Ignite: Then and Now

Have you ever tried to water a potted plant that was bone-dry? The water beads up and splashes off the dust with no effect.

Only small drops, patiently dripped, get through the crust.

Just after Christmas, the hubs and I squeezed onto a bus with 56 other people and drove to Indiana’s capital for the Ignite Conference. Ignite is a bit like a family reunion for the several hundred college students and staff who gather every two years from all the churches in the Collegiate Church Network. For two days, we worship, barely sleep, hang out, and hear dynamic teachings designed to re-ignite our hearts with love for God and for people.

When I went to Ignite two years ago, I was like a waterless plant that had forgotten how to drink. Starved for friendship, terribly lonely, and laboring under a false weight of expectations, my hard protective crust blocked out the love I needed.

I'm not saying love was not offered--it was. The sweet women in our group welcomed me, sat by me, chatted as we made coffee. But the wounds I nursed were so painful that I was unable to soak it in. Love splashed off, ineffective. 

This time was so different! The acceptance got through this year and soaked my heart. 

To all the women who loved me that weekend, thank you!
When your engagement secret was shared, I squealed as I anticipated your joy to come.
Adoption hopes whispered over our pillows thrilled my heart for you and your future family. 
You came on an impromptu picture-snatching adventure with me in the bright cold, and I felt like your sister. 

You sat beside me for hours in the dark on a swaying bus, just to talk and listen. 
You prayed with me, 
You smiled at me, 
you weren't embarrassed to worship beside me. 

But the real thanks welling up in my heart is to the One who has patiently dripped love into my crusty heart. Dripped and dripped so persistently and long. And then He gave me a milestone like Ignite. A two-year bookend--something to hold side by side for the difference--so I could compare the soils of me then and me now. 

He used some of you, and my heart is so thankful!

If you feel like your own heart is impermeable, that it is too dry for love or friendship, take heart. He is a Spring of Living Water, and He doesn't give up that easily. 

If you feel like you are the water, continually poured on a hard one that won't receive, take courage. The softening is His job--yours is to be the pipe, the spigot, that He pours through. 

Five Minute Friday::Fight

A new year, and I'm linking back up with Lisa-Jo at her online writer's party, Five Minute Friday! The basic idea is this: a one-word prompt, five minutes, and the courage to see what comes out.

Ok, ok, this took me WAY longer than five minutes. It was typed between phone calls with grad students and faculty, my lunch break, and conversations with student workers. Every time I turned back to the screen, my mind had to take a minute or two to regroup.

And then the prompt was just so GOOD this time, or maybe the things it stirred were so good, that five minutes just wasn't enough to sift through it all.

PROMPT: "Fight"

Three days ago, the year quietly turned over.

In Decembers past, I have knelt on the floor with the pieces of the previous year and made better plans. The lists have gotten longer each year, the sense of failure harder to sweep into the trash. But I have fought on, doggedly. I craved a sense of control, something to fight and strive for. It scratched my performance itch, that old wound that wondered “am I enough?”

But three days ago, there were no lists. There were no pre-failure tears. There were no crowding ambitions to stroke my pride.

The birth of this New Year carried the same peace as the Birth celebrated five days earlier. A miracle.

In 2013, I was glaringly inadequate. Far from the familiar realm of academic success, the working world was harsh to this newbie who didn’t understand the sarcastic culture of unkindness in which I found myself.

Gone were the grades, the part-time job where I knew what I was doing, the leadership role that was defined and comfortable.

But I was held.

My brokenness devastated me, but not Him. At the end of my striving, there He was, the same Savior who captivated my little-girl heart. I was tired of the fight for sanity and acceptance and rest and blog hits and emotional stability, but when I collapsed I found myself caught. Caught by the arms that had already streached out to me and the world two millenia prior.

I am realizing for the first time in experience what I have long known:

He Himself is my peace.

Not my ability to bring order to the chaos. Not the cleanness of my counters. Not whether friends remember my birthday or I remember theirs.

He. The Prince of Peace. The baby who folded small into a teen mom and yanked Heaven into our messy world so strangely.

He still holds the helpless (me), still accepts the unacceptable (me again), and still meets my mess with love.

My brokenness will only find wholeness when I rest in the hands that were broken for me.

My ceasefire can only come when I believe the fight he won was sufficient. Before 2014 begins, it is finished.

And I can rest from the fight.

 

 

Five Minute Friday:: Together

Today I am linking up with Five Minute Friday, a writing exercise where you set a timer for five minutes and write on a specific topic until it chimes at you to lift your fingers from the keyboard. You can join in here!

This week's prompt: TOGETHER
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Alone is clean.

 

Alone is well-ordered.

Alone is never impinged-upon, infringed upon, or barged-in upon.

Alone is me, myself and I and my dreams and get out of my way because I’m the star of this show.

But alone is lonely. And God Himself said that a single person alone—even in paradise—was not a good deal.
The perfectly unified, triune community decided to replicate this one last aspect of Himself in man. He made a marriage, which made a family, which made a populace of others.

And these were not meant to be loners, these others. They must inter-marry and inter-depend and inter-weave their lives and stories. They must bow and submit to each other, honor each other, forgive each other, and a thousand other “each other” verbs that Jesus said and lived.

Broken as we are, together is hard.

Together is messy.

Together is toothpaste in the sink again and forgotten birthdays and hurt feelings and awkward Christmases and forgiveness again and again while we struggle against the urge to live as a hermit.

 

But together is what He asked for that night on His knees. And then he endured the alone to purchase community.

It was messy. It hurt. But He considered it worth it.

Stop

SCW: Aware of Cellulite and Grace

She was standing there, young, athletic and ridiculously beautiful, the mascara wand forgotten in her hand as she appraised me. She turned back to our shared mirror.

"It seems like there sure are a lot of married people in this group. Lots of y'all are older."

It was such a tiny comment, dropped like an afterthought into a whole conversation, but it stung.

I think I responded with a laugh and a fumbled something about people who choose to stay and help other lives change after they have been impacted themslelves and yadda yadda. (Which, by the way, I totally believe!) Suddenly, I was very aware of my cellulite and the new little lines around my eyes. I hoped she didn't think I was creepy or weird or that she had stumbled into a group of old people.

If this sounds like a familiar refrain, you're probably remembering an earlier post about my mid-twenties crisis. Yeah. That.

But there is a reason that this post's title isn't "Crisis #2"--because it wasn't. It stung in the moment, but I was able to take a deep breath and keep talking, keep listening, keep loving.

I think this means healing.

One of the best parts that weekend was the sweet camaraderie between us four.

We sat together in the dark on the cooling ground, watching constellations turn imperceptibly overhead. We slept with our heads close together on air mattresses. We talked over cocoa and coffee.

There was silliness.

There were ant bites.

There were marshmallow smears on my jeans from fireside s’more making.

There were heartfelt prayers for students by students at the back of the worship hall.

And even though my insecurities are still there, there is healing happening in my heart and I feel so glad for the chance to be an auxiliary part of this thing we call college ministry.

Adults Bully Too

Lately I've been researching workplace bullying. Read into that what you will.

I always thought bullies were a middle-school thing, but apparently adult bullying is pretty common. A Wikipedia search told me that almost half (49%) of all Americans reported being affected by bullying currently or in the past. Maaaan, I thought I was out of the danger zone!

The Health and Safety Executive website says that workplace bullying is "negative behavior being targeted at an individual, or individuals, repeatedly and persistently over time." Pretty broad definition, but they break it down:

• ignoring or excluding someone
• giving unachievable tasks, or "setting you up to fail"
• spreading malicious rumors or gossip
• making belittling remarks
• undermining your integrity
• not giving credit where credit is due
• withholding information purposely

The Workplace Bullying Institute says stress from being harassed or bullied can cause emotional and mental damage leading to things like depression, heart problems, and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. Yikes!

My research, and my own experience, have convinced me that the question is not whether it will happen to me, but when. And when it does, what is the mature, responsible response? Is the advice given to kids in middle school appropriate for an adult workplace? And as a Christian, should my behavior be different from what I could legally do?

These are genuine questions. 

As a kid, I was told, "Ignore bullies; they just want a reaction. If that doesn't work, stand up to them." But as a homeschooled kid, I had a pretty limited exposure to bullies. Not much chance to practice. 

Now I'm adult in the corporate world, and I sense a pressure to give as good as I get or get run over. Gossip is the norm, and if you don't conform, then guess what--you're the new target. "Good Americans" are confident, assertive individuals who would never allow themselves to be bullied, right?

But as a Christian, I've resisted this, struggling to know how to respond and remain obedient to Jesus. I mean, He said some pretty un-American stuff on this topic. 

"You have heard that it was said, 'Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth.' But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also. And if anyone wants to sue you and take your shirt, hand over your coat as well. If anyone forces you to go one mile, go with them two miles." (Matthew 5:28-41)

A person who slaps me, steals my hoodie, and sues me. Hmm, sounds like a bully to me. And Jesus says "do not resist" this person. Instead He seems to advocate a policy of "killing with kindness", giving good for evil. 

Until this week, Jesus and Corporate America seemed totally out of sync. Then I had a revelation: perhaps "resistance" was not the same as "assertiveness."

Resistance pushes angrily back when it is shoved. It fights fire with fire, leading to an inferno. I have always known that this was a baaaaaad idea. Assertion, on the other hand, can be respectful and controlled. It speaks the truth in love. It may confront, but it never keeps grudges and it never gossips. 

I am still chewing on this new distinction. How to assert lovingly--and ensure that people know it's done without malice? How to confront people who have never known healthy conflict? How to break habits of silence and avoidance that have grown over months?

Maybe I'll do a sequel to this post as I learn more. But in the meantime, I'd appreciate prayer. I have a new appreciation for the hard life of the picked-on. 

How does my garden grow?

 The last time I showed you my garden, the box stood stark in the ground, softened only by a few tiny pepper and tomato plants.

Look at it now!

Because of the drought our area has had for the past two summers, I was considering installing an auto-drip system. But because this summer has been pretty wet so far, my new concern is drainage. Too much water equals root-rot. I'm hoping that the fact that it's a raised bed will help.

I'm excited about these baby tomatoes!

And these flowers will one day be cucumbers!

Not sure why the bell peppers are looking puny. Too much water perhaps?

There is one problem I have no clue how to fix. Little sugar ants are eating the stems of my zucchini plants at the root! Does anyone know how I can stop them?

Double Dipping

This fall, JC and I are taking a scandalous, groundbreaking step. We feel like rebels, cheating the system. It's so revolutionary that it just might start a trend. It's the thing your mom always frowned upon when she made chips and salsa or put out the ranch dip for veggies.

Yes--we are double dipping. But not in the salsa.

Instead of attending only the student homegroup, this semester we are also joining the homegroup for young, graduated adults. Appropriately named Segue ("SEG-way") because of the transitional stage of life in which most of the members find themselves, this homegroup has a mix of grad students, recent grads who are working locally, and even a few married couples.

But we've always loved Avalanche, our student homegroup. Everyone in it, from freshmen to super-seniors is a precious friend. We love the worship, the discussion, and the goofy, fun times. Why double dip?

One reason is that, at age 31 and 25, we are feeling the age gap a teensy bit. I've read that the stage between age 18 and age 24 is formative, which means that it is chock-full of change and transition. When I got to college I was single, almost always broke, still very connected to my family, and my greatest sources of stress were homework (ohhhh the homework!) and paying for gas. Now, half a decade later, I am married, have a full time job, and my evenings are filled with people, not papers. It's just different.

Also, as I've mentioned in earlier posts, saying goodbye each year to friends as they graduate has been difficult for me.  Many wise people in my life have counseled me to form friendships with people who are planning to stick around for a while.

The final reason is the most powerful for me. We want to follow the same model of discipleship that Paul gave his young friend, Timothy in the time of the early church. It is a model of balance. We need to surround ourselves not only with young believers, but also with peers and mentors so that we continue to be challenged and encouraged toward maturity. If we stagnate, it will end up being a bad thing not only for us, but for the younger believers who see us as leaders.

I'm learning that I am responsible for my spiritual health. Sometimes this means I must be proactive, even slightly aggressive in the changes I am willing to make.

If you, like me, have been feeling out of balance lately, ask Jesus and some wise friends. Maybe double dipping is a good idea for you too. 

Facing the mirror

You know that embarrassing moment when you get home after a long day, go to the bathroom, and see a huge black or green something between your teeth from lunch?

Ugh!  How long has THAT been there?  

And why didn't anyone tell me?

That's the best analogy I can think of right now to describe the soul-searching I've been doing lately. It's hard to face the mirror, so to speak, and see ugly things in myself. Hard, but necessary. 

And thankfully, I had a friend to act as my mirror and show me the crud between my proverbial teeth. She had been there before, and could recognize the nasty for what it was. And she had the guts, and the compassion, to pull me aside and show me myself. As embarrassed as I felt in the moment, I love her more for it. 

After she handed me the mirror, Jesus has been refining what she said, making the image clearer. I am unique...and so is my crud. 

I'm finding that it takes guts on my part too, to keep on looking steadily at reality. I would much rather simply believe I was ok, you know? 

But humility leads to healing, and I know my heart has broken places that need it. And all summer, like a movie soundtrack on repeat from the next room, I've heard about the way our loving God uses pain to get our attention, humble us, and ultimately heal our brokenness. 

I'd actually love to hear your feedback. Have you had to face a mirror, or get up the courage to hold one up for a friend?

"Brain Child" and Transitions

 My paper-as-pregnancy analogy almost got a baby rumor started on Facebook this weekend when I posted this as my status:

“I feel like I just gave birth! My paper...this ginormous brain child...is finally all out on the page (ok, all 18 pages). Momma needs to sleep for a week.”

One of my overseas friends (who speaks Romanian as her first language) thought that I was talking about a REAL baby. Apparently the Americanism “brain child” doesn’t translate clearly.

Right now, the only school-related thing standing between me and graduation is my Spanish final exam. I wish I could say it will be a breeze, but my mind gets so turned around when confronted by the minute differences between the zillion verb conjugations ….  So it’s safe to say I have one more heavy day of study before I’m in the clear. I know that God will give me strength to persevere!

“Skillful Navigation of Transitions”

As I recovered from the sleepless night on Thursday, I was reading friend’s blogs (what else do you do when sleep-deprived, right?) and I came across a post by my Uncle Dave.

Aside: This particular uncle is like a walking, balding skyscraper chock-full of wisdom, witticisms and puns. He is the pastor of a large church in Houston, and granddad to five. He is also an excellent writer. In this case, he was sharing his thoughts on a book called Transitions by William Bridges. Ok, on to the article.

In it, he writes about something that all of us have experienced: losing something we didn’t want to lose.

It may be severe—like losing a parent. 

It may be mild—like getting a stubborn stain on a favorite T-shirt. 

But in every case, there are three stages:

1)    Death—this is when “something ends.” It may be a literal death, or simply the end of a loved season of life, a job, etc.

2)    Chaos and Confusion—the emotions we feel in the aftermath, like confusion, anger, sadness and anxiety because we don’t see a solution in sight.

3)    Rebirth—In this stage, the void we felt is now filled, even if the precious thing or person we lost can never be exactly replaced. We no longer feel confusion, and the grief has faded into acceptance or even beauty.

This resonated with me, because it gave a name to my recent emotions about friends, and about graduation. As friends move away, something ends, even if the friendship lives on in facebook chats and blogs. As I graduate, something ends, even if the next phase is full and beautiful. I guess I’ve been...grieving...in a mild way. 

His advice for each step can be boiled down to one thing: “Stay close to the Shepherd”.

In stage one, we can’t ignore the pain or say it doesn’t hurt. We have to be authentic with ourselves and let the grieving happen. Oh, and this is a biggie: “resist the urge to self-medicate”. Above all, get close to God.

In stage two, we have to fight the tendency to withdraw or give in to pessimism. Stay connected to people. Test their advice with clear thinking and prayer. (Aka, stay close to the Shepherd again).

Stage three is all about thankfulness for the rebirth that has happened (to who else? Jesus). Cherish it and share the story—it might encourage people who lost something similar but are still in stage 1 or 2.

Good stuff for my heart. To read the full article, click here. 

Slice of Life: Bike Riding

A friend's blog recently featured an entry that she called a "slice of life". Like a slice of layer cake, a slice of life is a bite-sized snapshot of an experience, a relationship, or a moment made memorable by the telling. The concept is supposed to be a weekly recurrance.

I realize that a lot of my posts already do this (like funny moments, or a special visit from a sister), but I got inspired to be more artistic this time. More in-the-moment.

So here is a slice of my life that I will sincerely miss after I graduate and can no longer arrive sweaty to work.

(I wrote it last semester, when I began to play with the initial idea of writing for fun.)

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{Biking}

I am visibly glowing, sitting in class without jacket, without overshirt, in sleevless tank top.  It’s October, but I feel like I’ve been through a sauna.  

It's a self-conscious sauna of sweatiness that makes me intently aware of the sweat on my upper lip, at my hair line, and seeping through my cotton shirt. 

I love riding my bike to class for the speed, for the gas it saves, but most of all for the knowledge that I am sneaking in a workout under the guise of transportation.  


What kind of culture do I live in that we SEEK to burn more calories?  Most cultures, today and throughout history, have sought to CONSERVE energy. I feel like a new kind of strange pioneer, living in an age when exercise is more cosmetic than necessary.

The one thing I hate about riding a bike is the dangerous element of invisibility.  

I remember when I was very small, Mom would grab for my hand before we walked through a parking lot or across the street. “The cars can’t see you,” she told me.  

I am big now—bigger than she is—but they still can’t see me when I ride my bike. I think I would be more visible if I were on foot!  No driver expects something as small as the bike to move so fast.  It has brought an entirely new meaning to the term “defensive driving”.  

I launch myself forward, and my legs slowly churn the machinery, gathering speed.  

I love the balance.  

I love leaning into a curve, hearing the rubber of my tires grabbing for traction against the asphalt.

I love the flight downhill, going faster by gravity than I ever could enhance by pedaling. That is when I stop, spread my legs outward like wings, and grin like a two-year-old into the hilarious wind. 

God, let me never stop acting like a kid!  The day when I can’t enjoy a downhill speed-session will be the day I start to die inside.

The ebb and flow of friendships

I'm learning that college is a unique season in the realm of friendships.

Currently, I live in a 4-mile radius containing thousands of students, all of us possessors of time, spending money, and the energy to pursue relationships with each other.

None of us have kids.

Few of us work more than 25 hours per week.

Until I wear Depends and walk with a cane, I will probably never have so much time at my disposal for social activities again--and neither will they.

Four years can feel like an eternity, but it's really a blip on the timeline of life. We acclimate to the heightened social interaction, but suddenly--it's gone, and we have to trim our expectations to fit the scraps of time left over after work and family.

For me, the transition from college life to career isn't so sudden because I'm overlapping married life with student-hood. Also, the fact that my husband works in full-time ministry to college students means that we will never quite remove ourselves from the student sphere.

But things do change.  Even if I physically remain in a college town, my responsibilities and priorities shift.

The hardest part is the day a friend dons her cap and gown and finds a new address.  A friendship that was easy to maintain while we shared an apartment, class, or church might strain now for continuation because we simply have different worlds. No matter how good our intentions, it is simply harder to pick up a phone and call someone than it is to chat while folding laundry.

I'm waving my "guilty" flag high on this one. As much as I hate it, I often find that months--even a year--has slipped away since I called a dear friend.

I suppose it's the natural flow of life. We interact for a time, enjoy each other, grow, and then our paths diverge. And honestly, the mental weight of maintaining all friendships at an ever-increasing rate would crush me eventually. Surely a good friend will understand, meeting and talking when we can, as the flow of life allows.

But why does the change of seasons have to hurt so much?

Is the church healthy?

This is the provocative question on the poster for this semester's AMCF rally. Catchy, huh?  But instead of focusing on a complicated and potentially divisive issue like whether or not the global Church is doing a good job, the real crux of what we'll be talking about is found in the brackets below it:

 "It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but the lost." (Jesus)

I have to be honest; when I first read the verse in brackets, I felt a little let-down. A good discussion about whether the church was healthy or not could be interesting! I was already hoping that they would make a good defense to show that for all its little foibles, Protestant Christianity was doing ok, on the whole.

But the more I thought about it, I realized that the point is not to prove that we are ok, but to admit that we are not.

There were plenty of "good", religious people in Jesus' day.  They knew the law backwards and forwards, and they followed it as well as the next guy--or better. One night, a lot of them went to a dinner party with this new teacher named Jesus.  The religious man who hosted the party might have felt proud to have such a famous person at his house. I can also guess that he may have been hoping for some kind of blessing, or some kind of recognition for being such a decent guy.  I don't know, but I can surmise.
But I don't have to guess what his reaction was when she showed up. Who let her in? Such an immoral woman--in my house!  He was disgusted, outraged, and apalled. And then, horrified, he saw that she was going strait for the guest of honor, kneeling down, and making a scene with a showy bottle of perfume and her hair all over his feet. Ugh.

Jesus, however, saw her heart. He saw that she, out of all the people in that self-righteous gathering, was the only one who knew she was sick, in need of a Savior, a Healer.