The thoughts are
coming fast enough that I don't know if this is going to be one of those ugly
posts or one of the profound ones. I
don't know how it ends.
I like it when
things are wrapped up all neatly in even units of time. Yesterday, I was comparing two pictures of
myself. One was from last September and
the other was from last week. I was
planning to use them in a post on my personal blog, probably on my
birthday. I was planning to talk about
how much year #37 of my life has changed me.
It was going to be orderly. Well,
that plan just got blown out of the water, and the irony runs deep, because the
pictures are a side by side of me standing on each coast (the Pacific Ocean,
last fall, on a trip to Oregon... the Atlantic Ocean just days ago in Florida). The past 11 months have been
transformative. They haven't been too
fun, and I didn't see it coming.
In that first
picture, I had just come through what was a pretty awful year. Astoundingly, as I drove by myself to a piece
of the Earth that I had never seen before, as I hiked down the pier and
immersed myself in the winds and the waves on a very cold day, on a day when I
had much of the shoreline to myself; I was feeling about as confident as I ever
have in my life. I'm not sure it fit the
circumstances. Let me reiterate that it
had been a rough year. Let me be clear
that I am terrified of water. And yet, I
had enough confidence to snap some makeup-less selfies with all of my hair
pulled back, and I can see the fire in my eyes.
Was it weird timing for such a fabulous day? Admittedly, it was. But, although I am careful to avoid the pride
of thinking that I have it all together (because I never do), on that day I
felt close. I thought I knew how the
next steps of life were going to play out, and I liked the plan. For most of my life, my discernment skills
have been pretty awesome. I hate
surprises, and I have trained myself well to avoid them at almost any
cost. I still play the following weeks
over and over again in my mind, sometimes, trying to figure out where I made
the tactical error that left me shell-shocked.
There are moments when I'd like to have that afternoon on the beach
back. Maybe I would make different choices,
altogether. But mostly I think I'd like
to have that me on the beach back. You're not supposed to say that after a
transformational 11 months.
And then there's
the next picture. Don't misunderstand, I
like it, too. It's reflective,
contemplative, quiet. In many ways, it
is all of the things I have always been, but sometimes I am sick of being all
of the things I have always been. There
is no fire in this shot, but don't mistake that for lack of resolve. The resolve is there. Remember, I'm not a quitter. But the wind is whipping, and I'm hiding my
face. If the first picture is fierce,
ready to take the world by storm; the second is steadfast... exhausted... still
slow and steady, but the emphasis is on slow.
Honestly, my heart hurts.
I read these
words, today:
"I am poor and needy, and my heart is wounded
within me" (Psalm 109:22, NIV).
My reaction was,
"I am so sick of that!" And we're not even close to the point when I
got mad, yet. But, friends, I do not do
poor and needy and wounded well. If
something doesn't give pretty soon, the next picture is going to be of me with
my head in the sand.
I read on:
"Turn to me and have mercy on me, as you always do to those who love
your name. Direct
my footsteps according to your word; let no sin
rule over me. Redeem
me from human oppression, that I may obey your
precepts. Make
your face shine on your servant and teach me
your decrees. Streams
of tears flow from my eyes..." (Psalm 119:132-136a, NIV).
I liked that,
immediately. It resonated... especially
the part about loving the name of the Lord.
But then there was more:
"Why do you ask my name? It is beyond
understanding" (Judges 13:18, NIV).
Oh. Ouch.
I do that. I ask for the name. I ask for the plan. Sometimes I think I know what's coming, but
more often than not, lately, I am blindsided.
I do love the name of the Lord, but can I love what is beyond
understanding? The silent answer to the
rhetorical question is supposed to be yes, but I am so wired to need details
that I don't know if I can say yes to that with any sort of integrity.
And then, I felt
as if God slapped me in the face, this morning.
I cannot remember ever getting up in the middle of reading Scripture,
pushing my laptop away (I was reading online), and saying, "You've got to
be kidding me..." The part where I left
the room was pretty funny, as if God isn't in the bathroom...
"In
those days when the number of disciples was increasing, the Hellenistic Jews
among them complained against the Hebraic Jews because their widows were
being overlooked in the daily distribution of food. So the Twelve gathered all the disciples together
and said, 'It would not be right for us to neglect the ministry of the word of
God in order to wait on tables. Brothers and sisters, choose seven men from among you who are
known to be full of the Spirit and wisdom. We will turn this responsibility
over to them and will give our attention to
prayer and the ministry of the word.' This proposal pleased the whole group.
They chose Stephen, a man full of faith and of the Holy Spirit; also Philip,
Procorus, Nicanor, Timon, Parmenas, and Nicolas from Antioch, a convert to
Judaism. They presented
these men to the apostles, who prayed and laid their hands on them. So the word of God spread. The number of
disciples in Jerusalem increased rapidly, and a large number of priests became
obedient to the faith" (Acts 6:1-7, NIV).
Confession - On the tail end of all of this pain and
heartbreak and suffering, someone looked me in the face, yesterday, and
questioned whether or not I am a minister (this person never would have said
"pastor," because in her eyes women can't be that); and I'm pretty sure, after I stopped crying, I felt like one
of the twelve who just couldn't waste any more time waiting on tables! I mean, has she not taken notice of the
entire body of work of my adult life?
How about the years I've poured myself into theological education at the
expense of... well... a lot?
But there's a serious issue with all of that. The serious issue is me. I talk a big game in
regard to loving and serving the least of these, but it occurred to me that I
am still fighting for a title of some sort, and I have to stop. I spent a lot of time exegeting this passage
of Acts, last summer, and I was really, really hard on the Twelve, and my
goodness; I have become them. That's not
what I want. That's not who I am. I have to feed the people that no one else
has time for, even if that means no one "important" recognizes the
value of what I'm doing. Oh my
gosh... how have I come to even
categorize some people as more important than others? That's... not... me.
There's no good way to wrap this up. It's not going to be neat. It was an ugly one, after all.
L.
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