I would wear it with pearls, probably pink ones.
Meant to be a princess
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
He Said it would cost me everything...
But when "everything" is only a theory and when the life you're experiencing is full of His tangible presence and when the people you care about are on your side, well, "everything" doesn't seem as daunting. And I haven't even lost everything, not even close. Both my little Belle and I are alive and healthy, though we both knocked on death's door not so long ago. My husband is still married to me, he still holds tha flame of faith and faithfulness to me and to Him who gave him to me. My family still loves me, though they may disapprove of my choices. I still have friends. No, by no means has obedience cost me EVERYTHING, it only cost that which I never expected to pay.
Obedience cost me security, the security I thought was guaranteed, the confidence that I would be taken care of in ways that I considered acceptable. In hindsight, i can see that I was taken care of, taken care of in ways that clashed heavily with the God I thought I knew, in ways that met my physical needs but left my soul feeling ravaged and abandoned. I thought the answer would come in weeks, but the months have passed into a year and I still don't understand and I know enough to know that there are many who wait decades and even lifetimes without the answers I seek
Even though the darkest part of the night is gone and I can feel the sun coming, if not even see it just a little, my soul feels branded. I have loved God with a deep passion from as long back as I can remember, a fiery soul longing to stand true to Him who gave me breath. With marriage came a new season and work challenges I hardly understood, much less was prepared for. I remember distinctly the season I moved from leading the pack, front row and passion arisen, to hiding in the back, passion exhausted, waiting anxiously for a way out. Years of struggle and a final gut level wrestle with disappointment and loss, I feel permenantly broken and too tired, too marked by disappointment to try again.
In some ways I am confident that I am more of who I was made to be today than I was five years ago but I always wonder what happened to the fiery girl I once knew who felt so alive. Most days I'm sure she's dead and gone for good and if I stop to be really honest, the only thing I might really miss about her is her deep experience of His presence.
My weaknesses and errors are clear enough and I am content to take ownership of my faulty expectations, my shaky foundation, and the cracks and fissurs therein but neither am I confident enough to build again. The last round nearly took me out for good while I weekly wished for death. I have no desire for another round yet knowing that by my choice or not, another round will eventually come. I don't want to build again to find myself here again, amidst crushed pictures of a God I thought I knew. I am too tired to labor in vain, not to mention that I don't really want to build at all. Bare walls aren't as homey but they feel less painful.
There is a real room in my house that the Lord named my "encounter room." It too, is bare and even the furniture that lives there seems lost in the space. I have neither the vision nor the funds to furnish it. It feels utterly symbolic of the room in my heart. It feels less painful to leave it bare than to pay the price to decorate it only to have it pulled down in the next round of shaking.
**It has been eighteen months since I originally penned this post. There have been some frightful lows and beautiful ups between now and then. And yes, we're in the next round of shaking. The encounter room of my heart still bare. There is emergency and disaster on many fronts. I'm asking again to find Him. If every room of my house and heart is bankrupt, I'm asking Him to meet me here. Now is the time to shine, he says, so meet me here and bring the light that cannot falter.
Finding New Bearings
"You'll get through this.
It won't be painless.
It won't be quick.
But God will use this mess for good.
Don't be foolish or naive.
But don't despair either.
With God's help, you'll get through this"
So Max Lucado makes thesis of his recent book "You'll Get Through This," a hopeful evaluation of the Biblical story of Joseph in Genesis. My mom handed the book to me after my little family of four, unexpectedly to me, landed as refugees of financial disaster born of long term unemployment, in the home I grew up in - just long and short eight weeks ago. My family has cared for us with generosity I'm only beginning to comprehend, literally clothing and feeding us, sacrificing personal space and time and certainly finances to lift us up above the flood.
In many ways, the weight of five years of nearly continual crisis feels lifted off my weary shoulders, shoulders that have bent both spirit and in truth. Yet the relief is not without a price, and my heart feels it most keenly. I often think of the city we just evacuated as the home of my heart - it is there and among that community that God helped me find and heal an oft neglected heart, there that my heart came alive, a heart that is now grasping for lost bearings and friends that have been my anchors.
The thesis above stated feels like a road map to a way I would not have chosen and I am in between surfing with or crushed by the weight of the promise of long suffering that is clearly indicated. I don't sense God coming in with the calvary this time- we're going to be here for a while, just as Joseph served long in Potipher's house and in the prison that came following. Yet even feeling exiled, God still speaks.
In my early twenties, I felt that the Lord met me in a break room during my lunch break from my nursing job and asked me something like this: "If you could have one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be?" Spiritual wonder that I am, I blew off the question. The response, "If you knew how much you would suffer, you'd take me seriously." I've spent the past ten plus years trying to decide if the promise of suffering was from the Lord or not as my theology has encountered various expressions of spiritual understanding. In any case, my answer, which would be likely a different one if faced with the same encounter today, was that I would hear His voice. And whether or not that promise of suffering comes from On High or not, I'm still asking to hear. And from the unexpected places these past few tumultuous months, He speaks.
Lately, it's been from the old story of Cinderella. The childhood story I don't even like. The genre of tales I try to keep away from my three year old, but God speaks. Cinderella didn't start out as a pauper, but the beloved daughter of a loving father, the favored apple of his eye. She knew her value and identity long before circumstances tried to choke it out of her. Cinderella was shining in the story because it is darkness that reveals the light. In the appointed moment, ALL the maidens were invited to the ball, a chance to meet the prince. Cinderella had more obstacles to overcome than most, was resisted by her family and her resources were slim - but she was invited. I wonder if the fairy godmother would have come if she had rejected herself from the invitation. What if Cinderella believed what her stepfamily believed about her, believed what her circumstances said she was? Would her heart have responded to the invitation? Would she have been found in the garden amidst her mess or would she have counted herself lucky to have the night off and gone to bed?
Like Cinderella and Joseph may have wondered, I am tempted to lose sight of whose I am. My invitation to meet the prince is daily but I'm often too engaged in trying to survive my reality to believe that he wants me. It's been a long time since I was the petted little girl delighting in His then easily accessed presence and while I've been looking and pleading, it's been rare that I've found the one my heart loves. It's been easier to shut down than face the pain of feeling lost and abandoned or find faith to believe that I'm not, amidst all the darkness that says I am. I'm quite willing to take the blame for a weakly burning flame, maybe too willing, but my long enduring hope is that whatever the cause may be, that he will not put out my smoldering wick.
I'm certain that no amount of holding my breath until it's over will eradicate this trail. As I embrace the reality of whose I am here, exiled like Josepsh, facing despair and disappointment in the garden like Cinderella, I will be escorted into the presence of the King. Until then I hope, I wrestle and I wait.
So Max Lucado makes thesis of his recent book "You'll Get Through This," a hopeful evaluation of the Biblical story of Joseph in Genesis. My mom handed the book to me after my little family of four, unexpectedly to me, landed as refugees of financial disaster born of long term unemployment, in the home I grew up in - just long and short eight weeks ago. My family has cared for us with generosity I'm only beginning to comprehend, literally clothing and feeding us, sacrificing personal space and time and certainly finances to lift us up above the flood.
In many ways, the weight of five years of nearly continual crisis feels lifted off my weary shoulders, shoulders that have bent both spirit and in truth. Yet the relief is not without a price, and my heart feels it most keenly. I often think of the city we just evacuated as the home of my heart - it is there and among that community that God helped me find and heal an oft neglected heart, there that my heart came alive, a heart that is now grasping for lost bearings and friends that have been my anchors.
The thesis above stated feels like a road map to a way I would not have chosen and I am in between surfing with or crushed by the weight of the promise of long suffering that is clearly indicated. I don't sense God coming in with the calvary this time- we're going to be here for a while, just as Joseph served long in Potipher's house and in the prison that came following. Yet even feeling exiled, God still speaks.
In my early twenties, I felt that the Lord met me in a break room during my lunch break from my nursing job and asked me something like this: "If you could have one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be?" Spiritual wonder that I am, I blew off the question. The response, "If you knew how much you would suffer, you'd take me seriously." I've spent the past ten plus years trying to decide if the promise of suffering was from the Lord or not as my theology has encountered various expressions of spiritual understanding. In any case, my answer, which would be likely a different one if faced with the same encounter today, was that I would hear His voice. And whether or not that promise of suffering comes from On High or not, I'm still asking to hear. And from the unexpected places these past few tumultuous months, He speaks.
Lately, it's been from the old story of Cinderella. The childhood story I don't even like. The genre of tales I try to keep away from my three year old, but God speaks. Cinderella didn't start out as a pauper, but the beloved daughter of a loving father, the favored apple of his eye. She knew her value and identity long before circumstances tried to choke it out of her. Cinderella was shining in the story because it is darkness that reveals the light. In the appointed moment, ALL the maidens were invited to the ball, a chance to meet the prince. Cinderella had more obstacles to overcome than most, was resisted by her family and her resources were slim - but she was invited. I wonder if the fairy godmother would have come if she had rejected herself from the invitation. What if Cinderella believed what her stepfamily believed about her, believed what her circumstances said she was? Would her heart have responded to the invitation? Would she have been found in the garden amidst her mess or would she have counted herself lucky to have the night off and gone to bed?
Like Cinderella and Joseph may have wondered, I am tempted to lose sight of whose I am. My invitation to meet the prince is daily but I'm often too engaged in trying to survive my reality to believe that he wants me. It's been a long time since I was the petted little girl delighting in His then easily accessed presence and while I've been looking and pleading, it's been rare that I've found the one my heart loves. It's been easier to shut down than face the pain of feeling lost and abandoned or find faith to believe that I'm not, amidst all the darkness that says I am. I'm quite willing to take the blame for a weakly burning flame, maybe too willing, but my long enduring hope is that whatever the cause may be, that he will not put out my smoldering wick.
I'm certain that no amount of holding my breath until it's over will eradicate this trail. As I embrace the reality of whose I am here, exiled like Josepsh, facing despair and disappointment in the garden like Cinderella, I will be escorted into the presence of the King. Until then I hope, I wrestle and I wait.
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