Sometimes, when I pray, these little bursts of pain come squirming out. It's as if I get comfortable in my time with the Lord, and these feelings I haven't let myself feel come to the surface. I cry a little, talk a little, and leave them.
Interesting.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Writers.
"Writers don't make any money at all. We make about a dollar. It is terrible. But then again, we don't work either. We sit around in our underwear until noon then go downstairs and make coffee, fry some eggs, read the newspaper, read part of a book, smell the book, wonder if perhaps we ourselves should work on our own book, smell the book again, throw the book across the room because we are quite jealous that any other person wrote a book, feel terribly guilty about throwing the schmuck's book across the room because we secretly wonder if God in heaven noticed our evil jealousy, or worse, our laziness. We then lie across the couch facedown and mumble to God to forgive us because we are secretly afraid he is going to dry up all our words because we envied another man's stupid words. And for this, as I said before, we are paid a dollar. We are worth so much more."
-Donald Miller, Blue Like Jazz
I've been the kind of writer Miller describes before, but I'm not her, now. I'm a writer with a chatty Muse, up at 5 AM thinking of the things I need to write each day. I'm a workhorse writer, writing as if my life depended on it...because it does. I write for my bread, my bath, my mortgage. I write for the paychecks that pay for me and pay for my man to live. We actually live pretty well, considering that I make my money by writing, and writers aren't paid so well.
It makes me laugh that Miller smells the book, then smells the book again. I smell books. I smell them and smell them. I also smell newspapers and magazines. I have the Kindle app on my iPhone, but it doesn't have a smell. It's kind of sad. I can read in the bed at night next to my husband while he's sleeping, though, without disturbing him, so that's nice. I do wish it had a smell.
I also am jealous that any other person ever wrote a book, or anything at all. Last week, someone told me that a columnist whose work I published is the "best writer" she'd ever read. I wanted to slap her in her mouth for daring to say such a thing in my presence. Doesn't she know who I am?
Many of my friends swoon over writers. I swoon, in theory, but I'd never fall in love with a writer, unless he was a vastly inferior writer. I'd hate it, a man getting his hands all in my words, or worse yet, having words of his own. It would be much worse than when a man comes in the kitchen and tells me the sauce is too salty or the chili to spicy - far worse. I might have to kill him. There is no room in my bedroom for another writer.
There was a boy in college with whom I had a brief tryst. He wrote well, but not very well. He wrote pastoral poems about his boyhood home. They were pleasant poems, kind of pastel and blurry and dreamy. He thought I was amazing and terrifying. I could see it in the way he looked at me.
I wonder which is worse: idolatry, or wanting to be an idol.
It makes me laugh that Miller smells the book, then smells the book again. I smell books. I smell them and smell them. I also smell newspapers and magazines. I have the Kindle app on my iPhone, but it doesn't have a smell. It's kind of sad. I can read in the bed at night next to my husband while he's sleeping, though, without disturbing him, so that's nice. I do wish it had a smell.
I also am jealous that any other person ever wrote a book, or anything at all. Last week, someone told me that a columnist whose work I published is the "best writer" she'd ever read. I wanted to slap her in her mouth for daring to say such a thing in my presence. Doesn't she know who I am?
Many of my friends swoon over writers. I swoon, in theory, but I'd never fall in love with a writer, unless he was a vastly inferior writer. I'd hate it, a man getting his hands all in my words, or worse yet, having words of his own. It would be much worse than when a man comes in the kitchen and tells me the sauce is too salty or the chili to spicy - far worse. I might have to kill him. There is no room in my bedroom for another writer.
There was a boy in college with whom I had a brief tryst. He wrote well, but not very well. He wrote pastoral poems about his boyhood home. They were pleasant poems, kind of pastel and blurry and dreamy. He thought I was amazing and terrifying. I could see it in the way he looked at me.
I wonder which is worse: idolatry, or wanting to be an idol.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Forgiveness
My church recently participated in a 10 day, 24 hour-a-day prayer event at our 24-7 prayer room. Each participant signed up for a 90 minute time slot to pray for ourselves, our church, our city, and our world.
I spend a lot of time at 24-7, so the place has lost a bit of the romance it had at the beginning. Instead of being where I go to meet God, it's where I go to help other folks meet Him, to see my friends, or to meet with people for work. I still think it's holy ground, but I don't fall on my knees each time I enter anymore.
I expected to go to my time slot, pray diligently, and feel good about passing the prayer baton to the person coming in after me. I thought it would be a pleasant experience. That would be all.
God had other plans for me.
Within the first few minutes, I had tears hanging heavy in my eyes. God's love for me was so palpable, so clean, and so present. Within a few more minutes, as I entered the forgiveness booth, I wept openly.
I think of the places of unforgiveness in my life as festering sores. The ooze and drain as they heal, and sometimes, I need the assistance of a skilled Surgeon to help me remove the infection. God removed a big chunk from my heart as I rested on my knees, praying for those who have hurt me most.
I was also humbled by a display showing the statistics of race, poverty, business and more in the neighborhood where my church has put down roots (which is also the neighborhood where I live). I am honored to be invited to serve, to be a light in this community. I hit my knees again, thanking God for using me.
What keeps sticking with me, though, is something in the communion booth. I don't remember exactly how it was worded, but it said something like: Drink, and feel God believing that you were worth the sacrifice.
I crave that feeling of worthiness, fidelity, love and acceptance. I seek it from the wrong places...but when I set my eyes on the Source of all love, I realize I don't have to search. He is always with me...
I spend a lot of time at 24-7, so the place has lost a bit of the romance it had at the beginning. Instead of being where I go to meet God, it's where I go to help other folks meet Him, to see my friends, or to meet with people for work. I still think it's holy ground, but I don't fall on my knees each time I enter anymore.
I expected to go to my time slot, pray diligently, and feel good about passing the prayer baton to the person coming in after me. I thought it would be a pleasant experience. That would be all.
God had other plans for me.
Within the first few minutes, I had tears hanging heavy in my eyes. God's love for me was so palpable, so clean, and so present. Within a few more minutes, as I entered the forgiveness booth, I wept openly.
I think of the places of unforgiveness in my life as festering sores. The ooze and drain as they heal, and sometimes, I need the assistance of a skilled Surgeon to help me remove the infection. God removed a big chunk from my heart as I rested on my knees, praying for those who have hurt me most.
I was also humbled by a display showing the statistics of race, poverty, business and more in the neighborhood where my church has put down roots (which is also the neighborhood where I live). I am honored to be invited to serve, to be a light in this community. I hit my knees again, thanking God for using me.
What keeps sticking with me, though, is something in the communion booth. I don't remember exactly how it was worded, but it said something like: Drink, and feel God believing that you were worth the sacrifice.
I crave that feeling of worthiness, fidelity, love and acceptance. I seek it from the wrong places...but when I set my eyes on the Source of all love, I realize I don't have to search. He is always with me...
Monday, February 15, 2010
Potted.
Sometimes, I think of the pot I've planted myself in, and I sigh. It can feel a little constricting. Sometimes, I think I want to break the pot. I can feel the squeeze all over me, and I want out. I want different. I want more.For so many years of my life, I ran away. When things weren't working, I ran. I went somewhere else and started a new life. It would work, even, for a while, but always, I'd catch up with myself. Whatever new life I'd started would gradually come unraveled, and there I'd be, sweeping up the shards.
Sometimes, though, I look around, and I just want to scream at the world. I want the pain to stop. I want the hurt to go away. I know, though, that if I left my husband and went somewhere else and started a new, single life, that pain would follow me. The hurts of our past still happened, and I bet I'd still find myself, suddenly awake in the middle of the night, riveted by visions of my husband in another woman's arms...hung up on grief and memories of loss and lies and deception. It would still have happened, and it would still hurt.
Early on in my experience with 12 step recovery, I made a commitment to myself to stick with this situation and not to run away. I made a promise to myself to try to find the root of it and to find the tools necessary to stop undermining my own life.
I am just so tired, and I am so hungry for peace. It's better, but it still feels like I'm constantly on the verge of some new, big pain. I want to put down my gun.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Proverbs 23
"Let not thy heart envy sinners, but be thou in the fear of the Lord all the day long."
I have recently gotten a tiny Gideon's Bible. There was a man at my high school who used to hand them out. That guy made me furious. I was always nasty to him. Weird.
I was flipping through Proverbs tonight, and that verse caught me up, like a net. I've spent far too long envying sinners. When my husband cheated, he was far from God, walking in outright rebellion. During that time, though, I was thoroughly relying on God. I prayed constantly. God gave me strength and patience and grace and taught me how to rely on him with my whole heart.
There is nothing to envy! He was in the arms of another woman, but I was in the arms of the creator of the universe. I was carried through that most difficult season with such gentleness, while my husband was wracked with guilt and anger, fear and confusion. I had the source of love and light and life surrounding me, and while I was in pain, I knew that God was with me, and there was going to be a day when I would be at peace, one way or another.
It was a gift. It always is.
- Posted using BlogPress
I have recently gotten a tiny Gideon's Bible. There was a man at my high school who used to hand them out. That guy made me furious. I was always nasty to him. Weird.
I was flipping through Proverbs tonight, and that verse caught me up, like a net. I've spent far too long envying sinners. When my husband cheated, he was far from God, walking in outright rebellion. During that time, though, I was thoroughly relying on God. I prayed constantly. God gave me strength and patience and grace and taught me how to rely on him with my whole heart.
There is nothing to envy! He was in the arms of another woman, but I was in the arms of the creator of the universe. I was carried through that most difficult season with such gentleness, while my husband was wracked with guilt and anger, fear and confusion. I had the source of love and light and life surrounding me, and while I was in pain, I knew that God was with me, and there was going to be a day when I would be at peace, one way or another.
It was a gift. It always is.
- Posted using BlogPress
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Shut Up.
Labels:
infidelity,
music
You know that I could use somebody
Someone like you and all you know and how you speak
Countless lovers under cover of the street
You know that I could use somebody
You know that I could use somebody
Someone like you...
For two days now, I've been stuck in awkward situations while the most triggering song in the world is on the radio. If I'm in my car, I can turn it. If I'm interviewing someone for a feature article, however, I'm just stuck with it, and it takes substantial effort to re-center myself.
When my husband left home to run around with another woman, that awful song by Kings of Leon called "Use Somebody" was popular. The other woman had a MySpace profile, and I'd obsess over every status update, as she chronicled her burgeoning affair with my husband pretty regularly. During that time, that song was the one that played when you'd look at her profile. Whenever I hear it now, I find myself right back in that place...I feel that death and desperation in the pit of my stomach, like a cold finger reaching down into my belly.
The worst part of the song is the word, "Lovers."
Oh, I wish I could undo that part of history.
Father, thank you for the work you've been doing in me to unravel the mess that infidelity made in my heart. Thank you for continuing that work, and help me to do my part, Father...help me to see the places where I am harboring unforgiveness or hurt feelings. I want to lay all of it at your feet. I want to give you that stupid song, and I don't want it to have power over me anymore. I will not let that situation compromise my peace anymore.
Just yesterday, you gave me such a moment of clarity. It's over, you told me, and I truly felt it. That time in my life is over, and it's time to let go of the emotional residue. I want to abide in that connection with you, that peace, and that realization that this moment is not that moment, that now is not then, and that I am moving forward and growing in my relationship with you - and that is all that matters.
Amen.
Someone like you and all you know and how you speak
Countless lovers under cover of the street
You know that I could use somebody
You know that I could use somebody
Someone like you...
For two days now, I've been stuck in awkward situations while the most triggering song in the world is on the radio. If I'm in my car, I can turn it. If I'm interviewing someone for a feature article, however, I'm just stuck with it, and it takes substantial effort to re-center myself.
When my husband left home to run around with another woman, that awful song by Kings of Leon called "Use Somebody" was popular. The other woman had a MySpace profile, and I'd obsess over every status update, as she chronicled her burgeoning affair with my husband pretty regularly. During that time, that song was the one that played when you'd look at her profile. Whenever I hear it now, I find myself right back in that place...I feel that death and desperation in the pit of my stomach, like a cold finger reaching down into my belly.
The worst part of the song is the word, "Lovers."
Oh, I wish I could undo that part of history.
Father, thank you for the work you've been doing in me to unravel the mess that infidelity made in my heart. Thank you for continuing that work, and help me to do my part, Father...help me to see the places where I am harboring unforgiveness or hurt feelings. I want to lay all of it at your feet. I want to give you that stupid song, and I don't want it to have power over me anymore. I will not let that situation compromise my peace anymore.
Just yesterday, you gave me such a moment of clarity. It's over, you told me, and I truly felt it. That time in my life is over, and it's time to let go of the emotional residue. I want to abide in that connection with you, that peace, and that realization that this moment is not that moment, that now is not then, and that I am moving forward and growing in my relationship with you - and that is all that matters.
Amen.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Tea and Evangelism.
Labels:
12 steps,
Christianity,
evangelism
I had tea with a friend tonight. She was having a rough time in her marriage, and she came over to talk with me and drink tea and get out of the crazy hole that was her home.
I was assembling prayer guides for the 24-7 prayer week that is coming up for my church, and she helped me a bit. She collated them, and I punched and hooked them together. We talked while we worked, and it was nice.
After a while, though, she started reading what was on the cards, and she got upset. One of the cards was on evangelism, and it reads, "List the name of 3 people you have regular contact with who are not yet followers of Christ. Once a day, pray for those named. Ask God to give you an opportunity to connect with them in ways that open the door for you to talk about how your life intersects with Christ and how God is at work in your life."
She was raised Jewish, and she has reconnected with her idea of God over recent years through 12 stepping. I was a little surprised that she was offended by the information on the card, as it seemed so clear to me. Pray for people. Ask for an opportunity to connect with them so that you can share your story of how God is working for you. It's what God's people do. It's even what 12 stepping folks do...we carry the message.
I get it, though, and I can remember being in her position. She said she felt like Christians tell everybody else that they're doing it wrong. While that's not the words that are on the card, that's the words that have been seared on her heart through some harmful efforts at evangelism in her life in the past. It makes me sad that the Church has so botched up its message of Good News, love, peace, and hope for a better way of life that an encouragement for Christians to pray for their non-believing friends and to ask that God give them an opportunity to share how he is working in their lives would be offensive.
There is a wall there, and Christians built it. I wonder what I can do to help tear it down.
I was assembling prayer guides for the 24-7 prayer week that is coming up for my church, and she helped me a bit. She collated them, and I punched and hooked them together. We talked while we worked, and it was nice.
After a while, though, she started reading what was on the cards, and she got upset. One of the cards was on evangelism, and it reads, "List the name of 3 people you have regular contact with who are not yet followers of Christ. Once a day, pray for those named. Ask God to give you an opportunity to connect with them in ways that open the door for you to talk about how your life intersects with Christ and how God is at work in your life."
She was raised Jewish, and she has reconnected with her idea of God over recent years through 12 stepping. I was a little surprised that she was offended by the information on the card, as it seemed so clear to me. Pray for people. Ask for an opportunity to connect with them so that you can share your story of how God is working for you. It's what God's people do. It's even what 12 stepping folks do...we carry the message.
I get it, though, and I can remember being in her position. She said she felt like Christians tell everybody else that they're doing it wrong. While that's not the words that are on the card, that's the words that have been seared on her heart through some harmful efforts at evangelism in her life in the past. It makes me sad that the Church has so botched up its message of Good News, love, peace, and hope for a better way of life that an encouragement for Christians to pray for their non-believing friends and to ask that God give them an opportunity to share how he is working in their lives would be offensive.
There is a wall there, and Christians built it. I wonder what I can do to help tear it down.
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