Category Archives: Healing

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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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All-Out Two-Fisted

Oh yes, people of Zion, citizens of Jerusalem, your time of tears is over. Cry for help and you’ll find it’s grace and more grace. The moment he hears, he’ll answer. Just as the Master kept you alive during the hard times, he’ll keep your teacher alive and present among you. Your teacher will be right there, local and on the job,  urging you on whenever you wander left or right: "This is the right road. Walk down this road."

Look, GOD’s on his way, and from a long way off!
Smoking with anger, immense as he comes into view,
Words steaming from his mouth, searing, indicting words!
A torrent of words, a flash flood of words sweeping everyone into the vortex of his words.
He’ll shake down the nations in a sieve of destruction, herd them into a dead end.

But you will sing, sing through an all–night holy feast!
Your hearts will burst with song, make music like the sound of flutes on parade,
En route to the mountain of GOD, on the way to the Rock of Israel.
GOD will sound out in grandiose thunder, display his hammering arm,
Furiously angry, showering sparks- cloudburst, storm, hail!

Oh yes, at GOD’s thunder Assyria will cower under the clubbing.
Every blow GOD lands on them with his club is in time to the music of drums and pipes,
GOD in all–out, two-fisted battle, fighting against them.
Topheth’s fierce fires are well prepared, ready for the Assyrian king.
The Topheth furnace is deep and wide, well stoked with hot-burning wood.
GOD’s breath, like a river of burning pitch, starts the fire.
—Isaiah 30:19-22, 27-33   The Message

This is my cry, Lord! Do this to my enemies! They relentlessly pursue me. I don’t know how to fight them. I couldn’t even if I did. I haven’t the strength. Please, Jesus. I need You. Deliver me!

Please do for me as You did it for Your people long ago. Let Your words coming steaming from Your mouth. I need You in all-out two-fisted battle against my enemies. Let Your breath start the fire that destroys them. I need Your salvation

now.

Deliver us!
Hear our call
Deliver us
Lord of all
Remember us, here in this burning sand
Deliver us
There’s a Land You promised us
Deliver us to the promised Land

Hear our prayer
Deliver us
From despair
These years of slavery grow
Too cruel to stand
Deliver us
There’s a Land You promised us
Deliver us
Out of bondage and
Deliver us to the promised Land

"Deliver Us" Written by Stephen Schwartz, from the motion picture soundtrack "Prince of Egypt"

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Life, Liberty & Stop Lights

I’ve been working on a post most of the day. It started as a short one, grew longer and then became mammoth. I don’t know how much will eventually be published here, but it keeps coming like a flood and I want to follow it to its end before I edit for posting.

I’m taking a break from it right now, though. Sitting in bed, candles lit everywhere, incense burning (sandalwood — reminds me of India). Actually the whole affair right now reminds me of India, the smell, the low lights, writing in the cot that served as my bed (because I didn’t have any other furniture in my room), a cup of green tea cooling on the bedside table, headphones on, everyone else in bed, and me, sitting with the laptop or my journal capturing the events of the day, sights, smells, experiences, defeats, victories… Yeah, everything right now is like India. Except the softness of my bed… (that cot was dang hard)

Today was a good day. I wrote. Until it got too dark to see anything but the screen. And I realized the sun had come and gone and I still had yet to get out of my pjs or take a shower.

I hardly accomplished a thing on my "to-do list"; didn’t make any of the calls I’d planned, didn’t clean, didn’t do laundry…. That’s what happens when writing consumes me. I forget about the rest of the world, lose all track of time and everything I’d planned to do goes out the window. I can’t stop it once it starts. I finally took a shower and even then I was talking out loud to myself to help remember what it is I wanted to write next, where I was going with the ideas.

Sitting here tonight, knowing that I’ve accomplished so little, I feel the pressure of the ticking clock. I need a permanent, full-time job, I need to clean my apartment, and all those other I-need-to-get-myself-together-and-get-out-there thoughts pound on my mind’s door, insisting on being given an audience.

Yet at the same time, I feel extremely liberated and alive. In a way I never feel at the end of a day at work. The three days I work I leave feeling drained and depressed, exhausted and spiritually dry. That’s just not right. Something is wrong here, and I’m finally willing to look at it and ask myself some hard whys. You may say it’s obvious: this isn’t the job for me. Yeah, I agree. I knew that quite some time ago, I just didn’t want to admit it to myself. Desperation for financial security will cause you to delude yourself about a great many things.

But at the same time, I see God’s fingerprints all my current work situation. And I have a strong desire to stay till they hire on the permanent person — which will probably be sometime in May. I so badly want to get things in order, get it all organized and ready so the new person just needs to show up. If I can do that it should make her transition into this crazy job a lot easier. I can’t explain why, but I really want to do that for her (whoever she is). In fact, it’s what’s made me finally want to go to work lately.

I feel caught in this weird dilemma of closed doors, current-part time work, feeling exhausted and sucked dry, internal pressure to look for more work but strongly desiring to keep the schedule and life I’ve got right now.

Barney, my counselor, told me one day about his loathing of stop lights, how he used to get so impatient, and drive his wife mad with his incessant toe and finger tapping and, "come ON!" comments at every stop light. Finally, she said something that shifted his whole paradigm on them. She asked if he really believed that there are no accidents in a Christian’s life, if God really does know everything that will happen to us and has the final say in whether it will or won’t come to pass in our lives. Barney agreed, yes, he believes that. Well, she continued, do you think that maybe God knew you were going to catch this red light? Silence…. You think maybe it would be beneficial to find out why God wanted to slow you down at just this point? Maybe look around you, really see everything at that particular intersection?

I have often wondered, and asked God, in the weeks since I heard that story, if this is a stop light time in my life. Despite my best and ongoing efforts, I still don’t have a permanent job. I work only part-time as it is. I have a lot of time on my hands. Much of that is spent in resting. I’m so exhausted these days. I feel so beat up still.

A few days ago, as I talked with God, He answered my barrage of why questions with a gentle whisper. "This is a time for healing. You wouldn’t have asked your dad to get up and mow the lawn right after his heart attack, or asked Helen to slam back into her full-on crazy fun-loving life after the years of chemo she’s endured, would you? Then why are you demanding yourself to get out there and live the super-sized people-ministry life you’re used to when you’ve had years of heart-soul-spirit trauma? This is your time for healing. Rest. Heal. Let Me take care of you."

Wow.

….Is that just wishful thinking, or was that really God I heard? I think it was Him. He’s said it several times since then. But it just seems too good — and yet scary — to be true. I’m eating away at the inheritance I got from mom and dad. Once its gone, that’s it. I’ll be broke. Oh, but I want to just live this part-time life! Live off that money. Write. Rest. Heal.

How blessed I am that I live in a country, and a time in life, where I can ask those questions and make those choices! There are others who are not as fortunate as me. They cannot even afford the time to think of such things, nonetheless live them.

Stop light or stop sign, I’m grateful for it whatever it is. Days like today refresh my soul and renew what little strength I have.

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” Matt 11:28-30

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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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Wisdom Passed On

I love my sister!

She listens to my scared-y-cat tendencies and just laughs. And then she reminds me that true courage only exists when you’re afraid and you act anyway.

I’ve been missing Dad so much the last week, wishing I could call him and just unload all my worries and fears and listen to the wisdom he always poured out.

Monday night I discovered Dad passed on his wisdom to Nina. Even though it was her voice at the other end of the phone, it was his wisdom I heard.

I hung up the phone and slept quite peacefully for the first time in a while. God is so good to me.

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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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Thank You

You’re emails, comments, and phone calls have been such an incredible blessing. I am so blessed. I am loved deeply by people I love deeply.

Kat, you’re my angel. My life would not be the same without you. I’m so very glad you are my friend. I love you.

Wendy, I know you called. I was in my counseling session…. but afterward I crashed with the pain of the migraine. Just knowing you called lifted my spirits and encouraged my heart. You have proved your love and true friendship over and over. God bless you, my friend! I love you.

Thank you every single one who reads my ramblings. You bring me joy. You could spend your time many ways, yet you choose to stop in here and see what crazy thing I have to say today.

God is good.

Life is hard. It sucks big time sometimes. But God is always good. Even in the suckiest moments of life. He is faithful. He loves deeply, passionately and actively.

He gave me you. That is a great gift indeed.