Beer Analogies

One of my favorite hangs in Nashville is the deck of a craft beer establishment on 12th Avenue. It is a porch that has heard some of the best, and also some of the silliest, conversations. A deck that I have sat on with the dearest people I know. Beer, like coffee, brings people together in a powerful way, ya know?

The other night, my friend Kate and I were sitting with our Stiegl Radlers (seriously the greatest grapefruit explosion of your life) in the setting sun, talking life. Specifically, talking about what it looks like to let go of something. And the reality of a situation versus false hypotheses about a situation. Because, let's be real, how easy is it to act, react, and make decisions based off unfounded notions rather than actuality? I know I spend far too much time in a world of reality I have concocted largely out of nothing. It is safer and more comfortable to assume we are right; to put on blinders rather than to take a hard look at the facts. Because some facts are hard to swallow. Some facts make us look bad. Some facts don't just make us look bad, they reveal harsh truth about what we have done. Some facts hurt.

Somewhere in the middle of a Radler and potato wedges, we came up with the kind of analogy that can really only come from a beer hang. It's two boats, floating side by side. On the one hand is the boat with all the reality. The boat that isn't loaded down with fantasies and assumptions and biases. It's just a boat of facts. A boat of truth, if you will. A boat that moves quickly and confidently through the water.  The other boat rides a little lower in the water, because it carries a lot of baggage. A lot of what ifs, and but maybes, and lies and accusations and pain. It's also got a big armchair, for sitting and mulling over old wounds. This boat feels safe, but is actually dangerously close to capsizing all together.

Imagine, then, that the reality-boat floats alongside the other, and a rope is thrown and the two are connected. You, the passenger, jump from the dangerous armchair and the clutter onto the clean, pristine deck of reality. Phew. But the danger-boat is still attached. And you kind of want it that way. Because what happens if you lose all that baggage? All the things you've told yourself, false or partly true or all true (but twisted in a bitter light), that acted as a band-aid are on that other boat. To let it go completely feels impossible.

Here's what Kate and I decided. Ya gotta let that other boat loose. Full healing doesn't come until the baggage is set to sail. Forgiveness can't happen if you're still sitting on old wounds. There is just literally actually 100% nothing good that can come from hanging onto that sinking boat. I don't know if you've ever felt this way, but sometimes I think forgiveness will hurt worse than holding on to bitterness. I know cognitively that isn't the case, but my mind comes to that conclusion anyway and will not budge. It feels more dangerous to let go than it does to hang on to the baggage of the past.

But here's what I know now: Forgiveness and healing happen when you look at the situation, acknowledge is for what it is (reality and all), accept whatever hurt it brings, find the joy, and choose to move forward. Like my pal Oswald Chambers says, "Let the past sleep, but let it sleep in the sweet embrace of Christ, and let us go into the invincible future with Him."

I'm reminded of the song "Come Sail Away" by Styx.

Beer bonding is a beautiful thing.

Puzzle Pieces and Planning.

One time I had a crush on a coworker and it was the most ridiculous thing. I was legitimately head over heels for a guy that, sweet as he was, was not boyfriend or marriage or anything material for me. I say for me, because I'm sure he's someone's husband/boyfriend/anything material, but I am not that someone. Still, for about five months of my life I was CONVINCED this dude was potentially it. That some magical thing was going to happen and we would be 2gether 4ever. And I was so frustrated with myself, and with God, and with the unfairness of life in general, because the puzzle pieces that I saw fitting together, weren't. They were very much not fitting together. Like, we weren't even putting together the same puzzle.

It took about two weeks of me not living in the same city as him for the fog to be lifted, at which point I had a great laugh about that most ridiculous crush. And then I felt bad for roller coaster I put my friends on moaning about him for five months, when clearly everything they said about how wrong he was for me was one hundred percent correct. Outside perspective is a valuable commodity in the love game.

Coworker dude is one example. I have more. More examples of me trying to jam a round peg into a square hole, a triangular hole, a freakin' hexagon hole, whatever. (I don't wanna TALK about the summer after my freshman year of college.) Lots of times I saw potential and was sorely disappointed. And, in the midst of it, it was so hard (ie: impossible) to hear that outside perspective which, incidentally, is only a valuable commodity if you make use of it.

Fast forward a couple years. I'm there again. I saw great potential for a beautiful story to unfold, and it didn't. The puzzle pieces ended up not fitting. Round peg, not a round hole. This time hurt worse than the rest, for a thousand reasons that maybe won't matter five years from now. But the story is the same. I'm frustrated, and wounded, and wondering why the plan I made didn't pan out. Why something that theoretically looked so good turned out so badly.

My first reaction is to blame myself. I love to heap coals on my own head, always have. It's a terrible habit. My next reaction is to blame the guy who (dammit) won't adore me like I want him to. As if it's his fault he doesn't find me totally irresistible (?!). Then, after a while, I tend to blame God. I get really bent out of shape about the unfairness of the world and ask questions like, "Well, why does he get to find someone and I don't?! Will I be single foreverrrr?!" Which sounds silly, but I know every woman asks the same thing at some point in her life. Unrequited love is the worst, and being single is hard. There's no other way to spin it.

But here's the silver lining: The Lord has yet to abandon me in my hilariously tragic quest for love. In fact, He keeps showing up just in time to save me from some pretty big mistakes. He has this way of yanking me out of danger, of making it impossible for my plan to succeed, so that my eyes will open and I will see His footprints in the sand. And, okay, it hurts like freakin' hell sometimes. But I'm learning how to see it like this: "The kinder and more conscientious [the surgeon] is, the more inexorably he will go on cutting. If he yielded to your entreaties, if he stopped before the operation was complete, all the pain up to that point would have been useless." Wise words from my main dude, C.S. Lewis, from his book, A Grief Observed. I keep thinking God doesn't know what He's doing, or that He's out to get me. But then I look behind me and see the landmarks of grace; of times heartbreak turned out to be His version of a rescue mission. Given the evidence, it's probably safe to guess He has my back today just like he did when I was 15, and 18, and 22.

Big picture, the Lord continually pours out love and grace in quantities I will never deserve and cannot fathom. And He is orchestrating something I will not understand until it's right under my nose. He's putting together the puzzle, and He is the only one who knows where the pieces go. His promise is this, "I know what I'm doing. I have it all planned out-- plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for." (Jeremiah 29:11, The Message). It's a promise He has been whispering every day for my whole life, and there are days I totally miss it. Those days, it feels like everything is crashing down and the world is ending. But it's not. Because He is good.

Which means that it is ALL good.

Free Fall

There was a point in my life, pretty recently actually, that I didn't feel anything. Seriously. It sounds pretty nuts, but I didn't. I was empty and dry and there was an emotional wall no one could break down. One person in particular tried very, very hard to crack me. But nothing.

I couldn't for the world tell you what the problem was. There was no defining moment, no catastrophe, that caused the emptiness. I think it might have been gradual. An unintentional building up of a wall I didn't know was there, until all of the sudden I tried to walk past it. Regardless, I spent about a year unable to dig out an emotional response to anything other than the final scene of "Love Actually". I was very stuck. And I could feel, somewhere deep down, that it wasn't good.

Now, all I have are feelings that go so deep it seems like they are coming from the center of the earth. From the center of my soul. Maybe from the center of God. I don't even know what that means, but it sounds about right. I have been awakened to my heart's capacity to feel. I am stunned by that capacity, and more than a little afraid. There is a lot going on in there that I don't know what to do with. The scope of my insides is vast. It's like an emotional ocean that I am never going to get to the bottom of, but I feel like there is some pretty important information about the way I've been wired somewhere on the ocean floor.

So, what, I'm doomed to fail because I'm so deep? 

That doesn't seem fair.

At the same time, I'd rather be here than in the place that was so blank. I remember sitting in the dark with my best friend, unable to speak because there was literally nothing in my head. Now there's so much in there, it seems impossible to sort through it. 

I don't want to be blank.

I want to be full. To feel.

I just wish it didn't hurt so bad sometimes.

But I guess pain is proof that we are alive. That we are breathing and blood is pumping through our veins. That we are human. And that's good. God gave us souls, and souls feel things. That's how it works. That's why we're set apart from the rest of creation, and why eternity exists. I definitely don't feel stuck anymore. I feel very much like an out-of-control cart rolling down a mountain. Or a toddler taking her first wobbly, tottering run. Or like I'm free-falling. 

Maybe, potentially, that is the feeling I'm supposed to have. The more out of control I feel, the more control God can take. The deeper my soul goes, the further He can reveal Himself, which I think might reveal some things about me. That seems scary. But good. Scary good.

I'll take it.

Car Batteries

A few weeks ago, I ran into an ex and my car wouldn't start. Normally, those two situations wouldn't coincide, but in my case they did. He showed up at a moment I was not expecting to have to see him, just as I was getting in my car. Instead of being able to make a quick exit, my car wouldn't start. I panicked. Because I couldn't figuratively (and literally) escape the moment, and because, oh hey, I had a dead car.

I borrowed cables from a coworker, jumped the battery and drove off; furious at the ex, furious at my car, and furious at myself. At him because he didn't offer to help, at my car for not having my back when I needed an out (dumb car), and at myself for the way my heart was pounding. I hate, hate, feeling inadequate. And in that moment, a thousand things were making me feel inadequate.

Multiple phone calls later, all my options for cheap car repairmen (ie: friends who knew things about cars) were tapped out and I still had a dead battery. Fact: when I am emotionally worn out, every situation takes on a much bigger scope than it probably actually deserves. So my inner monologue went something like this:

My car won't start. I can't fix it myself. This is bad. I'm a failure. If I still had a boyfriend he would be fixing it for me and everything would be okay. Why isn't he here??? What did I do wrong, and why am I alone? It must be my fault. Everything is my fault. Why was I so dependent on him, anyway?! I'm fine. I don't need anyone else because I'm fine. Yeah okay I AM NOT FINE. AND MY CAR WON'T START.

So, okay, not exactly a sane reaction to a dead car battery. But that's life. Sometimes a dead battery carries a lot of baggage. Especially when you're already feeling like a failure. But then I thought to myself... Hey. I can change a damn battery. And this tiny little spark of something like independence, with a splash of sass, ignited.

I ended up calling a friend who took me to Auto Zone, where I bought a new battery and something to rub on the battery and asked the salesman just how hard it was to change a battery. Turns out, the instructions are right there on the internet and you only have to use one tool. I can handle one tool. I don't happen to own a wrench, so I went over to my married friend Kyle's house to borrow his wrench. But I didn't let him do it for me. He helped, because wrenches are tough, and also I didn't want to blow up my car, but I lifted the super heavy old battery out and put the super heavy new battery in, and rubbed the battery stuff on there. And my hands got really dirty and I felt really good.

I am not inadequate. I have spent a lot of time feeling like I am. But I'm not.
I am adequate.
I am capable.
I am okay.

Sure, I don't like being single and I want to know someone loves me enough to change my battery for me. But the fact is that I can change my own damn battery. There's a lot of freedom in the knowledge that I can change a car battery, and also that I now own my own set of jumper cables and can use those without blowing anything up. I'm still wrestling with inadequacy, and fear, and singleness. But I'm going to be just fine.

And so will my car.

Vision in the Valley, Part II

The other thing I learned about vision came from the July 6 devotion from My Utmost for His Highest.

Sometimes, God gives us the vision, promises His protection, and lets us dance on the mountaintop, basking in the joy of knowing He has something big and special for us to do. Oswald wrote, "We always have a vision of something before it actually becomes real to us." 

Aha. That's the kicker. It has to become real. C.S. Lewis illustrated the journey to Christ as a walk down a mountain. You can stand at the top of the mountain and see your destination... that sweet little cottage that has a fresh cup of tea waiting for you. It feels so close. But, in order to get there, you have to hike down the mountain, out of sight of the house. So far out of sight, it may seem impossible that you will ever find it again. When your eye is on the prize, any task seems doable. As soon as the dark trees cover the view and your bug spray starts wearing off, it's like WHAT THE ACTUAL HECK IS HAPPENING.

I'll tell ya what's happening. You're on the right track.

In order for the vision to become reality, "God takes us down to the valley to batter us into the shape of that vision." (Thanks, Oswald.) He will reveal the vision, the promise of what is coming, then He says, "Okay, kid, let's get ready for it." And forward we walk. But Satan is quick to jump in with temptation. Fear, discouragement, lies. Suddenly, the vision disappears and we feel abandoned. What happened to the vision?! WHEN DID THIS FOREST GET SO SCARY. In the moment, the time spent coming down the mountain feels endless. The goal is nowhere to be seen. Honestly, you forgot what you were moving towards in the first place.  

Have you ever been in that spot? Did you see the vision, only to have it disappear behind a bend in the road? It is a terrifying place to be. It's hard, and uncomfortable, and exhausting. But, "Every God-given vision will become real if we will only have the patience...ever since God gave us the vision, He has been at work." I will be the first one to tell you patience is one of my biggest struggles. I want the problem fixed yesterday. I want the circumstances to change immediately. I like to take the reins and make stuff happen. But good things? Those take time. And God? God's got all the time in the world. He's not hurrying. He is taking His time to make sure I am in shape for the goal. There is literally nothing I can do to speed up the process. And that is okay. The process doesn't need speeding up. The process is what it is, and walking (trudging, slogging, stumbling... you pick) through it is precisely what God has in mind. The only way to get from point A to point B is to make the journey, however long it takes. No rushing. Hard as it is, there is great peace in that reality. It means I don't have to make things happen. What will be, will be. I only have to trust the vision, and press on.

I think the most important truth to hang on to is that the valley is a place we are brought. God takes us down on purpose, in order to bring us back up infinitely better prepared for Kingdom work. It doesn't make sense, but there it is. I don't think we ever recognize the valley as part of the plan until we come out on the other side. Or maybe we recognize it when we take our eyes off the ground and look up. Ah, that's it. There is joy in the valley if we look heavenward, and choose to see Jesus. A dear friend sent me this prayer, from a collection of Puritan prayers called "The Valley of Vision".  

Thou hast brought me to the valley of vision,

where I live in the depths but see thee in the heights; 

hemmed in by mountains of sin I behold thy glory.

Let me learn by paradox that the way down is the way up, 

that to be low is to be high, 

that the broken heart is the healed heart, 

that the contrite spirit is the rejoicing spirit, 

that the repenting soul is the victorious soul, 

that to have nothing is to possess all, 

that to bear the cross is to wear the crown, that to give is to receive, 

that the valley is the place of vision.

Vision in the Valley, Part I

When I was in college, I found my grandpa's daily devotional book. It was My Utmost for His Highest, by Oswald Chambers. Each dated page has a short verse, and a few paragraphs of reflection (sometimes rebuke), and wisdom. I know he's not God, but Oswald knows what's up. I bought myself a copy of My Utmost, and have been using it on and off for about six years. It's interesting (and hilarious, perfect, etc.) how timely certain entries have been. I can forget to read for a week, then pick it up and BAM, my world is rocked by some soul-revealing truth. The Lord works in mysterious ways, am I right?

For the past week or so, Oswald's theme has been about vision. Or, more accurately, what to do when God gives us a vision, and we lose sight of it when the waves start rolling. To say that theme is applicable to my heart is an understatement. So, here is my unpacking of Oswald, Jesus, and vision, part one.

On June 27, Oswald's verse of choice was from Jeremiah. "'...I am with you to deliver you,' says the Lord." 

Jeremiah 1 is the story of Jeremiah's calling. God says, "Hey, dude, it's Me. It's time to do what I made you to do." 

Okay, first off, that is huge. Huge. I am reminded of the scene in The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe, when Aslan crowns the four Pevensie kids kings and queens of Narnia. They were clueless, ill-prepared and afraid. They were children. But Aslan made them royalty, and prepared them to fulfill their roles. He bestowed upon them dignity, power, and identity, even though they didn't deserve it or earn it. God works the same way, I think. He delights in using us, though we are broken people. He has a vision specific to you, and He shares it with you and promises to prepare you for it.

Initially, Jeremiah's all like, "Umm, I can't do all that. It sounds hard and I'm scared. Everyone will be mean to me."

Because humans get scared real quick. We see the vision, or part of the vision, and we're like UM NO THANK YOU I CAN'T EVEN. Maybe because we imagine trying to handle it in our own strength. I've noticed that more often than not, God's plan for a person's life is far grander than anything they would have concocted alone. Not grand in the sense of pearls and velvet and fame. But He knows that, by His power, we are capable of more than we think.

God responds to Jeremiah, "I will protect you. Do what I'm asking of you, and I will protect you. Don't worry about defending yourself, protecting yourself, or seeking justice for yourself. Just carry on in what I tell you to do, and I will handle the rest." 

I am a huge proponent of seeking justice. I do it selfishly all the time. If I feel I have been wronged, I have the hardest (hhhaaarrrdddeeessst) time letting it go. On the outside, that seems totally normal, even okay. Of course I'm allowed to be mad at the man who broke my heart. Of course I can be frustrated by a friend who has treated me poorly. There is every kind of justification in the world for holding on to hurt feelings. It's righteous anger, right? It's okay to be mad at a situation that is bad. 

But... "I am with you to deliver you." 

Wait. What? You mean it's not up to me to seek justice? It's not my job to fight for myself? Nope. Nope it's not.  Oswald wrote, "Wherever God sends us, He will guard our lives...looking for justice is actually a sign that we have been diverted from our devotion to Him." Y'all. That right there is the BIGGEST relief. Know what it means? It means I don't have to hold on to grudges in an attempt to rectify injustice. If a situation needs to be dealt with, God will make it happen. He is in the ring for me; I don't have to fight my own battles. I can focus on the vision. If I follow the Lord, and listen for His voice, and carry on in the work He has put before me, He will handle the hard stuff.

It's maybe the most freeing lesson I've ever learned. If God is fighting for me, two things become true:

1) There's no way I'm going to lose. If God is for me, who (seriously who?!) can be against me? Courage comes from the bone-deep knowledge that, ultimately, God wins. And if He wins, I win.

2) I can focus outward, and quit worrying about myself so much. Self-pity and self-seeking justice are unnecessary in light of God's promise to deliver. There is freedom to get out there and try, freedom to fail, and freedom to love big. There is freedom to forgive, too.

When God reveals the vision, step one is to agree to follow Him. To give up the need for control, and wholeheartedly walk into whatever He asks. The great thing is, we don't have to walk forward without the assurance that He is walking with us. 

"I am with you to deliver you." 

Written from the trenches.

Something big came up this week.

Honestly, "something big" has been coming up every week for most of 2014. I realized the other day that this year is nearly half over. And the thought bounced through my mind: "Well thank God it's almost done," as if a change of date will bring a change of circumstance. (Incidentally, it probably won't.) And the very next thought that popped up was, "Sweetheart, you asked for this. I'm working."

And that stopped me in my tracks.

This year-- this ridiculously hard, painful, confusing year-- is a direct answer to the prayer I whispered so many months ago. A prayer for the revival of my heart. A prayer for the recreation of the lukewarm life I was living. He answered, and my heart rebelled.

I have spent a lot of time wrestling with God and crying out to Him because of my circumstances. I have been discontent, impatient, afraid, and panicked. I have been convinced, at times, that God had surely turned His back to me. I have begged and begged for understanding, for clarity, and for closure. I have fought for acceptance, I have fought for love, and I have fought to be desired. Mostly, I think, the desire part. My heart longs to be desired, to be wanted. I feel it so deep in my gut, it hurts most of the time. Literally.

Well, all that effort has been 100% fruitless. All the fighting, all the trying, all the begging. Nothing has worked. Frankly, y'all, it's hella exhausting.

Two days ago, I sat in church. I love church, but I also hate it because I always end up crying. That's what happens when God does open heart surgery. There's not a lot to hold back the floodgates. I sat there, thinking about how undesirable I am and how alone I feel and how royally I seem to have screwed everything up. And then, we read this:

Some went out on the sea in ships;
    they were merchants on the mighty waters.
²⁴ They saw the works of the Lord,
    his wonderful deeds in the deep.
²⁵ For he spoke and stirred up a tempest
    that lifted high the waves.
²⁶ They mounted up to the heavens and went down to the depths;
    in their peril their courage melted away.
²⁷ They reeled and staggered like drunkards;
    they were at their wits’ end.
²⁸ Then they cried out to the Lord in their trouble,
    and he brought them out of their distress.
²⁹ He stilled the storm to a whisper;
    the waves of the sea were hushed.
³⁰ They were glad when it grew calm,
    and he guided them to their desired haven.
³¹ Let them give thanks to the Lord for his unfailing love
    and his wonderful deeds for mankind.

Psalm 107. A picture of how, sometimes, God puts you through hell to bring you even closer to Him. 

And somewhere in the middle of Psalm 107, I heard this whisper:

"Precious girl, I want you. I desire you. Believe me, please."

And, okay, I burst into tears. Because God was telling me He wanted me. He actually really wants my heart so fiercely, He will push me to my limits, to the places where I feel I will absolutely not survive, in order that I will collapse into Him. I prayed for a heart-level recreation, and He is in the process of answering. He is stirring up that dang tempest for one reason: He wants me.

Let's take that in for a second. Because it applies to everyone, not just me.

God. Wants. Us. He wants me. He wants you. His desire is so great, the Being sitting at His right hand at this moment has holes in His hands and feet. And somehow I still sometimes don't believe it. But, y'all, there's even grace for that. God is relentlessly pursuing me, and actively showing me grace when I don't respond well to His pursuit. He does the same for you.

It is actually the most mind-blowing reality imaginable. And, the more I've thought about it, the more I realized God has actually spent a lot of time answering my prayers this year. Some of them in the exact way I wanted, some not so much. But He is most certainly listening.

Because He wants me.

So, listen, it's a process. I still feel like a certifiable lunatic 99.5% of the time. I still can't see where this is going or what the point is. But I am starting to see God's hand moving. I can trace where He has been, and marvel at the plan as it has unfolded thus far. Undeniably, He is gettin' shit done. (Is it okay to say shit in reference to God??) 

2014 is half over. If I had it my way, the second half would be wildly different. Maybe it will be. Also maybe not. Regardless, 
Let them give thanks to the Lord for his unfailing love and his wonderful deeds for mankind.