Once upon a time, people worshiped idols. They were made of wood or clay or stone. They looked like creatures, and they couldn't do anything. These ancient people were silly for thinking the idols could help them. Now, we are so much better and smarter, and we don't have idols.
This was the story I told myself growing up in the Church.
And then my Sunday school teacher informed me TV could be an idol. That didn't quite jive with my definitions of idols. TV didn't look like a monkey or a human with extra appendages. So she explained it to me.
Thus, I expanded my definition to be something to which you give lots of time and attention.
And then my pastor told me work could be an idol.
Okay, I could understand the TV thing, since it was a physical entity. But work was intangible. How could people bow to it? So he explained it to me.
Thus, I expanded my definition to be something to which you give space in your heart where other life-giving things have more claim.
And then an author told me family could be an idol.
What the...?
This one was a bit too out there for my operational definition. Wasn't family a thing the Church loved, a thing that brought life, that embodies love and exemplifies community? How could it be an idol? So the Spirit explained it to me.
Thus, I expanded my definition to be anything that can become my prime motivation, crowding God off His throne in my life.
That revision caused just about everything else in my life to light up as potential idols: Approval, fear, helping others, knowledge, grudges, dreams, theology, identity, exercising (okay, not really, but I kinda wish exercising was something I struggled with idolizing). Anything that occupied my thoughts and informed my goals more than my Savior would end up in His crosshairs. He's a jealous God; He wants all of my heart.
Family is a beautiful thing, but it must never get in the way of what God is calling us into. We need to regularly surrender our spouse, kids, parents, siblings - or our desire for these things - to the One who gives them to us. We need to keep a loose grip so He can slide His hand in there at any time (for all of our best).
When my son was ill and eventually ended up in the hospital, it rocked me. No mom wants to hear the pediatrician say, "We've tried everything. It's time to admit him." But having him in my open hand, knowing he was on loan to me by his Creator - our Creator - made the journey one where I was walking alongside that Creator instead of fighting Him. It made it a sweet adventure even amidst the uncertainty, and the healing that much more dynamic.
We all struggle with idols, no matter how self-aware, humble, or God-focused we are. Once we accept that basic truth of our humanity, we can then begin to identify what needs to be dethroned.
Jessica's Idol Identification-and-Removal Routine:
1. Ask, "What, if taken from me, do I believe would ruin me irreversibly?"
2. Once the Spirit answers and shows you an idol, don't deny it. You'll eventually have to let go of it anyway, so my recommendation (from experience) is to do it sooner and voluntarily, rather than later and with a lot more discomfort. It's like tending to a splinter: Pull it out when you see it, rather than letting it stay, start an infection, and require surgery.
3. Invite the King back to His throne. What makes an idol - thinking it can help you, time, attention, space in your heart, being your motivation - is also what restores your King to His rightful place.
4. Repeat. Regularly.
5.26.2016
5.05.2016
Of Obstacles and Birdsongs
In all my experience with obeying Christ - and with disobeying Him - I have become convinced that when we get serious about following Him, things get harder. Life gets uglier. Obstacles appear out of nowhere, and we wonder if maybe we messed up or maybe it isn't worth it to keep going.
This has become all the more true since I've fully committed to the ministry my Shepherd called me into. A friend of mine recommended I write about it, but I'm in the middle of it all right now, so all I can do is give a brief description of where I'm at in this dark valley.
I had a dream when I was in my early 20s that I had two blond children, a boy and a girl, whom I loved very much. Often when I gaze at my towhead daughter and son, then over at my brunette boy, I wonder where he was in my dream. Perhaps that slight superstition has made me more vulnerable to concerns regarding him, which came to a critical point this past week.
After three weeks of nighttime sleeplessness, crying, screaming, and thrashing about in his crib, last week he developed the inability to walk on his left leg. As a mom getting fewer than five hours of sleep per night - all non-consecutive - I was running out of both sanity and options of providers to visit.
By God's incredible timing, He brought Bob's aunt into town for a scheduled visit just as I was going into a fever, and my parents into town for a conference just as she left. Even when I felt most desperate, I knew I was not abandoned.
And as I futilely tried to calm my sweet, hurting boy one night at 3:00am, I gave up my "Shhh"-ing and "Nighty-night"s, and just started sighing, "Jesus. Jesus. Jesus." And he finally slept. I knew my God was stronger, that He was in control even in this interminable storm.
When the pediatrician announced it was time to admit him to the hospital, I wept. I felt like a failure, but even more so I worried we were wading into an ocean of uncertainty. At least at home we had control over what could happen to him, what we would consider for disorder and treatment; at the hospital, they may want to explore avenues I wasn't ready to walk down.
But it was time. I hadn't been able to fully rest for way too long, and our family's collective health was suffering. So when he awoke with screams and wakefulness just before midnight, I packed up an overnight bag, waited an hour for the police situation and circling helicopter in our neighborhood to resolve, and then drove to Phoenix Children's Hospital. We were a direct admit, and within an hour my boy and I were semi-comfortable in a crib and recliner, respectively.
Over the next two days, I heard a lot of screaming, but I also began to witness healing - for him and for me. After six days of leg pain, he began to walk again. When he awoke at night, there was someone else to help so I wasn't alone in trying to observe and provide care for his ambiguous pain. The hospital provided the food, the cleaning, and the space, and we just had to get better.
I got a text from a friend reminding me to listen to the birds, something I often forget to do when I'm stressed. I stepped outside the cafeteria for a few moments and soaked in their harmonies. "Thank You," I silently prayed.
Bob was amazing with the other two kids, who were also incredible in coping with this strange situation. We were lifted up by family and friends. And when the final test - an MRI of our little man's head - came back perfect, we were able to go home.
He still awoke at night, but it didn't induce a panic attack in me as it had before our hospital stay. I now had medicine and hope. We had walked down some avenues I'd previously labeled "off-limits' and spelunked some dark caves, and I was able to cling to the Shepherd's hand throughout and trust His heart for us.
I've had to put some ministry stuff on hold, but it has allowed others to step into their giftings in my absence. I love that. I love how the Body works together, and it never depends on just one member. I love being part of a system, not a satellite or a cornerstone. And Daddy has been reminding me of this as I have rested and received renewed strength.
There isn't a good way to end this post. As I said, I'm still in the middle of it. It's still messy and uncertain, and I don't have a clean moral to the story. But maybe that's the point. This is where I am simply supposed to "Be still, and know God is God." And then listen for the birdsongs.
This has become all the more true since I've fully committed to the ministry my Shepherd called me into. A friend of mine recommended I write about it, but I'm in the middle of it all right now, so all I can do is give a brief description of where I'm at in this dark valley.
I had a dream when I was in my early 20s that I had two blond children, a boy and a girl, whom I loved very much. Often when I gaze at my towhead daughter and son, then over at my brunette boy, I wonder where he was in my dream. Perhaps that slight superstition has made me more vulnerable to concerns regarding him, which came to a critical point this past week.
After three weeks of nighttime sleeplessness, crying, screaming, and thrashing about in his crib, last week he developed the inability to walk on his left leg. As a mom getting fewer than five hours of sleep per night - all non-consecutive - I was running out of both sanity and options of providers to visit.
By God's incredible timing, He brought Bob's aunt into town for a scheduled visit just as I was going into a fever, and my parents into town for a conference just as she left. Even when I felt most desperate, I knew I was not abandoned.
And as I futilely tried to calm my sweet, hurting boy one night at 3:00am, I gave up my "Shhh"-ing and "Nighty-night"s, and just started sighing, "Jesus. Jesus. Jesus." And he finally slept. I knew my God was stronger, that He was in control even in this interminable storm.
When the pediatrician announced it was time to admit him to the hospital, I wept. I felt like a failure, but even more so I worried we were wading into an ocean of uncertainty. At least at home we had control over what could happen to him, what we would consider for disorder and treatment; at the hospital, they may want to explore avenues I wasn't ready to walk down.
But it was time. I hadn't been able to fully rest for way too long, and our family's collective health was suffering. So when he awoke with screams and wakefulness just before midnight, I packed up an overnight bag, waited an hour for the police situation and circling helicopter in our neighborhood to resolve, and then drove to Phoenix Children's Hospital. We were a direct admit, and within an hour my boy and I were semi-comfortable in a crib and recliner, respectively.
Over the next two days, I heard a lot of screaming, but I also began to witness healing - for him and for me. After six days of leg pain, he began to walk again. When he awoke at night, there was someone else to help so I wasn't alone in trying to observe and provide care for his ambiguous pain. The hospital provided the food, the cleaning, and the space, and we just had to get better.
I got a text from a friend reminding me to listen to the birds, something I often forget to do when I'm stressed. I stepped outside the cafeteria for a few moments and soaked in their harmonies. "Thank You," I silently prayed.
Bob was amazing with the other two kids, who were also incredible in coping with this strange situation. We were lifted up by family and friends. And when the final test - an MRI of our little man's head - came back perfect, we were able to go home.
He still awoke at night, but it didn't induce a panic attack in me as it had before our hospital stay. I now had medicine and hope. We had walked down some avenues I'd previously labeled "off-limits' and spelunked some dark caves, and I was able to cling to the Shepherd's hand throughout and trust His heart for us.
I've had to put some ministry stuff on hold, but it has allowed others to step into their giftings in my absence. I love that. I love how the Body works together, and it never depends on just one member. I love being part of a system, not a satellite or a cornerstone. And Daddy has been reminding me of this as I have rested and received renewed strength.
There isn't a good way to end this post. As I said, I'm still in the middle of it. It's still messy and uncertain, and I don't have a clean moral to the story. But maybe that's the point. This is where I am simply supposed to "Be still, and know God is God." And then listen for the birdsongs.
4.24.2016
Casting CAST
The general consensus was that no one's husband thought they should be there.
With a theme like "Busyness", it's hard to find a woman who can speak to the topic as an expert at managing it. And even if she does exist, none of us could relate to her, which was what the event was about.
These women were sitting in confession via a stage in front of a couple dozen of their sisters. We were assembled for CAST (Coming Alive, Scheming Together) #1: Busyness at Campus Christian Center in Tempe. In between soul-centering and vision-adjusting worship by Kerri and Donielle, each presenter arose to share her journey and unique perspective on the topic that linked them all.
I started the day by stating that our Creator wants us to be busy, but with what is best, not simply what is good. I referenced Dallas Willard's charge to eliminate hurry (an internal state), not busyness (an external state).
We witnessed Kristen's original animation of two plants, one choosing to succumb to the temptations provided by weeds, and the other enduring sun and rain to grow.
Noel reminded us of the significance of rest, using Matthew 11:28 as a springboard. Charith told us about how she's working to become more present and intentional. I recounted a story about experiencing the results of tithing time, referencing Luke 6:38. Mollie reinforced the need for boundaries so we don't miss out on what we're really here for.
But it wasn't just the words. It was the fact that we all nodded at the realizations, the feelings, the feelizations. It was the communal coming alive and being called forth by our loving Daddy out of our individual, isolated comfort zones into something great, something bigger than any of us. We didn't know each other, but we needed each other, and the Spirit was cracking us open so we could truly own that.
The first hour ran late because of technical glitches (the video for the newly-launched Verses 3 to 5 website being one), and the natural expansion that happens when we feel safe to share. But that is what the second hour was for, so it was an effective segue into the conversational spaces. Women broke off into rooms to pray together, share their lives, and link up with plans for accountability and action.
Before the event started, a group of guys were in the worship center finishing up their ministry. They helped me get the A/V working and asked what we were doing. I told them it was an event for women: "A bunch of us are going to present on busyness, and then sit and talk about it." They rolled their eyes and remarked, "That is definitely for women."
And I love that we have this.
With a theme like "Busyness", it's hard to find a woman who can speak to the topic as an expert at managing it. And even if she does exist, none of us could relate to her, which was what the event was about.
These women were sitting in confession via a stage in front of a couple dozen of their sisters. We were assembled for CAST (Coming Alive, Scheming Together) #1: Busyness at Campus Christian Center in Tempe. In between soul-centering and vision-adjusting worship by Kerri and Donielle, each presenter arose to share her journey and unique perspective on the topic that linked them all.
I started the day by stating that our Creator wants us to be busy, but with what is best, not simply what is good. I referenced Dallas Willard's charge to eliminate hurry (an internal state), not busyness (an external state).
We witnessed Kristen's original animation of two plants, one choosing to succumb to the temptations provided by weeds, and the other enduring sun and rain to grow.
Noel reminded us of the significance of rest, using Matthew 11:28 as a springboard. Charith told us about how she's working to become more present and intentional. I recounted a story about experiencing the results of tithing time, referencing Luke 6:38. Mollie reinforced the need for boundaries so we don't miss out on what we're really here for.
But it wasn't just the words. It was the fact that we all nodded at the realizations, the feelings, the feelizations. It was the communal coming alive and being called forth by our loving Daddy out of our individual, isolated comfort zones into something great, something bigger than any of us. We didn't know each other, but we needed each other, and the Spirit was cracking us open so we could truly own that.
The first hour ran late because of technical glitches (the video for the newly-launched Verses 3 to 5 website being one), and the natural expansion that happens when we feel safe to share. But that is what the second hour was for, so it was an effective segue into the conversational spaces. Women broke off into rooms to pray together, share their lives, and link up with plans for accountability and action.
Before the event started, a group of guys were in the worship center finishing up their ministry. They helped me get the A/V working and asked what we were doing. I told them it was an event for women: "A bunch of us are going to present on busyness, and then sit and talk about it." They rolled their eyes and remarked, "That is definitely for women."
And I love that we have this.
3.24.2016
Too Close to Define
You know that experience when you're so close to something you can't really say anything about it? When it's feels like you're trying to build something and discover you're using water instead of packing snow? When you're afraid a remark about it would only touch part and miss the whole?
I remember someone joking that if you need the definition of "psychology", you should [counterintuitively] ask the first-semester psych major, not the PhD clinician.
That is where I am right now: Too close to define.
I'm in the process of putting together an event called CAST (Coming Alive, Scheming Together) for women in the metro Phoenix area who are passionate for Christ. A friend asked who my demographic would be, and I couldn't come up with much more than, "Any woman who loves Jesus and is open to the movement of the Spirit."
Queue eye roll.
I admit it's vague, as are many of the goals attached to it. Every time I've tried to come up with measurable outcomes for CAST, it seems as if some cosmic gameboard shifts and the rules invert. For this strategic-planner, that is unacceptable. I like mission statements, I like five-year plans, and I like knowing what I'm asking people to sign up for.
This has been a humbling time of challenge for me, to say the least.
And yet I know it has been a project our loving Daddy has gifted to me, and I have no doubt He has his own plans for it, even if they won't fit in a binder with tabs and timelines.
Even though I'm way too close to it, I'm going to attempt to describe here what He put in my heart a few months ago. CAST is meant to be an event where multiple women present (speak, sing, or perform) on a common theme during the first hour, and in the second hour the participants meet with the presenters and each other to pray, discuss, and dream together how to use their own passions and gifts to take action. It's what we as women do all the time, but don't often have the encouragement to follow through on it. It's an opportunity to come alive, to exit our isolation and enter connection, to engage in conversations on social justice and the global church and personal growth and serving and leading and the heart of our Lord, to be transformed and then do some transforming to expand the Kingdom.
Because we as women are powerful when we join together. Our Daddy knows this. He longs for us to be the healers, the dreamers, the activists, the advocates, the creators, the defenders, the warriors He designed us to be, and to have each others' backs as sisters.
As my planning team - yes, team! He has taught me to bring on a team, not just do it myself, which is so appropriate for this event about joining together - encountered yet another obstacle to birthing this creation, I spent an evening poring over scripture. I was feeling discouraged after yet another major plot twist in our saga, and I needed to know He would be faithful. And then He allowed me to stumble across this:
~So here’s what I want you to do. When you gather for worship, each one of you be prepared with something that will be useful for all: Sing a hymn, teach a lesson, tell a story, lead a prayer, provide an insight... And no more than two or three speakers at a meeting, with the rest of you listening and taking it to heart. Take your turn, no one person taking over. Then each speaker gets a chance to say something special from God, and you all learn from each other. If you choose to speak, you’re also responsible for how and when you speak. When we worship the right way, God doesn’t stir us up into confusion; he brings us into harmony. This goes for all the churches—no exceptions.~
1 Corinthians 14:26, 29-33 (MSG)
Right. Between. The. Eyes.
To have this level of specificity without having encountered this passage anytime recently - that's the way the Spirit works, my friends! I'm still awestruck with a few lingering goosebumps.
So we press forward in faith and newfound obedience.
I find it a magnificent "coincidence" that my fast for Lent was from relying on my own resources, because there have been many times when I was so tempted to activate my superpowers to solve our problems. Of course, it wouldn't have worked anyway, but the decision to preemptively step aside and fully rely on Him and on others has taught me new discipline, trust, and interdependency.
As a result, when this is a success (by His standards, not mine), all the glory will be His. And that puts my parameter-craving psyche to rest.
I remember someone joking that if you need the definition of "psychology", you should [counterintuitively] ask the first-semester psych major, not the PhD clinician.
That is where I am right now: Too close to define.
I'm in the process of putting together an event called CAST (Coming Alive, Scheming Together) for women in the metro Phoenix area who are passionate for Christ. A friend asked who my demographic would be, and I couldn't come up with much more than, "Any woman who loves Jesus and is open to the movement of the Spirit."
Queue eye roll.
I admit it's vague, as are many of the goals attached to it. Every time I've tried to come up with measurable outcomes for CAST, it seems as if some cosmic gameboard shifts and the rules invert. For this strategic-planner, that is unacceptable. I like mission statements, I like five-year plans, and I like knowing what I'm asking people to sign up for.
This has been a humbling time of challenge for me, to say the least.
And yet I know it has been a project our loving Daddy has gifted to me, and I have no doubt He has his own plans for it, even if they won't fit in a binder with tabs and timelines.
Even though I'm way too close to it, I'm going to attempt to describe here what He put in my heart a few months ago. CAST is meant to be an event where multiple women present (speak, sing, or perform) on a common theme during the first hour, and in the second hour the participants meet with the presenters and each other to pray, discuss, and dream together how to use their own passions and gifts to take action. It's what we as women do all the time, but don't often have the encouragement to follow through on it. It's an opportunity to come alive, to exit our isolation and enter connection, to engage in conversations on social justice and the global church and personal growth and serving and leading and the heart of our Lord, to be transformed and then do some transforming to expand the Kingdom.
Because we as women are powerful when we join together. Our Daddy knows this. He longs for us to be the healers, the dreamers, the activists, the advocates, the creators, the defenders, the warriors He designed us to be, and to have each others' backs as sisters.
As my planning team - yes, team! He has taught me to bring on a team, not just do it myself, which is so appropriate for this event about joining together - encountered yet another obstacle to birthing this creation, I spent an evening poring over scripture. I was feeling discouraged after yet another major plot twist in our saga, and I needed to know He would be faithful. And then He allowed me to stumble across this:
~So here’s what I want you to do. When you gather for worship, each one of you be prepared with something that will be useful for all: Sing a hymn, teach a lesson, tell a story, lead a prayer, provide an insight... And no more than two or three speakers at a meeting, with the rest of you listening and taking it to heart. Take your turn, no one person taking over. Then each speaker gets a chance to say something special from God, and you all learn from each other. If you choose to speak, you’re also responsible for how and when you speak. When we worship the right way, God doesn’t stir us up into confusion; he brings us into harmony. This goes for all the churches—no exceptions.~
1 Corinthians 14:26, 29-33 (MSG)
Right. Between. The. Eyes.
To have this level of specificity without having encountered this passage anytime recently - that's the way the Spirit works, my friends! I'm still awestruck with a few lingering goosebumps.
So we press forward in faith and newfound obedience.
I find it a magnificent "coincidence" that my fast for Lent was from relying on my own resources, because there have been many times when I was so tempted to activate my superpowers to solve our problems. Of course, it wouldn't have worked anyway, but the decision to preemptively step aside and fully rely on Him and on others has taught me new discipline, trust, and interdependency.
As a result, when this is a success (by His standards, not mine), all the glory will be His. And that puts my parameter-craving psyche to rest.
3.09.2016
The Commentary Track
I recently came across a sort of time capsule that perfectly exemplified where I was at during that point in my spiritual life. Rarely does a time capsule perfectly fulfill what it's supposed to do - make the recipient into a time traveler - but this one put me squarely in my thought process of 2009 Jessica.
The item was a treatment for an animation I was proposing at that time for my friend, Kristen. Based off the Parable of the Seeds and the Sower, it represented the weeds as deliverers of luxury that blinded the sprout to the route to true growth, eventually suffocating the sprout due to its anemic condition. I contrasted that with another sprout that refused the allure of the easy life and - with focus, determination, and speed - grew strong and tall.
As I reread the story, I could hear my present self talking to this self from seven years ago (a la Verses 3 to 5): "Yes, this is all true, but..."
I sat down for a rewrite and found myself stripping it to its skeleton. And then I did something that is Me Now but not Me Then: I asked for help.
My mom and I sat together and discussed how to portray the weeds in light of revelations I've had over the course of these years. See, it isn't just comfort, convenience, and security that distract us from growth - so do busyness, pride, self-pity, fear, sneaky forms of idolatry, and pain.
While we talked, I could feel gratitude simmering within my heart that my loving Daddy has been so gracious to open my eyes to things I was unable to see then. Slowly, methodically, in a pace that has allowed me to learn, retain, and apply these lessons, He has been teaching my heart volumes about Him and my life in Him.
And that imperceptible progress, and this conversation with my mom, and my own mistakes along the entire way caused friction with the way I had written the journey of the two sprouts. Instead of the second sprout purposing to powerfully push forward like a lone wolf with a map and a jet pack, I realized that it could not go it alone. The sprout was going to be tempted - even Jesus was, according to Luke 4:2 - and it was going to need to move unhurriedly, intentionally so it could have the space to make tough decisions. Lastly, and one of the biggest realizations of all for me, it needed to grow alongside others.
If one person falls, the other can reach out and help. But someone who falls alone is in real trouble.
Ecclesiastes 4:10 (NLT)
The story took on new life after that, and I can't wait to see what the Sower has in mind for it now. Plus, the resulting ending scene is like an Ebenezer to God's help in my own life, how He has shifted my paradigms of what it means to grow and be alive in Him.
Of course, I recognize that in another seven years, I may reread this entry and think, "Yes, this is all true, but..." And it reminds me of what one of my friends used to say when people asked him why he only quoted great thinkers who were dead: "They can't change their minds."
Today, I'm grateful Daddy has allowed me to change my mind.
The item was a treatment for an animation I was proposing at that time for my friend, Kristen. Based off the Parable of the Seeds and the Sower, it represented the weeds as deliverers of luxury that blinded the sprout to the route to true growth, eventually suffocating the sprout due to its anemic condition. I contrasted that with another sprout that refused the allure of the easy life and - with focus, determination, and speed - grew strong and tall.
As I reread the story, I could hear my present self talking to this self from seven years ago (a la Verses 3 to 5): "Yes, this is all true, but..."
I sat down for a rewrite and found myself stripping it to its skeleton. And then I did something that is Me Now but not Me Then: I asked for help.
My mom and I sat together and discussed how to portray the weeds in light of revelations I've had over the course of these years. See, it isn't just comfort, convenience, and security that distract us from growth - so do busyness, pride, self-pity, fear, sneaky forms of idolatry, and pain.
While we talked, I could feel gratitude simmering within my heart that my loving Daddy has been so gracious to open my eyes to things I was unable to see then. Slowly, methodically, in a pace that has allowed me to learn, retain, and apply these lessons, He has been teaching my heart volumes about Him and my life in Him.
And that imperceptible progress, and this conversation with my mom, and my own mistakes along the entire way caused friction with the way I had written the journey of the two sprouts. Instead of the second sprout purposing to powerfully push forward like a lone wolf with a map and a jet pack, I realized that it could not go it alone. The sprout was going to be tempted - even Jesus was, according to Luke 4:2 - and it was going to need to move unhurriedly, intentionally so it could have the space to make tough decisions. Lastly, and one of the biggest realizations of all for me, it needed to grow alongside others.
If one person falls, the other can reach out and help. But someone who falls alone is in real trouble.
Ecclesiastes 4:10 (NLT)
The story took on new life after that, and I can't wait to see what the Sower has in mind for it now. Plus, the resulting ending scene is like an Ebenezer to God's help in my own life, how He has shifted my paradigms of what it means to grow and be alive in Him.
Of course, I recognize that in another seven years, I may reread this entry and think, "Yes, this is all true, but..." And it reminds me of what one of my friends used to say when people asked him why he only quoted great thinkers who were dead: "They can't change their minds."
Today, I'm grateful Daddy has allowed me to change my mind.
2.06.2016
Waiting for the Taxi
It's taken me a long time to learn forgiveness is not contingent on the other's apology. To refuse to forgive until the other says sorry is like refusing to go to work until someone sends a taxi for me, even though I have my own car.
1.16.2016
On Spiritual Gluttony
In Dark Night of the Soul, St. John of the Cross exposes a host of attitudes and behaviors we may not realize are sins, as they are borne out of spiritual practices. The one that grabbed my attention today was “spiritual gluttony”. This is where we crave and pursue the sweetness of spiritual mountain-top experiences more than we do our Savior.
It was hitting so close to home that I thought maybe I was misreading it - putting my own thoughts into the 16-century monk’s head. So I looked up how others had received this writing, and they got the same thing out of it.
In summary, when we get close to God or go through a really intense time with Him - where our hearts beat as His, where we approach the world as He does, where we are totally in sync with all we know our faith can be - we feel empty after it’s over. So we go after more of that, pursuing the experience as we would a fine red velvet cupcake. We sign up for another mission trip, buy a ticket to a worship concert, do a 40-day fast, all in hopes we’ll feel something awesome in exchange.
Some of us try harder at our practices and go to extremes with confession and “penances”, while others of us determine exactly what must be done when it comes to obedience and discipline so we can achieve our desired results. It becomes all about me and fulfilling my own desires, even if it looks like I’m dedicating myself and my actions to Christ.
What makes something good or bad? As I’ve come to learn in my years post-elementary school, it usually comes down to motive.
As 1 Samuel 16:7 (ESV) says, “For the Lord sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.”
This topic of spiritual gluttony naturally led me to think about my fast, which just hit a full week today. I am fasting from an assortment of things, including sweets. Consequently, I am learning to appreciate the background players of my diet: Toast sans jelly, plain yogurt, naked decaf coffee. My dessert is fruit without enhancement, and I snack on carrots and nuts. Truth be told, it’s really good! These foods may not have the zing of blackberry pie or the soothing aroma of chocolate chip cookies, but they are good for me and ought to make up the bulk of my menu so I can appreciate those other treats when they make cameos.
I love sweetness, but St. John of the Cross reminds me that I must practice moderation in all things, including, somewhat counterintuitively, that which is related to my faith.
My daughter repeatedly showcases the danger of making desserts a regular part of life. Her “nap”setting was not installed in utero, so we have had to gradually shape her behavior into having daily sleep intervals. Part of this is giving her a “treat” after naptime when she has successfully gone to bed without protest or an extended playtime following tuck-in, and awakened without throwing a tantrum.
As she gains practice and gets older, this becomes more the rule than the exception, and she almost always gets her reward. However, she expects a treat every afternoon like those she got in those early days of exasperation when we were prepared to buy her Willy Wonka’s entire Chocolate Factory. So when I offer her half an orange or two stickers, she laughs - laughs! - and reminds me of the definition of a treat. (Mind you, it’s her own definition, but I understand how she pieced it together.)
She is unable to appreciate these other gifts I want to give her because she has made sugary “goodness” her baseline.
Now, this is my own issue to work through, and I’m not going to go into the tangent that it requires for a thorough analysis and resolution. Suffice it to say, I’m recognizing that I need more oranges and stickers - or sometimes need to forego rewards altogether - so I can stay sensitized to the wide variety of goodnesses in life.
It was hitting so close to home that I thought maybe I was misreading it - putting my own thoughts into the 16-century monk’s head. So I looked up how others had received this writing, and they got the same thing out of it.
In summary, when we get close to God or go through a really intense time with Him - where our hearts beat as His, where we approach the world as He does, where we are totally in sync with all we know our faith can be - we feel empty after it’s over. So we go after more of that, pursuing the experience as we would a fine red velvet cupcake. We sign up for another mission trip, buy a ticket to a worship concert, do a 40-day fast, all in hopes we’ll feel something awesome in exchange.
Some of us try harder at our practices and go to extremes with confession and “penances”, while others of us determine exactly what must be done when it comes to obedience and discipline so we can achieve our desired results. It becomes all about me and fulfilling my own desires, even if it looks like I’m dedicating myself and my actions to Christ.
What makes something good or bad? As I’ve come to learn in my years post-elementary school, it usually comes down to motive.
As 1 Samuel 16:7 (ESV) says, “For the Lord sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.”
This topic of spiritual gluttony naturally led me to think about my fast, which just hit a full week today. I am fasting from an assortment of things, including sweets. Consequently, I am learning to appreciate the background players of my diet: Toast sans jelly, plain yogurt, naked decaf coffee. My dessert is fruit without enhancement, and I snack on carrots and nuts. Truth be told, it’s really good! These foods may not have the zing of blackberry pie or the soothing aroma of chocolate chip cookies, but they are good for me and ought to make up the bulk of my menu so I can appreciate those other treats when they make cameos.
I love sweetness, but St. John of the Cross reminds me that I must practice moderation in all things, including, somewhat counterintuitively, that which is related to my faith.
My daughter repeatedly showcases the danger of making desserts a regular part of life. Her “nap”setting was not installed in utero, so we have had to gradually shape her behavior into having daily sleep intervals. Part of this is giving her a “treat” after naptime when she has successfully gone to bed without protest or an extended playtime following tuck-in, and awakened without throwing a tantrum.
As she gains practice and gets older, this becomes more the rule than the exception, and she almost always gets her reward. However, she expects a treat every afternoon like those she got in those early days of exasperation when we were prepared to buy her Willy Wonka’s entire Chocolate Factory. So when I offer her half an orange or two stickers, she laughs - laughs! - and reminds me of the definition of a treat. (Mind you, it’s her own definition, but I understand how she pieced it together.)
She is unable to appreciate these other gifts I want to give her because she has made sugary “goodness” her baseline.
Now, this is my own issue to work through, and I’m not going to go into the tangent that it requires for a thorough analysis and resolution. Suffice it to say, I’m recognizing that I need more oranges and stickers - or sometimes need to forego rewards altogether - so I can stay sensitized to the wide variety of goodnesses in life.
1.07.2016
The Countdown
In less than 48 hours, I will be entering a modified Daniel Fast. There is nothing magical about this type of fast; I think it’s just more accessible for many of us. Because I’m still breastfeeding twin boys several times a day, I’m not going to complicate my life by changing this family’s entire diet for 10 days. That would inevitably turn the fast itself into an idol, as I’d scurry about the kitchen picking my brain and the mass brain of the internet for recipes and nutritional considerations.
To me, it matters less what I’m fasting from and more if I’m holding my commitment as sacred, meeting with Christ in the midst of the self-denial. He knows my heart, and He’s the One who, in Isaiah 58, detailed a preferred fast as one of taking care of others, not being the best at saying no to the offer of a free soy no water chai tea latte at Starbucks.
Matthew 21:28-32 tells the story of two sons, one who promised to do work but did not, and one who said he would not do work but eventually did. I never want to fall into the trap of the first, overcommitting and under-delivering. Earlier in that gospel, in Matthew 5:37, Jesus says to just let your yes or your no stand alone, and I am stingy with my yeses for this reason!
So I’m getting myself into the mindset of fasting, removing things from my kitchen that could entice me: canisters of caffeinated coffee, bottles of cabernet sauvignon, plates of cherry pie. I’m altering my schedule so I need to be more intentional in my activities, so I don’t mindlessly fall into the routine of checking my friends’ status updates on Facebook after I put the kids to bed.
I’m also breathing deeply, asking my loving Daddy to prepare in me a desire to stay the course with my sisters who have also dedicated themselves to this 10-day spiritual excursion. To me, this is one of the most exciting parts of the next week-and-a-half: We’re doing this together. It’s all online, but we’re praying for and encouraging each other as a community. There are few better ways to seal a friendship than through suffering together. This is why my neighbor goes to the VFW every day to drink beer and swap stories with his fellow veterans; this is why the early church was described so romantically in the book of Acts, even though it had a lot of kinks to work out.
But cohesiveness is only one outcome I’m anticipating. I have done various fasts - nothing big, so don’t consider me anything more than a curious novice on this topic. What I can attest to is the indelible and tremendous impact fasting has on one’s spiritual life. Through weekly fasting, I’ve witnessed the restoration of my marriage, an incredible deepening of my relationship with my Creator and Lover of my soul, and a renewed sense of purpose. I’ve had insight into tough decisions, peace in tumultuous life-monsoons, and an unshakeable sense of God’s goodness.
As with tithing, when I’ve emptied myself, the Spirit has filled me up every time, and with more than I’d given up.
I was not raised in a church that practiced fasting. This is not a statement against that church; it was simply not part of its faith tradition. However, my dad and mom decided a few Januarys ago to join me in the Daniel Fast through the church Bob and I were attending. He told me afterward that, once the fast had concluded, he had a significant meeting regarding the missions work they were doing and a stomach-churning, prolonged impasse that had been reached. At the meeting, the Holy Spirit was present and the impasse was not. It was nowhere to be seen. No trace of it.
Stormie Omartian talks about how combining prayer and fasting allows the Spirit access to tear down strongholds in our lives that wouldn’t take place with just prayer. It’s like the demon that couldn’t be cast out by the disciples; Jesus said in Mark 9:29 (at least, in numerous translations) that its eviction required prayer and fasting. And this is what Dad experienced in that meeting. And this is what I’ve experienced through my own times of sacrifice.
Since I wasn’t raised with this discipline, it’s still somewhat daunting every time I step toward it. But I am blessed each time, and I am strengthened in my inner self through this intense flow of energy between leaf and Vine.
I am praying that this time of fasting will empty me of my own plans for 2016 so I can grasp those of the Author. There has been considerable stirring my heart, and I need to relinquish any control I’ve fooled myself into thinking I have. My goal at the end of 10 days? To be less me and more Him. That sounds so churchy, so Christianese, so holier-than-thou, but it’s what I desperately need and crave as I enter into the next phase of ministry to and with others.
In 48 hours, I will be offering my life up to be transformed. I’ll be doing it with others. And I’m solidly, uncontainably geeked.
To me, it matters less what I’m fasting from and more if I’m holding my commitment as sacred, meeting with Christ in the midst of the self-denial. He knows my heart, and He’s the One who, in Isaiah 58, detailed a preferred fast as one of taking care of others, not being the best at saying no to the offer of a free soy no water chai tea latte at Starbucks.
Matthew 21:28-32 tells the story of two sons, one who promised to do work but did not, and one who said he would not do work but eventually did. I never want to fall into the trap of the first, overcommitting and under-delivering. Earlier in that gospel, in Matthew 5:37, Jesus says to just let your yes or your no stand alone, and I am stingy with my yeses for this reason!
So I’m getting myself into the mindset of fasting, removing things from my kitchen that could entice me: canisters of caffeinated coffee, bottles of cabernet sauvignon, plates of cherry pie. I’m altering my schedule so I need to be more intentional in my activities, so I don’t mindlessly fall into the routine of checking my friends’ status updates on Facebook after I put the kids to bed.
I’m also breathing deeply, asking my loving Daddy to prepare in me a desire to stay the course with my sisters who have also dedicated themselves to this 10-day spiritual excursion. To me, this is one of the most exciting parts of the next week-and-a-half: We’re doing this together. It’s all online, but we’re praying for and encouraging each other as a community. There are few better ways to seal a friendship than through suffering together. This is why my neighbor goes to the VFW every day to drink beer and swap stories with his fellow veterans; this is why the early church was described so romantically in the book of Acts, even though it had a lot of kinks to work out.
But cohesiveness is only one outcome I’m anticipating. I have done various fasts - nothing big, so don’t consider me anything more than a curious novice on this topic. What I can attest to is the indelible and tremendous impact fasting has on one’s spiritual life. Through weekly fasting, I’ve witnessed the restoration of my marriage, an incredible deepening of my relationship with my Creator and Lover of my soul, and a renewed sense of purpose. I’ve had insight into tough decisions, peace in tumultuous life-monsoons, and an unshakeable sense of God’s goodness.
As with tithing, when I’ve emptied myself, the Spirit has filled me up every time, and with more than I’d given up.
I was not raised in a church that practiced fasting. This is not a statement against that church; it was simply not part of its faith tradition. However, my dad and mom decided a few Januarys ago to join me in the Daniel Fast through the church Bob and I were attending. He told me afterward that, once the fast had concluded, he had a significant meeting regarding the missions work they were doing and a stomach-churning, prolonged impasse that had been reached. At the meeting, the Holy Spirit was present and the impasse was not. It was nowhere to be seen. No trace of it.
Stormie Omartian talks about how combining prayer and fasting allows the Spirit access to tear down strongholds in our lives that wouldn’t take place with just prayer. It’s like the demon that couldn’t be cast out by the disciples; Jesus said in Mark 9:29 (at least, in numerous translations) that its eviction required prayer and fasting. And this is what Dad experienced in that meeting. And this is what I’ve experienced through my own times of sacrifice.
Since I wasn’t raised with this discipline, it’s still somewhat daunting every time I step toward it. But I am blessed each time, and I am strengthened in my inner self through this intense flow of energy between leaf and Vine.
I am praying that this time of fasting will empty me of my own plans for 2016 so I can grasp those of the Author. There has been considerable stirring my heart, and I need to relinquish any control I’ve fooled myself into thinking I have. My goal at the end of 10 days? To be less me and more Him. That sounds so churchy, so Christianese, so holier-than-thou, but it’s what I desperately need and crave as I enter into the next phase of ministry to and with others.
In 48 hours, I will be offering my life up to be transformed. I’ll be doing it with others. And I’m solidly, uncontainably geeked.
12.11.2015
From the other side of the chrysalis
I've had a few weeks to process the dissolution of our weekly Milkweed Momdays. This past Monday was the first without the Bible study written on my calendar. (To be more accurate, it was written on the calendar, but I crossed it off.)
Through reflections both in solitude and in the safe exploration afforded by the presence of gentle and wise friends, my perspective is widening beyond the sacrifice of my "baby" on that mountain. I'm still grieving the loss of the group, but I've begun to see it more as a change, an apotheosis as opposed to a death.
Here's what I've realized. The Shepherd had been leading me and the members of Milkweed along still waters, instructing us to rest and receive in the cool, plush grass. Many of us were in need of healing, a regrouping in loving, Christ-centered community. One mama told me that she came because, in her words, "I had to." Others agreed with that sentiment, driving incredible distances because they too felt compelled to plunge into the Word and open their souls to one another so as to root down deep into good soil. And we grew up fortified, as Milkweed should be, and we nourished one another and were nourished by our Source.
But that place of respite was not where the Shepherd wanted to leave us. He, who is also the Gardener, wanted to prune us so we could mature and spread.
Had our loving Daddy not nudged me to surrender the group to Him on that pre-Thanksgiving day, it may have stayed as a place of receiving. But Milkweed has always been His project, and He wanted it - wanted us - to stop taking in and start giving out. Now we had the foundation of relationships, accountability, prayer, and study of His Word, which is what disciple-makers need to follow the Great Commission in Matthew 28:18-20. The Spirit kept bringing this passage back to my mind:
~No prolonged infancies among us, please. We’ll not tolerate babes in the woods, small children who are an easy mark for impostors. God wants us to grow up, to know the whole truth and tell it in love—like Christ in everything. We take our lead from Christ, who is the source of everything we do. He keeps us in step with each other. His very breath and blood flow through us, nourishing us so that we will grow up healthy in God, robust in love.~
Ephesians 4:14-16 (MSG)
Here's what is so exciting to me: Since we ended the weekly in-person meeting times, many members have reported they have had opportunities to start meeting with other women, sharing their faith, discipling them, encouraging them in their walks with Jesus. The Shepherd is leading us onward, into the dark valleys, to bring Jesus' light out of the 2-year-olds' room at First Christian Church and into the hearts of the lost and the hurting. YAY GOD!
My dear friends, if you know people who have wandered off from God’s truth, don’t write them off. Go after them. Get them back and you will have rescued precious lives from destruction and prevented an epidemic of wandering away from God.
James 5:19-20 (MSG)
I still don't understand all of this, but I am in awe of what Daddy has revealed thus far. And I am riddled with delicious anxiety for what He is going to do next.
Thank you all for being part of this adventure! The best is yet to come...
~This resurrection life you received from God is not a timid, grave-tending life. It’s adventurously expectant, greeting God with a childlike “What’s next, Papa?” God’s Spirit touches our spirits and confirms who we really are. We know who he is, and we know who we are: Father and children. And we know we are going to get what’s coming to us—an unbelievable inheritance! We go through exactly what Christ goes through. If we go through the hard times with him, then we’re certainly going to go through the good times with him!~
Romans 8:15-17 (MSG)
Through reflections both in solitude and in the safe exploration afforded by the presence of gentle and wise friends, my perspective is widening beyond the sacrifice of my "baby" on that mountain. I'm still grieving the loss of the group, but I've begun to see it more as a change, an apotheosis as opposed to a death.
Here's what I've realized. The Shepherd had been leading me and the members of Milkweed along still waters, instructing us to rest and receive in the cool, plush grass. Many of us were in need of healing, a regrouping in loving, Christ-centered community. One mama told me that she came because, in her words, "I had to." Others agreed with that sentiment, driving incredible distances because they too felt compelled to plunge into the Word and open their souls to one another so as to root down deep into good soil. And we grew up fortified, as Milkweed should be, and we nourished one another and were nourished by our Source.
But that place of respite was not where the Shepherd wanted to leave us. He, who is also the Gardener, wanted to prune us so we could mature and spread.
Had our loving Daddy not nudged me to surrender the group to Him on that pre-Thanksgiving day, it may have stayed as a place of receiving. But Milkweed has always been His project, and He wanted it - wanted us - to stop taking in and start giving out. Now we had the foundation of relationships, accountability, prayer, and study of His Word, which is what disciple-makers need to follow the Great Commission in Matthew 28:18-20. The Spirit kept bringing this passage back to my mind:
~No prolonged infancies among us, please. We’ll not tolerate babes in the woods, small children who are an easy mark for impostors. God wants us to grow up, to know the whole truth and tell it in love—like Christ in everything. We take our lead from Christ, who is the source of everything we do. He keeps us in step with each other. His very breath and blood flow through us, nourishing us so that we will grow up healthy in God, robust in love.~
Ephesians 4:14-16 (MSG)
Here's what is so exciting to me: Since we ended the weekly in-person meeting times, many members have reported they have had opportunities to start meeting with other women, sharing their faith, discipling them, encouraging them in their walks with Jesus. The Shepherd is leading us onward, into the dark valleys, to bring Jesus' light out of the 2-year-olds' room at First Christian Church and into the hearts of the lost and the hurting. YAY GOD!
My dear friends, if you know people who have wandered off from God’s truth, don’t write them off. Go after them. Get them back and you will have rescued precious lives from destruction and prevented an epidemic of wandering away from God.
James 5:19-20 (MSG)
I still don't understand all of this, but I am in awe of what Daddy has revealed thus far. And I am riddled with delicious anxiety for what He is going to do next.
Thank you all for being part of this adventure! The best is yet to come...
~This resurrection life you received from God is not a timid, grave-tending life. It’s adventurously expectant, greeting God with a childlike “What’s next, Papa?” God’s Spirit touches our spirits and confirms who we really are. We know who he is, and we know who we are: Father and children. And we know we are going to get what’s coming to us—an unbelievable inheritance! We go through exactly what Christ goes through. If we go through the hard times with him, then we’re certainly going to go through the good times with him!~
Romans 8:15-17 (MSG)
12.03.2015
Unsent
Dear Shawn,
It has been exactly 10 years since we met. If you hadn't left this earth that day in July, I wouldn't have realized this. I also wouldn't find myself tearing up at thoughts of eating toast at a family restaurant, or searching intensely through my CD collection for that scratched-up disc with "Trudy" scrawled on it which we found in a parking lot, deciding I absolutely must keep it.
You had been burned by a coworker; I had been burned by a workplace. We were partners on the job and cautious to engage personally. I discovered you had advocated for me to get the position, even though you hadn't known me. Screw the boundaries - that endeared you to me forever.
Advocating is what you did, who you were. You were a social worker in every cell of your body.
We worked with kids, but neither of us had any; neither of us wanted any. You succeeded in that goal. I'm deliriously happy with my failure there.
I'm going to miss you, even though we haven't seen each other in over five years. I had invited you to my birthday party when my parents still lived in Michigan; you couldn't make it because you were studying for your social work exam. Always so dedicated. I was proud of you, regardless of the outcome of that standardized test.
We talked on the phone, through the Internet and, our shared favorite, by written correspondence. I came across one in a pile the other day - a card you had written me after I had become a mother. In your characteristic fashion, you ran out of room and took your expansive, blooming printed letters onto a small stack of notes piled within it. That handwriting encapsulated my mental depiction of you: welcoming, flowing, not concerned about limits or minutiae.
You once handed me a CD by the band Keane. You'd bought it thinking it was Kanye (West) and were disappointed by the purchase. You weren't embarrassed by the mistake; you moved forward with transparency and laughter, then gave the album to someone you thought might appreciate the music.
You gave. Without thought or pretense, you just handed things to me to keep. Many became treasures. (Keane did not.) I admired how pragmatic you were, all the while housing a sensitive heart that could tap into others' needs and address them.
I have the ornate clock you gave for our wedding. Not on our registry, nothing I would have thought to seek out, but it's one of my favorite presents because it was gilded with careful thoughtfulness. It hasn't had batteries in it in years, but it has always held a place of prominence in our home, a beautiful reminder of the joy of unexpected gifts.
I'm endlessly grateful God brought us together for our season. You helped me recognize my caffeine dependency, I gave you a copy of 'Jesus Calling'. I'll never forget your allegation that the author, Sarah Young, was stalking you based on how timely her insights were per devotion.
We talked about life beyond small talk and clichéd philosophies. We talked experience, perception, theory, hope, and you regularly challenged me without a verbal confrontation. You were not made squeamish by the underbelly of humanity, didn't shy away from the darkness of living; it was all part of the story. All part of the richness of the discussion.
You told me about the illness while we were walking on treadmills. It was our only shared workout, but had I not moved out of state I'm certain we would have had many more. Your dad had been diagnosed, and it appeared your sister would be, too. It was troubling, but you could cope because that's what you knew how to do.
A few years later, you told me you were diagnosed. I didn't know what that meant until your communications became more disorganized, your planning less long-range. We talked on the phone, and you were approaching the final stages of grief - I had missed the first three, although you probably continued to bounce in and out of them.
It became harder to know how you were. We didn't share a friend group, so when you wouldn't return messages I didn't know what to think. I'd just pray and wait.
You were going through so much loss in your life, and I kept a distance so as not to add the stress of updating your absent friend. You chided me for that. I saved that voicemail. As long as my iPhone allows it, I'll keep it.
Your mom was the one who took over communique after you could no longer text. She was gracious and kind, despite grieving the loss of her partner and the impending loss of a daughter, both to the same black hole. She reminded me of the ladybug outfit you two picked out for my daughter when she was a newborn. It resides in a "keep-me" box, its color faded from frequent wearings.
I cried when she said you were in a coma. My kids didn't know what to make of my tears. The boys were still infants, but I sat my daughter down with the 24-piece puzzle you'd given her and explained who you were and that you would be seeing Jesus soon.
You went home to Him later that week. My daughter put the puzzle together for the first time after the news came from your mom. It was the best tribute I could imagine.
It's the holidays, when we think of those we love, and even more so those we have lost. I am approaching my birthday again, remembering the one you had to miss. I'm not sure why I'm sitting in this memory in particular, but it is an honor to have it to wrap around me because it reminds me that I wanted you there and you wanted to be there and we existed in one another's hearts. And, in the end, isn't that what true friendship is?
Thank you, Shawn, for journeying with me, sharing with me, and coaxing me out to play. Thank you for being consistently you.
By His grace & in His time,
--j
It has been exactly 10 years since we met. If you hadn't left this earth that day in July, I wouldn't have realized this. I also wouldn't find myself tearing up at thoughts of eating toast at a family restaurant, or searching intensely through my CD collection for that scratched-up disc with "Trudy" scrawled on it which we found in a parking lot, deciding I absolutely must keep it.
You had been burned by a coworker; I had been burned by a workplace. We were partners on the job and cautious to engage personally. I discovered you had advocated for me to get the position, even though you hadn't known me. Screw the boundaries - that endeared you to me forever.
Advocating is what you did, who you were. You were a social worker in every cell of your body.
We worked with kids, but neither of us had any; neither of us wanted any. You succeeded in that goal. I'm deliriously happy with my failure there.
I'm going to miss you, even though we haven't seen each other in over five years. I had invited you to my birthday party when my parents still lived in Michigan; you couldn't make it because you were studying for your social work exam. Always so dedicated. I was proud of you, regardless of the outcome of that standardized test.
We talked on the phone, through the Internet and, our shared favorite, by written correspondence. I came across one in a pile the other day - a card you had written me after I had become a mother. In your characteristic fashion, you ran out of room and took your expansive, blooming printed letters onto a small stack of notes piled within it. That handwriting encapsulated my mental depiction of you: welcoming, flowing, not concerned about limits or minutiae.
You once handed me a CD by the band Keane. You'd bought it thinking it was Kanye (West) and were disappointed by the purchase. You weren't embarrassed by the mistake; you moved forward with transparency and laughter, then gave the album to someone you thought might appreciate the music.
You gave. Without thought or pretense, you just handed things to me to keep. Many became treasures. (Keane did not.) I admired how pragmatic you were, all the while housing a sensitive heart that could tap into others' needs and address them.
I have the ornate clock you gave for our wedding. Not on our registry, nothing I would have thought to seek out, but it's one of my favorite presents because it was gilded with careful thoughtfulness. It hasn't had batteries in it in years, but it has always held a place of prominence in our home, a beautiful reminder of the joy of unexpected gifts.
I'm endlessly grateful God brought us together for our season. You helped me recognize my caffeine dependency, I gave you a copy of 'Jesus Calling'. I'll never forget your allegation that the author, Sarah Young, was stalking you based on how timely her insights were per devotion.
We talked about life beyond small talk and clichéd philosophies. We talked experience, perception, theory, hope, and you regularly challenged me without a verbal confrontation. You were not made squeamish by the underbelly of humanity, didn't shy away from the darkness of living; it was all part of the story. All part of the richness of the discussion.
You told me about the illness while we were walking on treadmills. It was our only shared workout, but had I not moved out of state I'm certain we would have had many more. Your dad had been diagnosed, and it appeared your sister would be, too. It was troubling, but you could cope because that's what you knew how to do.
A few years later, you told me you were diagnosed. I didn't know what that meant until your communications became more disorganized, your planning less long-range. We talked on the phone, and you were approaching the final stages of grief - I had missed the first three, although you probably continued to bounce in and out of them.
It became harder to know how you were. We didn't share a friend group, so when you wouldn't return messages I didn't know what to think. I'd just pray and wait.
You were going through so much loss in your life, and I kept a distance so as not to add the stress of updating your absent friend. You chided me for that. I saved that voicemail. As long as my iPhone allows it, I'll keep it.
Your mom was the one who took over communique after you could no longer text. She was gracious and kind, despite grieving the loss of her partner and the impending loss of a daughter, both to the same black hole. She reminded me of the ladybug outfit you two picked out for my daughter when she was a newborn. It resides in a "keep-me" box, its color faded from frequent wearings.
I cried when she said you were in a coma. My kids didn't know what to make of my tears. The boys were still infants, but I sat my daughter down with the 24-piece puzzle you'd given her and explained who you were and that you would be seeing Jesus soon.
You went home to Him later that week. My daughter put the puzzle together for the first time after the news came from your mom. It was the best tribute I could imagine.
It's the holidays, when we think of those we love, and even more so those we have lost. I am approaching my birthday again, remembering the one you had to miss. I'm not sure why I'm sitting in this memory in particular, but it is an honor to have it to wrap around me because it reminds me that I wanted you there and you wanted to be there and we existed in one another's hearts. And, in the end, isn't that what true friendship is?
Thank you, Shawn, for journeying with me, sharing with me, and coaxing me out to play. Thank you for being consistently you.
By His grace & in His time,
--j
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