I was reading Ephesians chapter 1 today and pretty much just had to stop after verse 14. What an amazing section of verses full of promises and affirmations of God’s love for me.
“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ. For he…”
…Chose us in him
…Predestined us to be adopted as his sons
…Freely gave us his glorious grace, redemption, and forgiveness
…Made known to us the mystery of his will
And then, best of all, “having believed, we were marked in him with a seal, the promised Holy Spirit, who is a deposit guaranteeing our inheritance until the redemption of those who are God’s possession.”
That’s me. I’m God’s possession.
He CHOSE me.
Who doesn’t want to be chosen? I don’t know about you, but I think being the last one chosen when teams are divided up, stinks. But God planned for my adoption well in advance and chose me to receive His incredible gifts of grace and redemption and forgiveness. And He did all of that….KNOWING…how terribly human I would be. I wasn’t the last one standing. I was chosen before the game was invented.
Not only that, but He loves me so much that He branded me with His mark so no one would wonder who I belong to. I am His. And He gave me the mark of His Holy Spirit. A deposit. A piece of Himself that guarantees my inheritance. Amazing.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about that deposit. About this Holy Spirit who often prompts me. I’ve been working hard to hear that call and answer. And it strikes me that THIS deposit is an interest bearing gift. He and I both reap the benefits of the interest every time I hear and answer. He is glorified; I am blessed. And best of all, I don’t have to wait until I “cash it in” in order to “cash in” on the interest!
He invested in me. AND, I get to earn interest. What’s not to like about this deal?
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Answering the Call
“…Samuel was lying down in the temple of the Lord, where the ark of God was. Then the Lord called Samuel. Samuel answered, ‘Here I am.’ And he ran to Eli and said, ‘Here I am; you called me.’ But Eli said, ‘I did not call; go back and lie down.’ So he went and lay down….The Lord called Samuel a third time, and Samuel got up and went to Eli and said, ‘Here I am; you called me.’ Then Eli realized that the Lord was calling the boy. So Eli told Samuel, ‘Go and lie down, and if he calls you, say, ‘Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.’ So Samuel went and lay down in his place. The Lord came and stood there, calling as at the other times, ‘Samuel! Samuel!’ Then Samuel said, ‘Speak, for your servant is listening.’”
I Samuel 3:3-10”
On the first day of school, I heard God’s call. I was registering lots of new students, and the attendance clerk called to let me know that there was a parent who wanted to speak to me. All I could think was, “What could possibly have gone wrong already that this mom needs to talk to the counselor?” In between new students, I went to the front office and met her. She was well put together and looked about like the other parents I’d been visiting with all morning. Nothing really outstanding about her.
All of that changed in my office as she told me her story. She has been in an abusive marriage for years. She divorced last school year. The economic downturn combined with a divorce lead to the repossession of their home. She and her 10 year old daughter are homeless. She is broken and afraid. She finally teared up as she said, “I never dreamed that at this point in my life I would be homeless. I am so ashamed.”
She and her daughter have a fantastic church family who has been supporting and helping them. I was so relieved to hear this part because I know how important church family is. Mom has everything, including financial aid, lined up to start classes at a local college in just a couple of weeks. She brought letters from the school and church friends to vouch for her. She brought her daughter’s outstanding report card, test scores, and metals.
Then it hit me. She was trying to convince me to allow her daughter to attend our school. Sometimes I’m slow...but I get there. I immediately reassured her that her daughter was already scheduled in a class because she had been in our schools last year. There are rules that protect people who are considered homeless. She was so relieved. Then we got down to the business of figuring out supplies and getting her registered.
I can’t tell you how impressive this little momma is. She has a plan. She is desperate and afraid but she has chosen a path of survival. She worries about her little girl being successful in school. She worries about her baby being ashamed of her momma. But what I saw was a woman who was showing her little girl what it means to fight, to survive, to do whatever it takes to move forward when everything in life seems to be holding her back.
We were on our way back to the front office when I heard the call. It wasn’t like Samuel. There wasn’t a voice calling my name, nothing so dramatic as that, but it was there. A prompting. Not even very insistent, but it was there. And I stopped walking. The mom nearly bumped into me. I turned and asked her if we could go back to my office for one more thing. She said sure; so we went back.
I shut the door behind us and turned and asked her if I could pray for her before she left. She completely broke down crying and nodded yes. I reached out to take her hands and she stepped right in and wrapped her arms around my waste in a desperate hug. I prayed for her. I prayed for her daughter. I have no idea where some of the words came from...well, yes I do. The Spirit gave me just the right words to pray for her and minister to her. When we finished I told her that I thought God had sent her to me today and she agreed.
That experience was one of the most powerful ministering opportunities I’ve had with a parent. It was amazing. The telling of it here is just pretty straightforward and factual, but if you asked me about it in person, I think you would understand more fully just how powerful it was.
I have every intention of following up with this mom and daughter. This little girl will be more than just a name on somebody’s roll. But the thing about this whole experience that keeps nagging at me the most is hearing the call.
I know God calls me all the time. Like Samuel, sometimes I don’t recognize it as God’s voice. Other times, I hear, but I don’t stop to listen and obey. I’m not going to sit around beating myself up about it, but I think it is worth pondering. It’s worth mulling over and chewing on because I would hate to have missed this opportunity. It was too precious.
At the end of I Samuel chapter 3, it says, “The Lord was with Samuel as he grew up, and he let none of his words fall to the ground.” I want the Lord to be with me as I grow up. And I pray that I won’t let his words fall to the ground either.
I Samuel 3:3-10”
On the first day of school, I heard God’s call. I was registering lots of new students, and the attendance clerk called to let me know that there was a parent who wanted to speak to me. All I could think was, “What could possibly have gone wrong already that this mom needs to talk to the counselor?” In between new students, I went to the front office and met her. She was well put together and looked about like the other parents I’d been visiting with all morning. Nothing really outstanding about her.
All of that changed in my office as she told me her story. She has been in an abusive marriage for years. She divorced last school year. The economic downturn combined with a divorce lead to the repossession of their home. She and her 10 year old daughter are homeless. She is broken and afraid. She finally teared up as she said, “I never dreamed that at this point in my life I would be homeless. I am so ashamed.”
She and her daughter have a fantastic church family who has been supporting and helping them. I was so relieved to hear this part because I know how important church family is. Mom has everything, including financial aid, lined up to start classes at a local college in just a couple of weeks. She brought letters from the school and church friends to vouch for her. She brought her daughter’s outstanding report card, test scores, and metals.
Then it hit me. She was trying to convince me to allow her daughter to attend our school. Sometimes I’m slow...but I get there. I immediately reassured her that her daughter was already scheduled in a class because she had been in our schools last year. There are rules that protect people who are considered homeless. She was so relieved. Then we got down to the business of figuring out supplies and getting her registered.
I can’t tell you how impressive this little momma is. She has a plan. She is desperate and afraid but she has chosen a path of survival. She worries about her little girl being successful in school. She worries about her baby being ashamed of her momma. But what I saw was a woman who was showing her little girl what it means to fight, to survive, to do whatever it takes to move forward when everything in life seems to be holding her back.
We were on our way back to the front office when I heard the call. It wasn’t like Samuel. There wasn’t a voice calling my name, nothing so dramatic as that, but it was there. A prompting. Not even very insistent, but it was there. And I stopped walking. The mom nearly bumped into me. I turned and asked her if we could go back to my office for one more thing. She said sure; so we went back.
I shut the door behind us and turned and asked her if I could pray for her before she left. She completely broke down crying and nodded yes. I reached out to take her hands and she stepped right in and wrapped her arms around my waste in a desperate hug. I prayed for her. I prayed for her daughter. I have no idea where some of the words came from...well, yes I do. The Spirit gave me just the right words to pray for her and minister to her. When we finished I told her that I thought God had sent her to me today and she agreed.
That experience was one of the most powerful ministering opportunities I’ve had with a parent. It was amazing. The telling of it here is just pretty straightforward and factual, but if you asked me about it in person, I think you would understand more fully just how powerful it was.
I have every intention of following up with this mom and daughter. This little girl will be more than just a name on somebody’s roll. But the thing about this whole experience that keeps nagging at me the most is hearing the call.
I know God calls me all the time. Like Samuel, sometimes I don’t recognize it as God’s voice. Other times, I hear, but I don’t stop to listen and obey. I’m not going to sit around beating myself up about it, but I think it is worth pondering. It’s worth mulling over and chewing on because I would hate to have missed this opportunity. It was too precious.
At the end of I Samuel chapter 3, it says, “The Lord was with Samuel as he grew up, and he let none of his words fall to the ground.” I want the Lord to be with me as I grow up. And I pray that I won’t let his words fall to the ground either.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Traditions
Written Monday, July 27
Tonight, I’m reminded of the importance of traditions. About four years ago, my oldest brother and his two kids began coming to my house for Thanksgiving. It was the first Thanksgiving after his divorce, and it occurred to me that he might not have plans. So I invited them. Wisely, he made the 10 hour drive from Houston to Amarillo an adventure. They got up very early in the morning to leave, like 4am early. I think it was partially due to these trips that began in my nephews an appreciation for their dad’s music – Queen, Johnny Cash, Journey – they’d sing at the top of their lungs. And along the way, they occasionally stopped for a rock climbing adventure. All new traditions.
Being the planner that I am, I’d prepare for their trip by making a menu for the week. I did it for myself, but my nephews would consult the refrigerator-posted list multiple times throughout each day. I also began posting a list of possible activities for us to do for the week; long hours were spent discussing, arguing about, and voting on which activities we would do.
And then there is the actual food, most notably Aunt Laura’s rolls. The rolls are, in fact, a recipe from my sister-in-law – homemade yeast rolls. I must admit that they really are one of the tastiest foods of all time, but they are also, most certainly, a labor of love. The rolls have become synonymous with visits to Aunt Laura. They are bragged about at other tables throughout the year. Others who make the same recipe, including my own mother, fall short. According to my nephews, they are substandard if Aunt Laura didn’t make them.
There are other traditions of course, monkey bread, apple pie, lights off golf, trips to the park, fake gross out menus, marathon book reading, and letting Aunt Laura take all the pictures she wants.
And then there are ranch traditions. My husband’s family has a ranch in New Mexico. The ranch is a place filled with rich history and tradition. When I married into the family, I listened to all the old stories, true and otherwise. When the boys came with me to the ranch, they heard the same ones. And we began new traditions, dirt biking trips, 4 wheeling, cold attic sleeping, tune-out-the-world reading, Capulin climbing, pancake eating, and bow and arrow shooting. And somewhere in there, Aunt Laura became the ranching, gunshooting, snake killing, history telling, 4-wheeling--expert. Go figure.
My brother just remarried and now has two more kids. When we met up at the ranch today, the new kids’ heads were already full of tradition dreams. They wanted to see the menu and know if rolls were on it. We’ve already been dirt biking and 4 wheeling, and a trip to the mountain is in the works. And between now and the next time they visit, the traditions will be revisited, relished, savored.
When we went to town for supper tonight, a chili-cheese fry tradition, my youngest nephew wrapped an arm around my neck and climbed into my lap. He looked right into my eyes, with a twinkle in his, and said, “Do you remember when….”. And the reliving of traditions began. And later when he was heading to bed, he hugged my neck and planted a kiss on my cheek and asked if I’d be putting a menu up on the refrigerator. How could I not?
Someday it may not be cool to hug Aunt Laura anymore. And someday he won’t climb in my lap. But for now, I will savor the traditions and hold the precious memories they create close to my heart. Because isn’t that what these silly traditions are really all about anyway?
Tonight, I’m reminded of the importance of traditions. About four years ago, my oldest brother and his two kids began coming to my house for Thanksgiving. It was the first Thanksgiving after his divorce, and it occurred to me that he might not have plans. So I invited them. Wisely, he made the 10 hour drive from Houston to Amarillo an adventure. They got up very early in the morning to leave, like 4am early. I think it was partially due to these trips that began in my nephews an appreciation for their dad’s music – Queen, Johnny Cash, Journey – they’d sing at the top of their lungs. And along the way, they occasionally stopped for a rock climbing adventure. All new traditions.
Being the planner that I am, I’d prepare for their trip by making a menu for the week. I did it for myself, but my nephews would consult the refrigerator-posted list multiple times throughout each day. I also began posting a list of possible activities for us to do for the week; long hours were spent discussing, arguing about, and voting on which activities we would do.
And then there is the actual food, most notably Aunt Laura’s rolls. The rolls are, in fact, a recipe from my sister-in-law – homemade yeast rolls. I must admit that they really are one of the tastiest foods of all time, but they are also, most certainly, a labor of love. The rolls have become synonymous with visits to Aunt Laura. They are bragged about at other tables throughout the year. Others who make the same recipe, including my own mother, fall short. According to my nephews, they are substandard if Aunt Laura didn’t make them.
There are other traditions of course, monkey bread, apple pie, lights off golf, trips to the park, fake gross out menus, marathon book reading, and letting Aunt Laura take all the pictures she wants.
And then there are ranch traditions. My husband’s family has a ranch in New Mexico. The ranch is a place filled with rich history and tradition. When I married into the family, I listened to all the old stories, true and otherwise. When the boys came with me to the ranch, they heard the same ones. And we began new traditions, dirt biking trips, 4 wheeling, cold attic sleeping, tune-out-the-world reading, Capulin climbing, pancake eating, and bow and arrow shooting. And somewhere in there, Aunt Laura became the ranching, gunshooting, snake killing, history telling, 4-wheeling--expert. Go figure.
My brother just remarried and now has two more kids. When we met up at the ranch today, the new kids’ heads were already full of tradition dreams. They wanted to see the menu and know if rolls were on it. We’ve already been dirt biking and 4 wheeling, and a trip to the mountain is in the works. And between now and the next time they visit, the traditions will be revisited, relished, savored.
When we went to town for supper tonight, a chili-cheese fry tradition, my youngest nephew wrapped an arm around my neck and climbed into my lap. He looked right into my eyes, with a twinkle in his, and said, “Do you remember when….”. And the reliving of traditions began. And later when he was heading to bed, he hugged my neck and planted a kiss on my cheek and asked if I’d be putting a menu up on the refrigerator. How could I not?
Someday it may not be cool to hug Aunt Laura anymore. And someday he won’t climb in my lap. But for now, I will savor the traditions and hold the precious memories they create close to my heart. Because isn’t that what these silly traditions are really all about anyway?
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Confession
I am a sinner. This isn’t any new revelation; I grew up in church, so I understand the concept. I’m a sinner, saved by grace…blah, blah, blah. The thing that is different for me lately is that I find myself struggling with sin constantly. And maybe that isn’t new either. Maybe what is different is the kind of sin I’m struggling with. Or maybe it is just that I am more aware of my struggle with sin lately.
I guess if I’m brutally honest though, the real difference is that I find myself so enjoying the sin that I’m really NOT struggling at all. I’m just sinning. It’s just so enticing. Numbing even. You get into some sin and it just becomes normal, habit, not so bad compared to stuff the “real” sinners are doing.
I have been fighting this battle for several months. My spirit has always been sensitive though, so in the back of my mind, it’s been bothering me. And I have been actively pushing those convicting thoughts aside. Consciously ignoring God’s prompting. Willfully, stubbornly doing what I want to do. But man is He persistent.
A while back I started hearing a song by Jars of Clay. It talks about how with one hand I’m pulling God closer, but with the other hand, I’m pushing Him away. But if I had two hands, doing the same thing…
That is so me. Deep down, I desire to be a disciple of Christ. I want to know Him more daily, be closer to Him, walk with Him. But on the other hand, I want to do what I want to do. Period. I know Paul experienced the same thing. He talks about the war that rages inside of us. Doing the things we don’t want to do…
But God has just kept chasing me. I started praying a few weeks ago that I’d want to quit sinning. Not that I would quit…I just wasn’t there yet. Just for the desire to do right. Maybe that isn’t what I should have been praying, but I knew that praying for forgiveness was a big fat lie. Because I had no intention of turning away from the sin. So, I prayed that I’d want to quit sinning.
Nothing profound happened. I didn’t have any kind of miraculous breakthrough. But I began thinking about the possibility of not sinning. I began thinking about what would have to happen to make that a reality.
Sunday, in praise team practice, we sang “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing”. For the second verse, we sang a more recent version.
I was lost in utter darkness, Till you came and rescued me.
I was bound by all my sin when Your love came and set me free.
There is more to the verse, but that is the part that hit me. The visual of being bound, shackled, by my sin. Then I started thinking about the old story of how you train an elephant. When he is little, you chain him up. He learns that he can’t get free. When he gets older and bigger, you can just tie him up with a rope because he has learned that he is bound and can’t escape, so he doesn’t even try.
I started thinking that I had become bound by a rope. I wasn’t even trying to escape. A comfortable prisoner. A stupid elephant.
After church, I spoke with our pastor Brian. Let me just pause here to say that I have consciously started referring to Brian as a pastor because he is. He is certainly a good preacher, but he has become a pastor to me. So…I know that makes some people uncomfortable, but whatever. He pastors me.
Anyway, I asked Brian to keep me in his prayers about this sin struggle. I gave him the 3 minute version as people are always standing around waiting to talk to him (he pastors other people too). I even confessed to him that I wasn’t particularly wanting to quit sinning. He got that. He told me the sin metaphor about two dogs raging within us. The “good dog” and the “bad dog”. And the way to conquer the “bad dog” is to starve it, while simultaneously feeding the “good dog”. That made sense to me. Then he prayed with me, and we went on our separate ways.
Being the weak and pitiful sinner that I am, I left there thinking, “I don’t even want to starve the ‘bad dog’” So, I wimpishly prayed that God would remove opportunities for me to feed the “bad dog”. And being the amazingly graceful and faithful God that He is, He has been doing that. And that led me to the place where I don’t want to sin anymore. It just kind of snuck up on me. I’m ready to quit. After months of struggle, I finally desire to do right…with both hands.
I’m a sinner. I know this particular struggle isn’t over. I will continue to pray that I won’t encounter “bad dog” food. I’ll also keep praying for a desire for holiness.
So why in the world am I sharing this? Because I figure I’m not the only sinner out there. And admitting to it isn’t always popular. So I thought maybe someone might benefit from knowing a fellow closet sinner. Kind of like going to AA. Hi, my name is ______and I’m a sinner. And in some ways, for me, this feeds the “good dog”.
I guess if I’m brutally honest though, the real difference is that I find myself so enjoying the sin that I’m really NOT struggling at all. I’m just sinning. It’s just so enticing. Numbing even. You get into some sin and it just becomes normal, habit, not so bad compared to stuff the “real” sinners are doing.
I have been fighting this battle for several months. My spirit has always been sensitive though, so in the back of my mind, it’s been bothering me. And I have been actively pushing those convicting thoughts aside. Consciously ignoring God’s prompting. Willfully, stubbornly doing what I want to do. But man is He persistent.
A while back I started hearing a song by Jars of Clay. It talks about how with one hand I’m pulling God closer, but with the other hand, I’m pushing Him away. But if I had two hands, doing the same thing…
That is so me. Deep down, I desire to be a disciple of Christ. I want to know Him more daily, be closer to Him, walk with Him. But on the other hand, I want to do what I want to do. Period. I know Paul experienced the same thing. He talks about the war that rages inside of us. Doing the things we don’t want to do…
But God has just kept chasing me. I started praying a few weeks ago that I’d want to quit sinning. Not that I would quit…I just wasn’t there yet. Just for the desire to do right. Maybe that isn’t what I should have been praying, but I knew that praying for forgiveness was a big fat lie. Because I had no intention of turning away from the sin. So, I prayed that I’d want to quit sinning.
Nothing profound happened. I didn’t have any kind of miraculous breakthrough. But I began thinking about the possibility of not sinning. I began thinking about what would have to happen to make that a reality.
Sunday, in praise team practice, we sang “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing”. For the second verse, we sang a more recent version.
I was lost in utter darkness, Till you came and rescued me.
I was bound by all my sin when Your love came and set me free.
There is more to the verse, but that is the part that hit me. The visual of being bound, shackled, by my sin. Then I started thinking about the old story of how you train an elephant. When he is little, you chain him up. He learns that he can’t get free. When he gets older and bigger, you can just tie him up with a rope because he has learned that he is bound and can’t escape, so he doesn’t even try.
I started thinking that I had become bound by a rope. I wasn’t even trying to escape. A comfortable prisoner. A stupid elephant.
After church, I spoke with our pastor Brian. Let me just pause here to say that I have consciously started referring to Brian as a pastor because he is. He is certainly a good preacher, but he has become a pastor to me. So…I know that makes some people uncomfortable, but whatever. He pastors me.
Anyway, I asked Brian to keep me in his prayers about this sin struggle. I gave him the 3 minute version as people are always standing around waiting to talk to him (he pastors other people too). I even confessed to him that I wasn’t particularly wanting to quit sinning. He got that. He told me the sin metaphor about two dogs raging within us. The “good dog” and the “bad dog”. And the way to conquer the “bad dog” is to starve it, while simultaneously feeding the “good dog”. That made sense to me. Then he prayed with me, and we went on our separate ways.
Being the weak and pitiful sinner that I am, I left there thinking, “I don’t even want to starve the ‘bad dog’” So, I wimpishly prayed that God would remove opportunities for me to feed the “bad dog”. And being the amazingly graceful and faithful God that He is, He has been doing that. And that led me to the place where I don’t want to sin anymore. It just kind of snuck up on me. I’m ready to quit. After months of struggle, I finally desire to do right…with both hands.
I’m a sinner. I know this particular struggle isn’t over. I will continue to pray that I won’t encounter “bad dog” food. I’ll also keep praying for a desire for holiness.
So why in the world am I sharing this? Because I figure I’m not the only sinner out there. And admitting to it isn’t always popular. So I thought maybe someone might benefit from knowing a fellow closet sinner. Kind of like going to AA. Hi, my name is ______and I’m a sinner. And in some ways, for me, this feeds the “good dog”.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Book Recommendation
I just finished reading the book Same Kind of Different as Me. Literally, I just finished it. It is an awesome book. Go buy it and read it tomorrow. It is the true story of an international art dealer and a homeless man and the life changing way God brings them together. Unbelievable. You will laugh, cry, and question.
It is just one more reminder that life is about relationships. If you want to make a difference in this world, enter into an authentic relationship with another mere mortal and love him the same way God loves you. And if you are really daring, try loving someone you think is unlovable.
It is just one more reminder that life is about relationships. If you want to make a difference in this world, enter into an authentic relationship with another mere mortal and love him the same way God loves you. And if you are really daring, try loving someone you think is unlovable.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
The Great Fear
Last year was a difficult one for me professionally as it seemed the focus of my job went from counseling to “other duties as assigned”, the primary other duty being state testing. I don’t love the stress of testing, but I have to admit that the organization of it appeals to my controlling side that loves to create order out of chaos. It is a beautiful thing to see it all come together after so many weeks of frantic planning and frenzied sorting, bubbling, and training.
By February I was in full testing mode and very little counseling was happening. To make matters worse, this was the year that the other counselor’s status had changed from full time to a split position between my school and another. In years past, I knew that if I wasn’t seeing kids during testing season, someone else was. Not this time.
So, frustrated and disheartened, I began to actively look for another job because “I wasn’t getting to be a counselor anymore.”
With each application I prayed that if it was the right job for me, I would get an offer, and if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t. This was the fleece I was putting out to verify what God wanted from me. Four separate opportunities came and went. And though I was disappointed, I became convinced that God already had me right where He wanted me. So I started this year feeling pretty ambivalent; I wanted to be where God wanted me, but I was pretty sure He had made a mistake.
In the meantime, I was invited to join a small book club who met Wednesday mornings at 7 a.m. I readily agreed and was super excited about the new book they were starting, The Shack, by William P. Young. I’d been hearing about this book and planned to read it anyway, so I jumped right in.
Usually, I read a book in 2 to 3 days. This one is way too meaty for rushing. When my little brother was much younger, he had many dietary problems. But one of the things that I found particularly strange was the way he would keep a piece of meat in his mouth for literally hours. He’d just keep chewing and chewing without swallowing.
The first section of The Shack was like this for me. Young sets up the book by telling about a very tragic event in Mack’s (the main character’s) life that leads to The Great Sadness. I kept chewing and chewing on the words he used to describe it: overanxious, panicky, paralyzed, overwhelmed, angry, swept helplessly away.
I can so relate to Mack. Young writes, “Almost succumbing to the sudden blackness that threatened to smother him, Mack leaned on the table to keep from passing out or throwing up.” There were days last year when that was how I felt.
And over several weeks, I continued to chew on those words that so resonated with me. They puzzled me though because they made sense when my experience wasn’t at all like Mack’s. Unlike Mack, I wasn’t feeling particularly sad. So I kept chewing until one day I figured out what it was I was tasting in those words.
It was kind of like the close up, CSI view of the tumblers on a fancy lock all falling into place and then CLICK, that distinctive sound of everything coming together. I realized that what I had tasted in those words was not sadness but fear.
I am very much afraid of being a counselor! Counseling is very scary work. When a 10 year old walks in and tells you about how she has been sexually abused for years and she’s never told anyone before…it’s terrifying.
Or perhaps the one who comes crying with a broken heart because on some crazy whim his father is no longer allowing his son to call him “dad”. How am I supposed to fix that?
Or what about when you’ve done the hard stuff, made the reports, and now you have to go to court and be cross examined by four different lawyers with four separate agendas that don't seem to take into account several very lost and afraid children? It gives me the shivers just remembering it.
And cutting, this new (to me) phenomena where people feel compelled to inflict physical pain on themselves because they are so desperate to feel something, even if it is pain. I can't even begin to relate to that. Scary.
Somewhere along the way, The Great Fear descended on me and I became paralyzed at the thought of what might walk in my office next.
So testing, and all the craziness that comes with it, had become my escape. My problem wasn’t that I wanted to do more counseling; I wanted to do less! And when I thought back on all those job opportunities, I realized they all had one thing in common: less counseling. Less delving into the sticky, yucky, scary mess of relationships.
But God, in His infinite wisdom has not let me off the hook. He didn’t let me run away because He has me right where He wants me. Only, He wants me to face The Great Fear and get back to doing the job He has already given me—counseling.
I’ve begun to do just that, but not alone. It was during the first week that kids came back to school that my enlightenment happened, and I began praying daily for God to give me the courage to walk in to The Great Fear in order to fulfill my mission as His disciple. And what exciting times the first six weeks have been!
By February I was in full testing mode and very little counseling was happening. To make matters worse, this was the year that the other counselor’s status had changed from full time to a split position between my school and another. In years past, I knew that if I wasn’t seeing kids during testing season, someone else was. Not this time.
So, frustrated and disheartened, I began to actively look for another job because “I wasn’t getting to be a counselor anymore.”
With each application I prayed that if it was the right job for me, I would get an offer, and if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t. This was the fleece I was putting out to verify what God wanted from me. Four separate opportunities came and went. And though I was disappointed, I became convinced that God already had me right where He wanted me. So I started this year feeling pretty ambivalent; I wanted to be where God wanted me, but I was pretty sure He had made a mistake.
In the meantime, I was invited to join a small book club who met Wednesday mornings at 7 a.m. I readily agreed and was super excited about the new book they were starting, The Shack, by William P. Young. I’d been hearing about this book and planned to read it anyway, so I jumped right in.
Usually, I read a book in 2 to 3 days. This one is way too meaty for rushing. When my little brother was much younger, he had many dietary problems. But one of the things that I found particularly strange was the way he would keep a piece of meat in his mouth for literally hours. He’d just keep chewing and chewing without swallowing.
The first section of The Shack was like this for me. Young sets up the book by telling about a very tragic event in Mack’s (the main character’s) life that leads to The Great Sadness. I kept chewing and chewing on the words he used to describe it: overanxious, panicky, paralyzed, overwhelmed, angry, swept helplessly away.
I can so relate to Mack. Young writes, “Almost succumbing to the sudden blackness that threatened to smother him, Mack leaned on the table to keep from passing out or throwing up.” There were days last year when that was how I felt.
And over several weeks, I continued to chew on those words that so resonated with me. They puzzled me though because they made sense when my experience wasn’t at all like Mack’s. Unlike Mack, I wasn’t feeling particularly sad. So I kept chewing until one day I figured out what it was I was tasting in those words.
It was kind of like the close up, CSI view of the tumblers on a fancy lock all falling into place and then CLICK, that distinctive sound of everything coming together. I realized that what I had tasted in those words was not sadness but fear.
I am very much afraid of being a counselor! Counseling is very scary work. When a 10 year old walks in and tells you about how she has been sexually abused for years and she’s never told anyone before…it’s terrifying.
Or perhaps the one who comes crying with a broken heart because on some crazy whim his father is no longer allowing his son to call him “dad”. How am I supposed to fix that?
Or what about when you’ve done the hard stuff, made the reports, and now you have to go to court and be cross examined by four different lawyers with four separate agendas that don't seem to take into account several very lost and afraid children? It gives me the shivers just remembering it.
And cutting, this new (to me) phenomena where people feel compelled to inflict physical pain on themselves because they are so desperate to feel something, even if it is pain. I can't even begin to relate to that. Scary.
Somewhere along the way, The Great Fear descended on me and I became paralyzed at the thought of what might walk in my office next.
So testing, and all the craziness that comes with it, had become my escape. My problem wasn’t that I wanted to do more counseling; I wanted to do less! And when I thought back on all those job opportunities, I realized they all had one thing in common: less counseling. Less delving into the sticky, yucky, scary mess of relationships.
But God, in His infinite wisdom has not let me off the hook. He didn’t let me run away because He has me right where He wants me. Only, He wants me to face The Great Fear and get back to doing the job He has already given me—counseling.
I’ve begun to do just that, but not alone. It was during the first week that kids came back to school that my enlightenment happened, and I began praying daily for God to give me the courage to walk in to The Great Fear in order to fulfill my mission as His disciple. And what exciting times the first six weeks have been!
Sunday, September 28, 2008
It's Not About The House
This is really long, but it's a story I've been wanting to tell for a couple of months now.
Since we have been attending at Southwest, one of the really important lessons that has taken hold in my heart is that Christianity, evangelism, etc. is about relationships. It’s about getting connected to people, in all their goodness and muck, and being Christ to them. One of the ways that this concept has been put into practice is through a group of men that gets together with our preacher in his basement. The “basement boys” are all about confessing sin and victory, holding each other accountable, and just being in relationship with each other for the purpose of becoming more like Christ. The more I heard about this group, the more I wanted to be in a group like it. So, starting in about January, I really began to mull over the idea of beginning a group like the “basement boys”.
Around the end of May, my husband came across a house that we thought was pretty amazing. We had been discussing the idea of moving for a couple of years, but weren’t in any great hurry. In our discussions, we had come up with a pretty specific list of things we wanted in a house, one that I thought was probably pretty lofty for a good long time. But then we happened along this house on Gary St.
Of course, this brought our discussions about selling our house and buying another one right to the forefront of our minds. When we got home from our ranch trips, I decided to find a realtor and just see if this house was as great as we thought it was or if there were others out there. At the time, it seemed like it fit all of the things we wanted and so I wondered if it was truly unique.
I discovered pretty quickly that the Gary house was NOT unique. There were actually quite a few houses out there that came pretty close to fitting most of the things that we wanted. After about a week of looking at what felt like a million houses, I found one that seemed like the perfect fit for our wish list. It had room for both of us to have an office, plus a guest room, and it had a fantastic shop. But what I really loved about it was the living space. It had a large living room that was open to the dining room and also open to a den that was added on to the original house. When I stood in the kitchen and looked out into those rooms, I began to envision life group, scrapbooking, and maybe even a space for my own version of the “basement boys”. The flicker of longing to begin a group was being fanned into a small but steady flame.
On one of those house searching days, I stopped by N’s office just to chat and got a phone call from our realtor while I was there. The price on the house I liked had been reduced by ten thousand dollars and she wondered if I wanted to show it to N. Of course I did, so we made an appointment to meet there. My second visit to the house was even better than the first. All I could think about was how great of a house it would be for entertaining and how perfect for starting “the group”. N loved the house too; the flame grew.
Unfortunately, we were not in a place to make an offer on this wonderful house. Our house wasn’t even on the market, and we sure couldn’t have two houses. So, after much discussion, we decided to get ours ready, put it on the market, and then make an offer.
In the mean time, we went back to our dream house for one more look. This time, when I walked in the house, I immediately told God that if He gave us this house or one like it, I would give it back to Him. I told Him I’d have ladies in, get in relationship, and really allow Him to work through those relationships to transform me.
We spent about ten days packing up all the excess in our current house and moving it out to storage. Then I cleaned, repaired, painted, and staged our house so that it was show ready. Our realtor was thrilled because we were willing to do most anything she suggested. Our thinking was that we wanted to do everything we could to get it sold, and if that meant living in Whoville for a while, we were willing.
From the first day it listed, we had lots of lookers. And I began to imagine what it would be like to have the house we wanted. In under a week, God sent a buyer, and we had a full price contract on our house to close in just weeks. We turned around and negotiated a contract on the dream house the next day. And though I was very excited, I couldn’t help but remember the promise I’d made to God and be just a little nervous about what I’d done.
But that didn’t stop me from beginning to actually imagine how each room would be used and arranged and salivating over the storage prospects.
And then our contract fell through; she backed out. And we were so disappointed. I asked God why? Didn’t He want me to do what I’d promised?
And this was His answer, “It’s not about the house”.
And I knew immediately that He was right. I didn’t need a new house to begin delving into life changing relationships. And though I hated to do it, I thanked Him for sending the perfect contract and then allowing it to fall through. Because before that I was so focused on the house that I had missed what He really wanted for me.
The following week I began meeting with a friend for the purpose of becoming a “basement boys” type of group. And we met in our old house. And the things that God revealed to both of us in just that first meeting were some of the most powerful lessons of God I’ve ever learned.
It really wasn’t about the house.
But that didn’t stop me from praying that God would send us a cash offer for our house that would allow us to still close on our old house on the originally scheduled date and close on the dream house the very next day.
And He did.
In just one day shy of four weeks, we got our house ready to sell, listed it, sold it, bought a new one, and moved.
Actually, what really happened is this…in one day shy of four weeks, God taught me an incredibly important lesson, blessed us beyond what we ever deserved, showed us His faithful love in an incredibly powerful and memorable way, and put me in a deep spiritual relationship with another woman that has already been life changing.
God is so good.
Since we have been attending at Southwest, one of the really important lessons that has taken hold in my heart is that Christianity, evangelism, etc. is about relationships. It’s about getting connected to people, in all their goodness and muck, and being Christ to them. One of the ways that this concept has been put into practice is through a group of men that gets together with our preacher in his basement. The “basement boys” are all about confessing sin and victory, holding each other accountable, and just being in relationship with each other for the purpose of becoming more like Christ. The more I heard about this group, the more I wanted to be in a group like it. So, starting in about January, I really began to mull over the idea of beginning a group like the “basement boys”.
Around the end of May, my husband came across a house that we thought was pretty amazing. We had been discussing the idea of moving for a couple of years, but weren’t in any great hurry. In our discussions, we had come up with a pretty specific list of things we wanted in a house, one that I thought was probably pretty lofty for a good long time. But then we happened along this house on Gary St.
Of course, this brought our discussions about selling our house and buying another one right to the forefront of our minds. When we got home from our ranch trips, I decided to find a realtor and just see if this house was as great as we thought it was or if there were others out there. At the time, it seemed like it fit all of the things we wanted and so I wondered if it was truly unique.
I discovered pretty quickly that the Gary house was NOT unique. There were actually quite a few houses out there that came pretty close to fitting most of the things that we wanted. After about a week of looking at what felt like a million houses, I found one that seemed like the perfect fit for our wish list. It had room for both of us to have an office, plus a guest room, and it had a fantastic shop. But what I really loved about it was the living space. It had a large living room that was open to the dining room and also open to a den that was added on to the original house. When I stood in the kitchen and looked out into those rooms, I began to envision life group, scrapbooking, and maybe even a space for my own version of the “basement boys”. The flicker of longing to begin a group was being fanned into a small but steady flame.
On one of those house searching days, I stopped by N’s office just to chat and got a phone call from our realtor while I was there. The price on the house I liked had been reduced by ten thousand dollars and she wondered if I wanted to show it to N. Of course I did, so we made an appointment to meet there. My second visit to the house was even better than the first. All I could think about was how great of a house it would be for entertaining and how perfect for starting “the group”. N loved the house too; the flame grew.
Unfortunately, we were not in a place to make an offer on this wonderful house. Our house wasn’t even on the market, and we sure couldn’t have two houses. So, after much discussion, we decided to get ours ready, put it on the market, and then make an offer.
In the mean time, we went back to our dream house for one more look. This time, when I walked in the house, I immediately told God that if He gave us this house or one like it, I would give it back to Him. I told Him I’d have ladies in, get in relationship, and really allow Him to work through those relationships to transform me.
We spent about ten days packing up all the excess in our current house and moving it out to storage. Then I cleaned, repaired, painted, and staged our house so that it was show ready. Our realtor was thrilled because we were willing to do most anything she suggested. Our thinking was that we wanted to do everything we could to get it sold, and if that meant living in Whoville for a while, we were willing.
From the first day it listed, we had lots of lookers. And I began to imagine what it would be like to have the house we wanted. In under a week, God sent a buyer, and we had a full price contract on our house to close in just weeks. We turned around and negotiated a contract on the dream house the next day. And though I was very excited, I couldn’t help but remember the promise I’d made to God and be just a little nervous about what I’d done.
But that didn’t stop me from beginning to actually imagine how each room would be used and arranged and salivating over the storage prospects.
And then our contract fell through; she backed out. And we were so disappointed. I asked God why? Didn’t He want me to do what I’d promised?
And this was His answer, “It’s not about the house”.
And I knew immediately that He was right. I didn’t need a new house to begin delving into life changing relationships. And though I hated to do it, I thanked Him for sending the perfect contract and then allowing it to fall through. Because before that I was so focused on the house that I had missed what He really wanted for me.
The following week I began meeting with a friend for the purpose of becoming a “basement boys” type of group. And we met in our old house. And the things that God revealed to both of us in just that first meeting were some of the most powerful lessons of God I’ve ever learned.
It really wasn’t about the house.
But that didn’t stop me from praying that God would send us a cash offer for our house that would allow us to still close on our old house on the originally scheduled date and close on the dream house the very next day.
And He did.
In just one day shy of four weeks, we got our house ready to sell, listed it, sold it, bought a new one, and moved.
Actually, what really happened is this…in one day shy of four weeks, God taught me an incredibly important lesson, blessed us beyond what we ever deserved, showed us His faithful love in an incredibly powerful and memorable way, and put me in a deep spiritual relationship with another woman that has already been life changing.
God is so good.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
.jpg)
