Realization

Have you ever learned something about yourself that you really never wanted to know?

I think I’m the process of doing that now. I say “in the process” because I’m constantly waffling between accepting this new self-knowledge as truth . . . and discounting it as over-spiritualized crap. It would seem like an easy and obvious decision—you cannot ever fully deny the truth, after all—but the truth can certainly be ignored, veneered over; hidden for quite some time.

Either way, there is pain (on one hand, the pain of facing your darkest thoughts and feelings; on the other hand, the pain of dishonesty and stagnation). The latter, I believe, is a form of pain that is actually quite simple to medicate for long periods of time. And I suppose that’s what I’ve been doing for many years now: medicating. Mind you—following the pain metaphor—it’s not like I’d ever been given an accurate diagnosis before; I’d only ever seen and treated the symptoms.

But now that I have an inkling of what is really going on with me—why I seem to have so much trouble with stress and managing it—I think it might be better to face the pain and get it over with, rather than ignoring it for the rest of my life.

I don’t think I’m quite ready to face all of this yet, to talk about every detail. But I know I need to say this: I have never really thought about myself as a selfish, greedy person. But I have come to realize in the past few weeks that I care more about my vision, my goals, and my ideas of precisely how my life should unfold—I care more about these things than I had ever realized, and like a spoiled child, I am unwilling to accept anything that’s outside of my own plans and visions.

And when my life experience and dreams don’t match up closely enough . . . that’s when I feel stressed. Well, that’s the definition of stress, isn’t it? The trouble is, I suppose, that I haven’t really learned the art of reconciling these two things—a skill that all spoiled children need to learn.

There are probably several ways to do this. Stoics like Mr. Wonderful may choose to have no expectations at all (at least that’s what he claims sometimes), while seriously nerdy overachiever types just try harder to “do it all” (yes, that would be more my personality). But if you think about it, neither of these approaches is really that effective. It’s neither feasible nor healthy to empty yourself of all dreams and aspirations, and try as I might, I can never live up to my own expectations. I may be smart and talented, but it doesn’t matter how hard I try; sometimes I just won’t succeed in the way I want to.

Over the past few months, despite the fact that I threw myself, body and soul, into the task of finding a job that would pay well and make the best use of my skills, I failed. It didn't matter if I stayed up another hour to search for more jobs, or if I revised my resume for the eighteenth time; I just couldn't do it. And now, take the house: I can't really work any harder to suddenly make this house beautiful and perfect and 100 percent guest-ready; these things just don't depend on me like I think they do.

So if I can’t just try harder, or do much in the way of lowering my expectations, what is the solution? It might just be that I need to accept someone else’s expectations and vision for my life, instead of my own. Someone who has a broader perspective. Someone who “works for the good of those who love him.”

Psalm 42.8

By day the LORD directs his love,

at night his song is with me —

a prayer to the God of my life.

Wow, it's been way too long . . .

Here's something I wrote yesterday to share at a meeting with the BIC bishops:

I was at a conference last week and suddenly I realized why I have often felt so drained over the last year or so, why I so desperately needed refreshment:

I am a religious insider.

In the three years that I’ve been out of college, I have worked in communications for three different Christian organizations, which means I’ve not only been responsible for handling the Word of God, but also the message of each organization I’ve worked for. I’ve been privy to a lot of “inside” information, and I’ve watched how leaders and followers alike conduct themselves.

It’s easy when you’re a religious insider to become callous toward other believers; to be hard of hearing when it comes to the still, small voice of God; and to read the most powerful portions of Scripture without being moved. And I have to say . . . that’s kind of where I’ve been.

There is, of course, nothing wrong with being a religious insider—it is a privilege, an awesome responsibility—but the problem is, when you’re making your living with the Gospel, any frustrations that you face, any apathy that develops as a result of your job will negatively impact your faith. Unless, that is, you’re careful.

And although it seems a little late in the game for me to be coming to this realization (after all, I am leaving in July), I do need to be careful to think of my job as a ministry, to be sure that I am refreshed enough by God and others to share and shape the wisdom that we publish in denominational communications. I need to be refreshed enough by God that when people at work disappoint me, I don’t become hardened against them as spiritual leaders. I need to be refreshed enough by God that the busyness, connectedness, and the celebrity that make up the lives of religious insiders—that I would count all these things as loss. Because without my faith in Christ, that’s exactly what they are.

I have come to the realization that, being a religious insider (as all of you are), I have an especially great need for God’s refreshing power. Because without it, I could not only be empty of wisdom to share with others; I could lose my faith altogether.

Confessions of a workaholic

Since I've been such a crappy blogger of late, I thought I'd post this little piece, which I recently wrote for my church's newsletter.

I was born with an underdeveloped sense of fun. As a kid, I was always the serious one, the nerdy one, the cautious one—the high-anxiety kid who was always quite sure there was something better to do than play and laugh. I always saw past the fun of frolicking in a sprinkler system, for instance, to its natural consequence: I might get muddy and wet.

My brothers, on the other hand, were first-rate frolickers. They made toys out of everything, and spent a good portion of their childhood laughing. As their overly serious older sister, I thought they were just wasting time. After all, I didn’t see grown-ups running around all day, wrestling and pretending they were cowboys.

And then I became a grown-up myself. My Anabaptist work ethic made it easy for me to succeed in college, and later, work situations. More than ever, fun and celebration seemed like an intrusion. If I was going to do something other than work—something I deemed “unproductive”—it should be a relaxing activity, something that would recharge my batteries for another day of work. But something was clearly missing: joy.

The Israelites don’t seem to share my problem with joy and celebration. Every time I read through the Old Testament, I’m surprised that such a creative and productive God would prescribe so many lengthy feasts and festivals. Surely God would not promote laziness and excess, I thought—but that’s exactly how these feasts seemed to me. Lots of people slacking off, eating gluttonous amounts, and . . . dancing? What a waste of time. What silliness! Besides, it’s not realistic for everyone to be celebrating at the same time; someone had to be working; otherwise, they would fall far behind on their tasks.

We modern-day North American Christians aren’t used to being told to rest, or feast, or celebrate. We set our own individual schedules, sleeping, eating, worshiping, and buying whenever it’s most convenient for us. But when the Israelites entered the Promised Land, God was surprisingly specific about how they ought to spend their time.

In Deuteronomy chapters 15­–16, God establishes a rhythm of sacrifice, mercy, worship, celebration, and feasting in the lives of this tiny nation. He tells them when to cancel debts, free servants, sacrifice animals, commemorate the exodus from Egypt, and celebrate the bounty of the harvest.

What really strikes me about this passage is that God doesn’t tell the Israelites when to work, how to work, or how efficiently they should work; rather, He tells them when to stop, when to rest, and when to celebrate. In His infinite wisdom, God knew humans’ penchant for workaholism, and He commanded His chosen people to make room in their busy lives to slow down, reflect on His provisions, and celebrate together.

Those are hard things for me to do. What if I don’t complete all the tasks on my to-do list? What if other people at work, at church, or in my family perceive my slowing-down and celebration as laziness? And perhaps, worst of all, will God still love me just as much if I’m not working or doing as much?

Yes, of course He will.

And if God loves me either way, my own and others’ opinion of my work ethic suddenly don’t seem so important anymore.

As I write this, I’m packing up for a little getaway to celebrate Mr. Incredible's and my fourth wedding anniversary. And while we need rest, and will probably do lots of reading, sleeping, and soaking in the jacuzzi, we’ll do our best to make this a time of actual celebration—to give thanks with joyful hearts for our lives together. Who knows? Maybe we’ll even splurge and do something really fun like snowshoeing or skiing. But we’ll see. I wouldn’t want to overdo it.

The Pursuit of Happyness

Note: I'm posting this because I am feeling a little overly attached to this version of an article I wrote for Seek magazine. I've been asked to revise it significantly, which part of me realizes will improve it beyond all recognition, and part of me is just fixating on the fact that it will be changed beyond all recognition.

I really try to keep my attachment in check . . . but sometimes, I act just like a moody artist. I figured it would be somewhat consoling to know that the article was "getting out there" (at least, to the four people who read my blog), and that would help me feel a little bit better about starting over again. Without further ado, I give you a film review.

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A picture of poverty
Recent film prompts discussion of homelessness

Chris Gardner met his father for the first time at the age of 28. He saw him only one other time: at his father’s funeral. So when he had a son of his own, he was determined to stay in Chris Jr.’s life—no matter what.

Starring Will Smith, the 2006 film “The Pursuit of Happyness” brings Gardner’s story to light. The movie chronicles this father’s struggle to provide for his son without his wife, without a steady job, and (many times) without a place to call home.

On an interpersonal level, “The Pursuit of Happyness” offers a beautiful example of a father’s commitment to his child, and of nurturing care in desperate circumstances. But it is also a detailed look at the economics of poverty.Gardner wasn’t always homeless. In fact, at the beginning of the film, he and his wife and son share an apartment with running water, electricity, and the basic comforts of late 20^th-century life in San Francisco. Always clean-shaven and respectably clad in a suit and tie, Gardner blends in with the middle class. But for him, as it is for so many people in our communities and in our churches, homelessness was only a paycheck away.

“The Pursuit of Happyness” is an important reminder that many of the people we see sleeping on park benches and dining at soup kitchens are not so different from us as we might think: they used to have jobs, homes, and families just like ours. No one can ever be 100 percent poverty-proof. Given the right circumstances, it could happen to anyone.

As portrayed in the film, Gardner’s pursuit of happiness was a fight for the right to work, to earn money to provide for his son. All he really wanted, all he struggled for, was a steady job that would enable him to have a permanent address, a place where his son could eat and sleep in safety—a home.

There are millions of people in our own neighborhoods and overseas who, like Gardner, are caught in poverty, without a place to sleep or the means to provide for their families. God’s love compels us to befriend, feed, clothe, and give shelter to all who need it. And when we do, Scripture reminds us, it’s all for Jesus.

Prayer

"I pray because I can't help myself.
I pray because I'm helpless.
I pray because the need flows out of me
all the time, waking and sleeping.
It doesn't change God, it changes me."

--C.S. Lewis in Shadowlands (1993)

Like a child

Okay, new goal: blog in 10 minutes or less. In my brief time keeping this blog, I've already gotten into the habit of taking too much time and care with my writing--which is sorta' what I wanted to overcome in the first place! So here I go . . . it's currently 8:06, and I've only got 9 minutes left!

Work has been brutal lately. For the first time in my life, I think I'm having a hard time growing up. I was always labeled "8 going on 30," and "so mature for your age." How I loved to be told that! I never thought of myself as a child; I was a capable adult, tragically trapped in a jr. higher's body.

But now, overwhelmed by the demands of my job as an editor and my many roles as a wife, hyper puppy owner, friend, daughter, housekeeper, and volunteer . . . I feel more childlike than ever. Because it's pretty obvious that I can't get everything done--much as I try, I cannot be Superwoman--I feel like a child in need of help.

And as frustrating as that is, at least I know there's someone who can and will fix it and make it better . . . in His time, at least. So I'm doing my best and counting on that.