gracious and kind and good. Here is a little of what I shared:
As we enter into this advent season: What is it that we are waiting for? Presents, food, time with family, time off of work? Or is it something bigger. Something wilder, something new. What if we would stop. Stop and hear Mary’s story. Or if we could look through Mary’s eyes and really see. Can you hear it? The stillness of snow falling, really listening to the words of O Holy Night, wishing a stranger Merry Christmas with a knowing look in your eye. Can you see it? It’s in the beauty of our snow-dusted mountains, in the simplicity of nativity scenes, the joy and delight of our children, even in the stars on top of so many decorated trees. It is in the person ringing the Salvation Army bell in the freezing cold, it’s in sacrificing some so that others have something, it’s looking people in the eye and telling them you love them or that you are listening or that you care. Advent is taking time, a precious gift, to stop and soak in what everything is pointing towards, whether you are one who believes it or not.
Can you hear it? Can you see?
Christ is coming.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Friday, October 30, 2009
snow (and lots of it)
It snowed for two days. Looked like this:
And apparently this is only October.
And apparently this is only October.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
i get by...
I wish I could say that things are oh-so-much-better. But I have a small little feeling that I just may be in for a bit of a desert season, a dry riverbed, the misty lowlands…you get the idea.
God is still distant. Words like faith and hope seems dim in my memory. It feels like I am not even sure how to use them anymore. Even love, the one thing I could sometimes hold onto...even love has felt foggy and my heart seems unsure. It is hard to pin down what I really believe.
I do know that some things have helped. It has helped, and felt most significant, to know I am not alone (and neither are you, by the way). The comments left on my last post made me realize I am not the only one feeling this way. Thank you for those. (And, Molly, you may be crazy, but I believe you are the good crazy, like me.) And I was, and am, being cared for by phone calls, heartfelt messages, e-mails, pockets of meaningful conversations, and some real, live cards. “Thank you” feels too small to say, but it’s really all I've got.
It has helped to say “yes” to people who want to help me. To be honest about where I am even when I know some only want to hear that things are getting better. It has helped to be honest with God, even though it looks ugly and feels ugly. To bear my soul in the only way I know how even when the answer (or non-answer) is silence.
It has not helped to get so angry and frustrated at my children. Or to expect Justin to read my mind and act accordingly. I have found that it really does not help to say the f-word over and over in my head, although sometimes I’m still on the fence about that one. And I think I’m done with feeling sorry for myself…pretty sure I’m done, at least.
It has undeniably helped to rely on my friends. To believe it when one says she thinks that what I am experiencing is a deepening of my faith. To hang on to the words of another who shared this quote: “In the dark night of the soul, bright flows the river of God.” And she believes it to be true, whether I can feel it or not. It has helped to believe that I am known and that I am loved. To believe there are friends far and near who understand, who want to be here for me, who care.
I am only reading good fiction, Anne Lamott, and Robert Benson these days. Another set of loyal friends in dire times. Anne wrote this: “Faith is not about how we feel; it is about how we live.” There is something true and hopeful in this that I haven’t even begun to figure out yet…but to hold on to it, to repeat it as a mantra for my little life, it’s about all I can do right now.
If you resonate with any of this, or with the last post, or somewhere in between, I sincerely hope you are being cared for in even the smallest of ways, that you feel even a tiny bit known and loved in the midst of all the doubt, craziness, and uncertainty. I hope God meets you right where you are, meets me right where I am. In the meantime, I guess I will do what another friend suggested: wait for it.
God is still distant. Words like faith and hope seems dim in my memory. It feels like I am not even sure how to use them anymore. Even love, the one thing I could sometimes hold onto...even love has felt foggy and my heart seems unsure. It is hard to pin down what I really believe.
I do know that some things have helped. It has helped, and felt most significant, to know I am not alone (and neither are you, by the way). The comments left on my last post made me realize I am not the only one feeling this way. Thank you for those. (And, Molly, you may be crazy, but I believe you are the good crazy, like me.) And I was, and am, being cared for by phone calls, heartfelt messages, e-mails, pockets of meaningful conversations, and some real, live cards. “Thank you” feels too small to say, but it’s really all I've got.
It has helped to say “yes” to people who want to help me. To be honest about where I am even when I know some only want to hear that things are getting better. It has helped to be honest with God, even though it looks ugly and feels ugly. To bear my soul in the only way I know how even when the answer (or non-answer) is silence.
It has not helped to get so angry and frustrated at my children. Or to expect Justin to read my mind and act accordingly. I have found that it really does not help to say the f-word over and over in my head, although sometimes I’m still on the fence about that one. And I think I’m done with feeling sorry for myself…pretty sure I’m done, at least.
It has undeniably helped to rely on my friends. To believe it when one says she thinks that what I am experiencing is a deepening of my faith. To hang on to the words of another who shared this quote: “In the dark night of the soul, bright flows the river of God.” And she believes it to be true, whether I can feel it or not. It has helped to believe that I am known and that I am loved. To believe there are friends far and near who understand, who want to be here for me, who care.
I am only reading good fiction, Anne Lamott, and Robert Benson these days. Another set of loyal friends in dire times. Anne wrote this: “Faith is not about how we feel; it is about how we live.” There is something true and hopeful in this that I haven’t even begun to figure out yet…but to hold on to it, to repeat it as a mantra for my little life, it’s about all I can do right now.
If you resonate with any of this, or with the last post, or somewhere in between, I sincerely hope you are being cared for in even the smallest of ways, that you feel even a tiny bit known and loved in the midst of all the doubt, craziness, and uncertainty. I hope God meets you right where you are, meets me right where I am. In the meantime, I guess I will do what another friend suggested: wait for it.
Monday, September 21, 2009
the misty lowland
I'm not going to lie, things have felt rough lately. Words like disconnected, confused, apathetic, weary, come to mind. Parenting has been especially challenging and this challenge really hasn't been the best thing to ever happen to my marriage. And I'm sad about my parents' divorce and all its terrible consequences. I feel lonely and a little trapped and a little scared. And in the midst of it all God feels, well, distant...hundreds of miles away distant. And I just can't muster up the strength, the desire to do anything about it. Then I think that He's God...can't He do something? Will He? I don't know. All I do know is that I want to want Him. I want to desire Him again and trust and believe. But today all I can do is read this prayer and hope that it enough:
O God, I have tasted Thy goodness and it has both satisfied me and made me thirsty for more. I am painfully conscious of my need for further grace. I am ashamed of my lack of desire. O God, the Triune God, I want to want Thee; I long to be filled with longing; I thirst to be made more thirsty still. Show me Thy glory, I pray Thee, so that I may know Thee indeed. Begin in mercy a new work of love within me. Say to my soul, "Rise up my love, my fair one; come away." Then give me grace to rise and follow Thee up from this misty lowland where I have wandered so long. (A.W. Tozer, The Pursuit of God)
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