Category Archives: Following Jesus

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Tussling With God

I spent the night last night like Jacob once did, crying out to God, refusing to give up, arguing my case, spending myself in the struggle. I was not alone. God came. He fought with me. Not against me, but with me.

This isn’t the first time we’ve tussled. We’ve wrestled many times in the nearly 34 years I’ve been walking with Him. But this time was different than all the others. This time I had no intention of leaving Him if He gave me the "wrong" answer. This time I wasn’t threatening Him, or living in fear of Him removing His hand from my life. This time it was a true struggle, an argument involving both of us. I didn’t just tell Him off, I listened to His responses. I heard Him. And I know He heard me. This time it wasn’t about me getting my way. It was about me being able to be honest with Him about how I’m feeling and know that He isn’t going to shut me off, cut me off, or tear me down.

I’m so tired of living this life where I feel it’s not okay to be honest about my brokenness and my feelings, especially my anger — and especially when it’s directed at God. Those who love each other are willing to fight with each other, because they know the strength of their relationship, they know it can stand in the face of strong emotions and another’s resolve. And they are willing to test it, to test each other. Like God tested Jacob’s resolve as they wrested, and discovered Jacob would not be moved, he wouldn’t be discouraged from His pleas, or from his insistence that God deliver on His promises (Gen 32:12).

God proved Himself a faithful Lover. He stayed and tussled with me. He didn’t withdraw in a huff that I would dare address Him so. He didn’t smite me down for being insolent. Instead, He fully engaged in our wrestling match. And He discovered my resolve. He’s made promises. I want Him to make good on those promises. He’s made statements. I want Him to back them up with action.

God’s resolve can be strong. But He can be moved. Perhaps theologians would argue against that. I don’t really care. I know He can be moved. I know He because He was moved by my passion.

I never had any intention when I called Him out of leaving Him, no matter the outcome. And I told Him so. I love Him. Deeply. Passionately. Eternally. With all my heart. I have no intention of not serving Him or rebelling against Him. That is not the point of our tussle. The point of our tussle is honesty. If I cannot be brutally honest with the God who made me, with the Lover to whom my heart belongs, there is no hope of me ever living in integrity in any relationship I have.

For now, our tussle is over. He requested that I let Him go, for it was morning. He honored my request for a blessing… and perhaps I am already limping from a wound from a previous tussle… who knows.

All I know is that God loves me. And I love Him. He heard me out, He had the integrity and compassion to fight with me, and it was all worth it. The sun rose on our battleground and I left knowing I had seen the face of God, and lived to tell the tale. Not because I was better, not because He gave me a break, but because He loves me, He respects me, and He believes in me.

I also know one other thing. He knows my Names. All of them. And now I know one of them. Warrior Princess. For I am a child of the King, and while I’m no match for the Zenas of the world, in my heart and spirit I have the courage, compassion, passion and grace of a true warrior.

I’m going to bed now. I’m exhausted.

And then Jacob prayed, "God of my father Abraham, God of my father Isaac, GOD who told me, "Go back to your parents’ homeland and I’ll treat you well.’ I don’t deserve all the love and loyalty you’ve shown me. When I left here and crossed the Jordan I only had the clothes on my back, and now look at me–two camps! Save me, please, from the violence of my brother, my angry brother! I’m afraid he’ll come and attack us all, me, the mothers and the children. You yourself said, "I will treat you well; I’ll make your descendants like the sands of the sea, far too many to count.’"

….But Jacob stayed behind by himself, and a man wrestled with him until daybreak. When the man saw that he couldn’t get the best of Jacob as they wrestled, he deliberately threw Jacob’s hip out of joint.

The man said, "Let me go; it’s daybreak."

Jacob said, "I’m not letting you go ’til you bless me."

The man said, "What’s your name?"

He answered, "Jacob."

The man said, "But no longer. Your name is no longer Jacob. From now on it’s Israel (God-Wrestler); you’ve wrestled with God and you’ve come through."

Jacob asked, "And what’s your name?"

The man said, "Why do you want to know my name?" And then, right then and there, he blessed him.

Jacob named the place Peniel (God’s Face) because, he said, "I saw God face-to-face and lived to tell the story!"

The sun came up as he left Peniel, limping because of his hip. — Gen 32:9-31

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Raw Emotion

Larry posted a comment to my last post:

I understand about the Snark-O-Meter going off the scale… I understand about the Rebel taking the point. I even understand about being just plain overdone.

But could you please TELL ME what in the world is going on? WHY is the meter pegged? I’m trying to piece the story together and there just aren’t enough dots to make a coherent pattern.

I’m sure there are others who want to know. And I have no intent to try to stop the rebel. Rebellion is good for the soul as long as it leads to God, and you do have to rebel against much of modern life to get close to him.

Here’s the deal. Everybody’s got rules. Even the Church. Even God. I’m just sick of playing by the rules when it seems that God doesn’t.

Does He get to make up the rules? I guess so. This whole universe is His deal, so I guess the Creator should get to make the rules. But I’m sick of playing by the rules but Him not playing by any.You can say "that’s His right" till you’re blue, but I don’t care anymore. I’m sick of it. I’m angry. And I’m not gonna bury this anger because "He’s God", or stuff it down and pretend I no longer feel it because it’s "not my place" to fight with God, or argue with His "wisdom" or His inaction.

Yes, I said INaction. I’ve been begging God for two years now to give me guidance, direction just some sort of freakin’ clue as to why I’m on this planet. And so far I’ve got jack.

So I followed a couple of my hearts desires — because the more I prayed, the stronger they got. I thought, "perhaps that’s the way God is answering my prayers." Others concurred that might be the case. Now I’m living back in the States, as I desired, living in Nashville, as I desired, and pursuing some sort of freelance-type work in the literary world — writer would be ideal, but in the immediate need I’ll take proofreading or typing or whatever I can find — or perhaps the music world.

Oh, and did I happen to mention that I have no permanent work to take care of my permanent needs. That the work I DO have doesn’t cover but about half my monthly expenses. That the professional I spoke of earlier works in the literary world and his email pretty much crushed my fragile dream-made-from-heart-desires of immediate work in the literary world — and did a powerful number on my ego as well. And all this crap could be avoided if God would just freakin’ ANSWER my pleas for PURPOSE.

So let’s recap, shall we? God sends me half-way across the world to a team so dysfunctional it can’t even stand, then takes my parents to heaven and promptly quits talking to me. Except to say, "I love you." and "I’m here." Well, woo-hoo! Great, tell me how Your love and presence is gonna pay my bills, or satisfy my burning ache for purpose and direction?!

Yeah, I’m mad. I’m so storming mad I can’t hardly see my fist in front of my face. I’ve been begging God for years, Larry, YEARS, for purpose. I just wanna know what the heck He created me for. That’s all. Nothing earth-shattering like why the dinosaurs died, or what black holes really are, or why zebras have stripes and leopards spots. I just want to know why HE created ME.

I’m done. I’m done asking. I’m done playing by His rules. I’m now up in His face demanding. And I don’t care anymore if He "smites" me for my insolence. I’d rather He take my life than live like this anymore.

That’s the short answer. The longer version would take another two-hour conversation, at the least.

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Be-ati-wha…?!

This week’s challenge, laid out by my counselor last Thursday, is to meditate on the "beatitudes" with an internal perspective, instead of an external one — applying them to myself toward myself, instead of to myself toward others… I don’t know if I fully comprehend his meaning in all that. But I’m working on it anyway.

What I’ve discovered along the way is that I really don’t like the traditional translations of Matthew 5. "Blessed are the poor in spirit…" What the heck does that mean?? Seriously. What does it mean?

So I moved on to The Message. I don’t know if this is a translation, or a paraphrase… or whatever. But this makes sense. I get this.

"You’re blessed when you’re at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and his rule.

"You’re blessed when you feel you’ve lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you.

Jiminy-crickets! Has someone opened a window into my life here! All I can think to say is, "Word!" That is my life all the way.

Every night is a testament to the grace and power of God and how He has given me the strength I needed to get through the day. I never wake up in the morning feeling I can make it. It’s really an issue of resolve, determination and tenacity. I take life one step at a time, one hour, even one minute at a time, resolved to never quit, determined to see things through, pushing on even when everything in me screams, ‘no more!’ Eventually, the sun sets, the evening ends and it’s time to lay my head on the pillows once more. Every night is a celebration that I got through it all.

And that celebration is an exclusive party of two. God and me. No one else can possibly understand the tremendous victory we have just won together. That second blessing is so very true. I have lost what is most dear to me. My parents, my dreams, my career, a sense of stability and security. Yet every single day God embraces me. Not a day goes by that I don’t feel His touch, hear His voice, powerfully sense His presence, and know His love, in deep and intimate ways I have no words to express.

"You’re blessed when you’re content with just who you are–no more, no less. That’s the moment you find yourselves proud owners of everything that can’t be bought.

I wish I knew what that felt like, to be content with just who I am. I’ve never experienced that.

"You’re blessed when you’ve worked up a good appetite for God. He’s food and drink in the best meal you’ll ever eat.

"You’re blessed when you care. At the moment of being "care-full,’ you find yourselves cared for.

Wow. Applying that inwardly — taking care of myself, not just others.

I know… I’m throwing some of you for a horrible loop. A godly leader is "supposed" to always focus on others. I mean, doesn’t this verse back up the idea that if we care for others, we will find ourselves cared for? But listen to me for a second. We ministry-types, we tend to get rather type-A when it comes to this stuff. We can end up caring for others at the expense of ourselves. Now I ask you: how does that honor God?

So where’s the line here? Where does caring for others, being generous with our lives, spending ourselves for God by serving others… when does that cross the line into being careless with our own lives, at the expense of our health, our families, our homes, our relationships with those closest to us? Where’s the line? Is it a clear-cut one, or a jagged one that moves all the time?

And conversely, when does caring for ourselves move into self-centeredness, and a self-focused me-ism life?

These are the questions that keep buzzing around in my head. I want answers, but God seems bent on keeping them hidden. Or am I just not seeing what’s plainly right in front of my face?

"You’re blessed when you get your inside world–your mind and heart–put right. Then you can see God in the outside world.

"You’re blessed when you can show people how to cooperate instead of compete or fight. That’s when you discover who you really are, and your place in God’s family.

"You’re blessed when your commitment to God provokes persecution. The persecution drives you even deeper into God’s kingdom.

"Not only that–count yourselves blessed every time people put you down or throw you out or speak lies about you to discredit me. What it means is that the truth is too close for comfort and they are uncomfortable. You can be glad when that happens–give a cheer, even!-for though they don’t like it, I do! And all heaven applauds. And know that you are in good company. My prophets and witnesses have always gotten into this kind of trouble.

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Heroes, Villans & Fools

Why do they make us read things like The Illiad in high school? There’s no way someone still in their early teens has any way to truly comprehend the full scope of a story like this. You have to have lived a little, experienced some of life’s pain, hardship and hard-fought victories to truly appreciate a story such as this.

Achilles is the name most remembered from this epic tale. But Hector was the true hero. He had the valor, the integrity, the humility and the humanity to be a true king. Achilles was the tragic fool. He thought he was his own master, the slave of none, the one others turned to. But he was a prisoner to something far worse that a greedy king. He was a prisoner of his own anger, and his own insatiable appetite for lasting fame.

In the end what did the Greeks gain for all Agamemnon’s warring? A city in ashes, a dead king, a slain warrior and a people in desperate need of a true leader. They needed a king like Priam, King of Troy. A true hero and warrior, a kind yet strong leader, like his eldest son.

Odysseus prays that Achilles finds peace in death. My heart ached with overwhelming sorrow for this sad, angry man and I found myself wondering if God granted him peace and mercy in death. I realize he may never have really existed. He may merely be an amalgamation of several Greek warriors whose stories eventually blended into one mythic figure. But don’t you ever wonder about people like Achilles, who lived so long ago, in lands where the God of Abraham, isaac and Jacob was not known? What happened to their souls when their bodies died? Did God have mercy on them?

How much time have I spent living like Achilles, with all the anger of the world in my heart, and a foolish drive to ensure my name lives long after my bones have returned to dust? How sad it is that we can live our whole lives engulfed in our own small stories, when God is writing such a larger, grander one with mythic parts just for us. Hector saw the larger story — and he, like the wise man in Ecclesiates 9:14-15 (who was not remembered at all), is not remembered nearly as much as Achilles. Achilles, Agamemnon, Odysseus, those who are most remembered, lived their whole lives overwhelmed by their own small stories, never seeing the true scope of Life as Hector, Priam and eventually Paris did.

Perhaps that was Homer’s point… I guess it’s time to dust off my copy of The Illiad and find out.

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Used To

I used to write things I knew, things I’d learned. I wrote in a voice of experience. I seem to have lost that ability. My writing now consists of unanswered questions, blind wanderings, and a jaggedness I cannot smooth, no matter how much I finesse.

I used to pray eloquent prayers. My prayers were smooth, comprehendible dialogs with God. Oh, sure, there were the quick one-liner ones, but the majority of "prayer time" prayers were proper and respectable. They weren’t the songs of angels by any means, but they sounded decent to my own ears. These days my prayers mirror the brokenness within. Words come in stops and starts, spoken with the voice of a child gasping between sobs. Gone is the eloquence. Gone is the smoothness. Gone are the long-winded requests, the lists and the beautiful imagery.

I used to know how to speak to God and write the words in my heart. I recognized my own writing, my own prayers, and felt good about how I expressed myself "out loud".

I don’t recognize my own voice anymore. Perhaps its the two and a half years of screaming — all the crying and wailing I’ve done. It seems to have irrevocably altered the tenor and flavor of my voice, much like the effects a bad cold. There’s a raspyness now…. it’s as if my voice has been stripped… all that’s left is raw reality. No wisdom, no thesis statements or golden nuggets. No powerful zingers. Just. Raw. Me. Sometimes I even develop laryngitis… I try so hard to speak, but all that comes out are squeaks. Where does my voice go???

I love my voice when I have a cold. My normally high pitch disappears and I have this wonderful smoky, warm tone I’ve always wanted. I feel like Kathleen Turner, Marlene Dietrich, Sheryl Crow and Tina Turner all rolled into one. How cool! It’s what makes living through a cold worth every second. And its why I always try to record my voicemail greetings while I’m sick.

But the jury is still out on my new emotional-spiritual voice. I go to pray like I used to and it feels so very wrong. Like I’ve just moved our relationship from intimate to formal. Like talking to your best friend as if she were the President, instead of your closest confidante. But when I think about continuing to pray like I have the last two years and it feels somehow inadequate to talk to The LORD that way, know what I mean? I didn’t care about that the last couple of years. Desperation will do that to you. But some little voice in me keeps whispering that I "should" move beyond those "child’s cry" prayers and speak to God more like an adult.

I cannot go back to my old voice. It’s gone forever. Life moves us forward every day and the things of the past never come round again. We can look back longingly on them, romanticize them all we like, but they will never return. I can either remain frozen in my longing, forever chained to the past, or I can release my hold on the past and grab hold of the God of the Present. The choice is ever before me.

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What Just Happened?

That’s the question I asked myself repeatedly on the way home from tonight’s team meeting. I didn’t intend to say anything revealing. I had no plans earlier in the day, though the possibility and idea of it was presented to me at one point. Even the drive there was consumed with prayers and cries to God about something, I thought, completely different.

A conversation started lightly. It quickly went deeper. I let it go there… risking the  possible pain of rejection, or worse, condemnation for who I am inside right now. The risk so far hasn’t been a bad one. The conversation went on a lot longer than I ever anticipated. It gave me a sense of freedom and comfort level I hadn’t had in this group before.

That conversation blended into the meeting… Before we ended I found myself speaking up, without really knowing what it was I had to say. Words came. Tears flowed. Openness, vulnerability…. Had I really thought the thing through, I’d never have done it. Who purposefully strips down to their skivvies and leaves themselves exposed before everyone? Not a sane person, I tell you! Only one who’s got nothing left to lose. Perhaps that’s ultimately what this is about. One last desperate plea for help because what is there left to lose? No, I didn’t bear all. But I showed enough to leave me feeling exposed… everyone got the picture.

Next thing I knew I was surrounded, held and prayed for… loving hugs, smiles and laughter. Who knew this could happen? God, in His infinite love of mystery, kept this whole chapter hidden from me until He wrote it tonight.

What happened next I could never have expected. Others opened up. Sharing moved to a deeper level. Tears from another compelled me off the couch and into an embrace. I pulled back a little to find that everyone now sat in a small circle — a cynic would call it a holy-huddle…. but there was nothing huddle-y about this moment.

Holy. It was definitely holy. I can’t tell you what that word means, but I know what it feels like. And that  room was suddenly alive with it.

We talked a little more. And then we prayed. We prayed so long my feet fell painfully asleep. Afterward no one really wanted to leave, and only did because exhaustion was overtaking us.

What just happened? Was that the beginning of something, or just a holy moment? And how do you know? Is that repeatable, or as we were taught at Mosaic LA to say: is that reproduce-able? Can others follow behind us and reproduce it in their groups? How  it is possible — how will it be so — if we can’t isolate what it was that was the catalyst to begin with? How in the heck does anyone reproduce a holy moment like that?? That’s just not something you see every day, you know?

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Still

The week has been busy. Things have happened. I did some fun things.

But my struggle goes on.

I know God loves me.

I believe He is working. I believe He is acting even now to ensure His purpose for my life is fulfilled.

But still I struggle.

Life is so uncertain. The way is dark. And scary. Its filled with risk.

Possibilities have presented themselves. But the danger of failure looms large. What if I can’t produce? is the question that stays ever before my face.

I ache. With a sorrow and grief still so profound. I thought they would have lessened by now. I have cried every day this week, missing mom and dad to the depth of my being. Longing with a passion that sometimes scares me to join them and be done with this world.

I’m starving for community. Yet I feel so anti-social I rarely pick up my phone to answer it. Forget calling anyone. Even when I meet with the Mosaic core group I struggle to stay engaged. Oh how I struggle!! Just to engage. Never-mind delving deep, just engage.  I fight a desire to stay hidden, to lock away my heart forever. Only the fear of being used by the enemy to destroy what God longs to build in Mosaic Nashville keeps me from giving in to bitterness.

Deep Depression consumes me. Every aspect of my life is shrouded in its darkness. Will it devour me forever? Will I never escape its grasp?

How long, O LORD ? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and every day have sorrow in my heart? How long will my enemy triumph over me?

Look on me and answer, O LORD my God. Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death; my enemy will say, "I have overcome him," and my foes will rejoice when I fall.

But I trust in your unfailing love; my heart rejoices in your salvation. I will sing to the LORD, for he has been good to me. –Psalm 13

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On My Mind

So don’t lose a minute in building on what you’ve been given, complementing your basic faith with good character, spiritual understanding, alert discipline, passionate patience, reverent wonder, warm friendliness, and generous love, each dimension fitting into and developing the others. With these qualities active and growing in your lives, no grass will grow under your feet, no day will pass without its reward as you mature in your experience of our Master Jesus. Without these qualities you can’t see what’s right before you, oblivious that your old sinful life has been wiped off the books.
                               — 2 Peter 1:5-9 The Message