Category Archives: Freedom

Dwell in Those Moments

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8.15

After days on end of realizing that if I don’t make a change soon, feeling agitated, unsettled, and stuck are going to become the pedestrian emotions of my days.

Don’t get me wrong.

I’m extremely grateful for a job, for God’s provision, for a roof on my head, food to eat, crickets to listen to, my new road bike that I never want to hop off of… love and life itself…

But something is desperately missing.

I am not the passionate girl I was once used to be.

Oh I’m coming alive, trying new things.

But some of the dreams I have on my heart are layered in feelings of impossibility, doubt, fear, and one more triple-thick layer of self-defeating thoughts, desperately trying to remind myself that like A.A. Milne once wrote, “you’re braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.”

Those are moments of doubt… they are wasted moments. Those are the most wasted moments we can spend on life, EVER.

No, we don’t have to put up with those wasted moments any longer.

You see, there’s these other moments you get; moments that feel like drops of honey being fed to your mouth by the Hands of God. These sweet, sweet, intoxicating moments of life where you grit your teeth, dig in deeper, love that much harder, push that much further, and simply refuse to let the obstacles speak louder than the dream…

You… you decide to do hard things.

You simply do hard things.

Those are the only things in life that hold any real value; the things you earn only through sweat, sticky fingers, tireless devotion, unconditional love. You might as well do them so when you reach some ripe old age and can’t turn back the clock, you’ll have a fist-full of dreams to release into the sky like peace doves and red balloons- those you pursued, that is, not those you avoided.

And those moments- those moments where you kick yourself in the… rear and realize that enough is enough, enough time has been wasted, enough energy compromised on people pleasing and doubting yourself, and doubting the person God made out for you to be, heart full of unique passions and convictions… those moments where you look your dream in the face and say “yes” it’s possible and you whisper “yes” as you inch one step closer to the dream, even if you’re shaking… Those moments…

Those moments where you are absurdly fearless of the place between reality and your dreams.

Those moments where you truly fathom that life is precious but ever slipping through your fingers, with time that you can never re-live and edit and you know, deep down in your heart, that you can and will live your best life now.

Those moments…

 Dwell in those moments.

In those moments where God meets you half way, like half way up the hill you’re climbing on your bike, or half way up the hallway to a job you really hate but are too scared to leave to pursue what you actually care about for fear of its ambiguity or enormity.

And you hear His voice.

You know it’s Him.

And He reminds you to go back over the story, the one He’s been telling time and time again through people like Moses or Rosa Parks or your very self. The story that says trust… have faith… dig deep. The stories that have movement from complacency to action, that take you on some weird, unable-to-be-explained-in-the-present-time wilderness journey that makes you wonder if this is all some sick joke…  and you make it to the other side. You make it so that you are able to take the risk. Able to take the test. Apply for the job. Sign up for the race. Make your life count. See the fruit of your journey in the desert.

Dwell in those moments.

In those moments where you decide that being nice is well… nice. But you are DONE with living the innocuous life.

Dwell in those moments.

Where you decide to risk failure, point to your horizon and run straight after it, letting doubt, fear, and the opinions of others simply vanish and evaporate to try and trap someone else in a spiderweb. You, you, my friend, have been set free from that web. You are untangled, you are unraveled, you are unfettered, you are free. It may not look like it now, but oh yes, you are indeed free.

 Dwell in those moments.

Those moments where you’re an unstoppable lion.. or lioness with a fervor that cannot be tamed.

Dwell in those moments where doubt and fear have been kicked out of the building and all that’s left is open doors, open palms, green grass, room to breathe…

Dwell in those moments where you KNOW, deep within your core that anything is possible, but that you have to go through some… stuff to get there. And you don’t care anymore about what the “stuff” is because you’re committed to making it past the “stuff.”

Dwell in those moments, child, because you’re worth it… and if each of us operated out of the voice inside of us that actually pursues what is meaningful to us, that says the words we truly want to say, no matter how scared you are of someone’s reaction or being labeled as “too emotional…” if each of us sang our songs, wrote those letters, spoke up so that others can actually hear you, pursue the ideas that just popped in your head and refuse to let reason and logic engulf it…. If each of us actually said a hearty, “hello!” to the homeless person on the street holding a sign instead of sitting there squiggling around in the seat of our car, trying to avoid eye contact and the urgency of “what am I supposed to do!!?” If each of us vowed to take off our masks and dulled-down beliefs or feelings… If each of us rose up each day with this fire, this fervor, this passion, we would literally astound the world, ourselves, and each other.

Dwell in those moments.

Come back to them when they feel far away.

And may we always remember to pay attention to those nudgings on our hearts… for the world will be better for you having pursued them.

Oh, Because You are Called to be Free…

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You, Oh Child, are called to be free…

I know you’ve seen the yelling, the pointed fingers, the uproar over fealty to chicken sandwiches and embroidered flag instead of cross and love for thy neighbor. Maybe your ears cannot listen to one more spew of theological pedantry. You might be afraid to come any closer to the light because there are shadows busy making faces at you, saying come in, but only if you change…Perhaps their asperity over this issue or that issue has got you wondering what this is even all about, anyway, and maybe it’s just some show to help small people feel big, important, as though God is patting them on the back with every Bible verse they retort.

Oh.

But you… you have been called to freedom.

Can you feel it? See it, sense it, taste it, inhale it?

Can you see beggars finding bread? Can you see the orphan being held? Can you see forgiveness and grace? Can you find that voice ushering you in, oh that voice that longs to sit with you beside still waters?

Oh Child, you’ve been called into something different. Much different. You’ve been called into freedom. Lay down the weight of others’ reactions. Lay down the teachings that constrain you, sucking joy and precious energy out of you. Lay down the opinions of others, especially those that are unsolicited. Lay down your hurt, your ammo, your doubts.

Oh because you have been freed from all of that.

That pressure of being someone else’s definition of perfect, someone else’s portrayal of what it means to be a Godly woman or man, someone else’s expectations of you, the voices that tell you to just be quiet and play nice and downplay your passions and convictions. That voice that tells you that you “shouldn’t” feel this way or that way, ask questions, or have another point of view.

Oh that your thought life would be filled with BIGGER things. Dreams. Aspirations. Social Change.

Oh because you have been freed.

You have been freed from the worrying, the straining of trying to please God, Oh Child, because you already are. You already are… Sometimes we need a good kick in the… butt. But unless God specifically reveals that to you (and he will), TRUST that you’re doing enough, being enough, are enough. On to the being, not the doing…

Stop your fretful prayers laboring over making sure that every decision is God’s will for you, lest you go out on your own and discover that God’s hand is capable of showing the way and that he will uphold you in every situation and circumstance, and even use a wrong turn for good…

Something beautiful. Something insanely simple and mellifluous will enter into those hands frought with sweaty palms, and those tired eyes, straining over verses cached in Leviticus or Isaiah that cause a lump in your throat, afraid to voice that no, no something in here is terribly, terribly wrong about inciting war and infanticide and sacrifices.

No. You haven’t been called to that.

You’ve been called by Jesus So Loving, flowing rivulets of faith, hope, and love into your heart.

This is Jesus.

Who teaches us to “learn from the birds and wildflowers.”

This is Jesus.

Who challenged social norms, speaking and teaching women during a time in which they were forbidden and discouraged from learning the Torah, coming over to a woman’s house for dinner… oh yes causing holy ruckus for sure!

This is Jesus.

Who thought it was worth his time, not his pity, to spend with the poor, the prostitutes, the pushed aside, the left behind, “all who are weary…”

This is Jesus.

Who says his life for you is unfettered, your burden easy, yoke light.

This is Jesus.

Where would you be if He was right there in His presence?

Wrapped up in a loving embrace? Finding yourself in the company of someone who wants to eat dinner with you, to remind you that you’re worth something, loved, unconditionally, that something way bigger is going on here and he longs for you to be a part of it?

He’s still gathering women together at wells, at his feet, still teaching, still discipling… Still encouraging us to go forth and set the world on fire with love, love, the whole wide world, the Kingdom come, On Earth as In Heaven, all colors bleeding into one, forever and ever and ever, amen, yes.

Do you feel it?

Oh, do you feel Him?

Oh do you sense there is so much more?

Oh do you see that we can simply move forward and love God and love people and be a part of healing others’ hurts and pains and feeding each other when we’re hungry, be it for food, for touch, for love, for companionship?

Have you found open, burgeoning springs free of foolish discourse?

Have you tasted a simple life that is abundant and disencumbered from debates and arguments? Do you notice that Jesus didn’t care what other people thought of him and he wishes the same for you?

Oh.

Do you feel the ability to cartwheel, to dance, to swing, to make merry, to pick berries from bushes, sweetness filling your mouth as you sing, splash, run, verdant grasses tickling your barefoot feet?

Oh have you found a place where the quarrels have dissipated, where your quietness, passiveness, subservience are not necessary?

Oh it’s so bright and resplendent. Oh we hold hands here. We love each other here as Children of God; we threw away the labels a long time ago, no longer flagrantly viewed by our sexual identities, our political affinities, our skin color, our bank account, our gender…

Oh swimmingly this wave of freedom is swelling, pining for you to ride atop its waves, not to be crushed down by it. It’s beautiful, really, when you can just ride it and lay on top of it, stomach facing skyward as the water bobs up and down and around you.

I know, I know that for far too long people have tried to use this wave to knock you off your feet, to tell you that there’s no room in their ocean for people like you. People have tried to use this wave to divide, to make less than, but child, waves have the amazing ability to carry you to shore for shell-picking, making sandcastles, making footprints in the sand…

I know for far too long, they’ve told you how far out you can swim, where you can and cannot use your boogie boards…oh they’ve used that wave to crush, pointed fingers spouting out this verse, then that verse, then that verse in the Old AND New Testament…

But we are in an ocean of freedom here. Come, come on in, the water’s warm, yet slightly cool that you may decide to stick your toes in first to adjust before you are overwhelmed with refreshment.

Oh yes.
Because Child,
You are called to freedom.

These Days

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These days have an aura of holy and messy permission and rebellion. My “straight and narrow” map lie crumpled from never quite getting the folds aligned neatly. I’m suddenly remembering that God allows U-turns and pauses at scenic overlooks; that flat tires are a part of life (and keep the tire store in business), that there are days meant for sticking your feet out of the rolled down window of the passenger side, toes wiggling around in the warm wind.

These days I’m finding that I’m less concerned about where I’m going to church, and how often, and who might say what and react in what way if I miss a week or go to that church verses this church. I’m more concerned with living in community, in the many diverse ways that takes shape; whether in Tuesday prayer group with new friends who’ve welcomed me in the faith state exactly as I am with open arms; friends who haven’t found their next church, but get that it’s all about community. Whether it’s listening to the man on the front stoop down the street mourn the loss of his cat and realizing just what that cat meant to him, acutely aware of the human connection and longings for attachment. Whether it’s lying in the meadow near a bee apiary with a new friend, pondering what it means to learn to love the darkness and the light. Whether it’s in biking 52 miles with a group of Presbyterians or finding community through Thursday night running group, where one can start to learn people’s names, people’s stories. You bond over running, and running itself is a gift from God; to be able to move and run and think and breathe. I find God here. I don’t need a Bible to be open or a “worship song” to be sung. I’ve found God in the sun setting over the inner harbor and in watching people high five after their kick-me-in-the-ass, that-was-hard-but-I-feel-great now endorphin run. Runs that get me winded and in pain and forever reminded of my dependence upon God.

These days I’m less concerned with how much I am/am not/”should” be giving to church and more concerned with honoring the poor with my time and finances.

These days I’m less concerned by how many hours I “should” be serving, and determining which social justice ministry I “should” be a part of and more concerned with enjoying God and finding him there. God of trees and flowers. God of Sunday Sabbath walks, present in my skyward gazes. These days I’m more concerned with tangibly showing the people I care about that I actually care about them with my time and money.

These days I’m less concerned about saying the “right” things about the Bible and more excited about thoroughly examining what’s actually in here; the wrestling with God of genocide, infanticide, sexism, compassion, the call to serve the poor, the celebrations and laments of life spent worshipping the Ancient of Days…

These days I’m less concerned with finding exactly what entails “God’s will for my life,” as if every decision is black or white, clearly dichotomized as following Jesus or not. I’m less preoccupied with trying to “figure out” what His will is or is not and more excited about BEING in it with God. More accepting of the fact that God isn’t going to tell me the answer to every upcoming decision in the immediacy I would like. More accepting of the fact that sometimes “figuring out God’s will” means taking chances and risking failure and saying goodbye to living the innocuous life. Oh sometimes you live so small, you hand-crafted Child of God. I’m ready to let go of talking over every last thing with God as if God just wants to talk,talk,talk with us. Instead, I want go get on with the DOING, the being, the adventure. I want to dive in, making cannonball splashes with this God by my side, daring me to do life with Him, daring me to stop being so afraid of disappointing Him or of making the wrong decision. Instead, I will blithely smile, completely confident that he can see all that I cannot, and that he is the author who redeems and uses ALL THINGS for my good; yes, even the deserts that I have created out of my own self-focused fear of taking chances, as opposed to God-ordained time in the Sahara because God explicitly sent me there.

So oh, yes. Freedom is coming. It’s just starting to arrive; I’m strapped in, seated inside the clankety rollercoaster, almost reaching the pinnacle now; in fact, I can almost feel the rush of wind and the ebullient, fearfully excited scream ensued by the velocity of the downward fall of the track. Oh yes. I’ve swan-dived off the diving board; hair now wet from the pursuit of exploring the deep end. But this isn’t it. Though I’ve jumped in the pool, I haven’t yet tackled the ocean and hey, I just discovered a pair of fins, so maybe I’ll snorkel, or better yet, scuba dive…

Because there’s a deluge coming. And I can’t wait to get soaked.

Yes. That’s what I’m doing these days.

Transplant.

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2/15/12

I couldn’t find the word for it, until I came across it in something I was reading. The author1 was talking about faith stages of being rooted, in transplant, or sprouting. Transplant was exactly where I landed, both spiritually and developmentally- I’m quickly finding the post college world is, well, real…

I’m in a season of life where the old answers and ways of doing things don’t make sense anymore. A season of faith where I have more questions than answers. And. I. love. that. It’s a season of shedding old beliefs and being convicted by new ones. A time of kicking voices out of my head that have done nothing but exhaust me. A time where easy answers and shallow,deduced solutions frustrate me. A time where I feel like a bent puzzle piece, a complete enigma to the Evangelical world. I don’t fit there anymore, at least not in the typical sense of the word. A time in my faith where I can shake my head, and feel frustration, pain, and confusion with verses in the bible (Have you ever read Deuteronomy 22:13-21? I pose a challenge for those who say, “I just do what the Word says”). I can wrestle with each word and its Greek and Hebrew translation, syntax, hermeneutics, and etymology; and then, in the same breath, celebrate with the Psalmist some of my deepest praises and mourn my biggest, “my God, my God, where are you?” moments. It’s a time where I can get so stuck in my own head, my own life, my own self-centeredness, that God will find a way to humbly take the attention away from myself and my life by leading me into wonder and awe— “Do you know who created the Earth? Do you know who chose its size? Can you make the sun rise or the night fall? Have you ever knitted together a snowflake? Can you make the rain fall or the wind blow?” (Job 38) I read that chapter and feel an appropriate sense of smallness, a tiny speck in the midst of grandeur, like looking at the night sky on the clearest of nights, involuntarily dropping my jaw, and whisper a barely audible, but completely appreciative, “WOOOOOWWWWW!”

This is a time where I wrestle with the balance of speaking out about convictions or trying to make peace. I am determined to figure out how to do both, accepting the fact that you can’t please everyone. Stances aren’t everything; relationships are better, and I believe that Jesus’ intentions were for us to be “one” (John 17).

But.

Simply put, I am tired and tired and tired of seeing headlines about the next Christian politician who is outspoken against abortion and homosexuality, as if those are the cruxes of the Christian voter, but silent on the waging of war and global suffering. It’s a time of my life where the only thing I want to pledge my allegiance to is the God of faith, hope, and love. I’ll pray my biggest hopes for this America whose freedoms I’ve come to appreciate and whose priorities I’ve come to question.

It’s a time in my life where I cannot read one more article, or catch one more clip of a radio preacher about women needing to be submissive to their husbands, that men are the only leaders, that women shouldn’t preach/read scripture/have any position of leadership in the church (http://www.christianpost.com/news/john-piper-god-gave-christianity-a-masculine-feel-68385/). Imago dei. In God’s image. We are all created in God’s image, not just half of us. We were all created to be a part of the Kingdom of God and to bring God’s will on Earth as it is in heaven. Not just those with an x and y chromosome. I want my faith journey to be filled with teachings shaped by many colors and dual genders. I want my faith to be shaped by people who don’t even have seminary degrees— the poor, the vulnerable, the oppressed. Sometimes I learn more about who God is when someone shares their testimony of finding God in this midst of an HIV diagnosis, or in the gut-wrenching journey of a young woman’s long-awaited freedom from sex trafficking, than when I’m in a Bible study or church service. So while the white man is shouting, I will join other women and I will write. I will pray. I will speak. I will listen (there’s certainly some white man pastors I really dig.) I will ask questions. I will need others to be patient with me. I will need to be patient with others. I will learn. I will be wrong sometimes. I will confess cynicism. I will ask for forgiveness. I will be inspired into action.2

It’s a time in my life where I would sit behind this woman reading the Torah on the subway and think about how I could have just as easily been born to Jewish parents instead of Lutheran. I always smiled at this woman when I used to see her on the way to work. She might have thought I was weird because if there was a seat near her, I’d try to sit there. But anyway, I felt like I had this connection with her— that her God was my God, and my God was her God. That our prayers are heard by the same deity. There is something holy and mysterious and connected about this and I love it. There is so much that we share, I think, ignoring the voices in my head trying to convince me to be a good Evangelical and hand her a tract and explain in four easy steps why, blatantly, her religion is wrong, mine is obviously right, and Jesus proves that.

It’s a time in my life where I cannot read about one more suicide of a young boy or a young girl being bullied because of their sexual identity. I cannot then read about a Christian politician who openly denounced homosexuality in that same town, just a few days prior to a string of suicides. (http://www.rollingstone.com/politics/news/one-towns-war-on-gay-teens-20120202). It’s a time in my life where I see “Is homosexuality a sin?” pamphlets inside subway cars and realized that Christian tracts are now not only trying to tell people how to avoid hell, but how to love the correct gender. “Build love, not walls!!” I want to shout. I look at the cover one more time. “Can it be cured?” I read. I wonder where along the way certain Christians have developed a mentality that’s decided it’s acceptable to treat people like they have some despicable disease, and ponder if we’ve forgotten the dignity Jesus gave to the Lepers with His divine touch. But it’s doesn’t matter since you’re right, I’m wrong, God said it, and that settles it.

It’s a time in my life where I need to stop proclaiming that Evangelicals have logs in their own eyes and accept that I have some two by fours in my own. I hope that together we can take these logs to the lumberjack yard and feed some beavers the grandest feast they’ve ever eaten.

It’s a time in my life where I muse about the mystery of love and marriage. This divine human connection between two people. That we have to learn how to love the other man/woman. It doesn’t come completely natural to pour out true, deep, unwavering love. Love itself to me becomes this holy mystery/experience. Being raw and open and letting someone into your life, forever, deciding the paltry, “so, how many pillows do you sleep with, honey?” to suddenly having this little tiny creature to care after forever. If I’m honest, marriage scares me a little. I’m in no rush to get there. But I do want to get there eventually. It almost seems odd to me. Call me selfish, but from age seven onward I shared my room with a just few stuffed animals and the occasional slumber party friend. In college, my horizons broadened a bit as I had girl roommates who shared everything from make up to Gatorade and swim caps (thank you, Lady Tigers). We would dance to “Single Ladies” while getting ready to go out, and now my current roommate and I have these sporadic nighttime chats and prayer about life in inner city Baltimore. I treasure such moments. But one day, you get married, and it’s like all of that disappears. “Hey honey, it looks like you’re coming home with me tonight….” …And tomorrow night. And the night after tomorrow’s tomorrow. I hope to still go out at least one night when I’m married and still have a sleepover with my best girlfriend; I don’t want to completely lose that sense of laughter and togetherness that comes with pillow talk and a best friend. I hope that when I get married there will be singing in the shower, guests around the dinner table, and a goodnight kiss every night (but please don’t snore!). I hope to learn how to love unselfishly, to build something together, to give everything I have because I want this person to experience all the love, joy, and happiness an imperfect human being can offer. All of these profundities and longings make me smile, as I think about God watching from above and seeing into each house, all of his little creatures, just living life the best way they know how.

It’s a time in my life where I realize that trying to figure out the future will only drive me crazy, and, not to mention, whatever I decide is going to happen in the future, will, in turn, take a twist and throw me something entirely unexpected. I’ve spent months wrestling in my head with career choices, graduate schools, and living abroad. Taking it one step further, the wrestling match explodes into some kind of WWE Smackdown, as I grapple, mull over, and daydream about which country my adopted kids will come from, and how they will be parented, and which country I can move to when I retire, suddenly realizing that I had taken my brain to the year 2036 or some strange number that looks weird on paper, making me scratch my head and think, that cannot possibly be a year. But alas one day that calendar will turn, and New Year’s will ring in 2037, and I’ll be shaking my head wondering where all this time has gone. Bringing myself back to today, the present moment, I unleash myself to God. I stop demanding a cradle-to-the-grave itinerary and when my brain starts to run into years unseen, I remind myself of what I have been promised: a future and a hope.

And so this is transplant. I’m not sure when I’ll be “rooted.” But never the matter. I’m here. And, though I get confused and cry and apologize later for things I shouldn’t have said, I also laugh and smile and make ruckus. I am content. I am happy. I don’t belong with the crowds telling me who I can’t become as a woman; I don’t belong with the crowds who try to convince me what my family, marriage, and faith should all look like (as if God hasnooriginality and forgot to make us all unique). So I’m ok here. I’m ok with where I am. There is freedom here. The door is opening; it’s barely ajar. But I can see it. I can taste it. I can hear it, smell it, breathe it, and it is beautiful. You see, I grew up swimming long, laborious laps in the swimming pool, and there’s this daring in my heart to dive into the deep end and feel cool water and sunlight swirl on my face. So today I think I’ll head out to the ocean instead of the natatorium, and make some waves, because the “no-wake zone” is far behind me; in fact, I can’t even see it anymore. All that’s ahead of me are new sights to see and more shores to swim to. There is plenty of wide open space here, and you can paint with any color brush you choose. Yes, come on in, there’s room for you. And as we run through open fields, I know one day our feet might take to a certain patch of grass in which we will blossom and sprout and plant our flowers. But for right now, I’m in transplant. And I am more alive than ever before.

1 Check out Ed Cyzewski’s Divided We Unite: Practical Christian Unity, available free to subscribers of In.A.Mirror.Dimly.Lit’s Women in Ministry blog: http://inamirrordimly.com/the-women-in-ministry-series-home-page/

2 I’ve been inspired into such action by Sarah Bessey’s post, “In Which I am Done Fighting for a Seat at the Table.”Check it out here: http://www.patheos.com/blogs/emergentvillage/2011/12/fighting-for-a-seat/