Broken and Not So Broken

This is my walking boot. I decorate it, of course.

“God, I’m in the place again/I’m trying so hard not to fall/But everything keeps coming down with the rain.”–Everyday Sunday

I’ve always appreciated melancholy songs.  There’s something about the toned down, raw nature of a rock band that grips my heart and makes me pay attention, like KISS’s “Beth” or Five Iron Frenzy’s “Every New Day.”  (Yes, I just mentioned KISS and Five Iron Frenzy in the same sentence.  Incidentally, “Beth” is the only KISS song I know.)

Since lyrics and song melodies move me, it’s understandable why I’ve danced my way into the genre of singer/songwriter in my old(er) age (though I still enjoy Southern rock, like Credence Clearwater Revival and more recently, NeedToBreathe.)  Lately, it seems, I find comfort in the likes of Bebo Norman (surprise, surpise!), JJ Heller, Audrey Assad, Josh Wilson, and Andrew Peterson.

See, I haven’t had an easy go of things lately.  In mid-May, I broke my left foot. Yes, friends, another broken foot.  As you may recall, I broke my right foot about 15 months ago…and the healing process for the right foot has been excruciatingly slow.  After a couple tests, my foot doctor discovered my Vitamin D level to be pitifully low and started me on a regimen 50,000 units of Vitamin D weekly.  That’s the boring medical part.

This happened a week after I made some changes in my life, after all night prayer sessions, talks with my pastor, and weeping before the Lord, I felt Him saying to me, as He said to Elijah as he ran for his life from evil Queen Jezebel, “The journey has been too much for you.  Rest now, My child, I will take care of the details.”  Two weeks after resigning as lead of a ministry and falling into a more manageable role on the leadership team, I broke my foot simply by getting up from (or rather down) from one of our counter height dining room chairs.

This started a longer-than-I-anticipated journey of rest–no driving, walking around with a rollator (rolling walker), going down the stairs with a cane, needing assistance with normal tasks like showering, shopping, and getting here and there.  Oh, and of course, resting with my legs elevated to improve healing time.  Alone all day in my apartment.  It sounds perfectly lovely to harried people who could use a day off, but it’s house arrest for a social, relational woman like me.

So I’ve been spending a lot of time talking to God and listening to music.  At first, I was struck with severe anxiety, which I believe was my anxiety disorder as well as a spiritual attack from the enemy.  I cried–wailed actually–and copied psalm after psalm from the Bible into my journal.  My fervency for God was strong and trust was a moment by moment walk.  While I don’t miss the panic attacks and tears, I wish I could maintain the level of urgency for God and His Holy Word when I’m not in the throes of fear.

I don’t always listen to music.  I like silence, too.  I can hear the birds singing merrily, the engine of the mail truck, laughter and screams from neighborhood children, the clink of my dog’s tags as she roams about the apartment, and my cockatiel’s own chirps.  So many ordinary sounds that make up the backdrop of this orchestra called life…and most of the time, I barely notice.

And I’m reading.  As much as I love to read, I don’t always make time for it.  Besides my Bible study reading (The Story and Crazy Love) and my daily devotional, Jesus Calling, I’m juggling three books right now–One Thousand Gifts, The Parable of Joy, and The Covenant Child.  My attention span seems to have increased as a result of my sitting in this stillness.

My writing life has been rich, though much of it has come alive in my journal–private conversations between God and me.  While this isn’t a measurable source of earthly wealth, it is the most important writing that I can do.  I call it “holy writing.”  If my purpose here on earth is to bring glory and honor to God, then my writing–for Him and Him alone–can have no higher calling.  Face down before the Throne of God, I write and write, like some ancient, inspired scribe.  Perhaps I will pick out thoughts to blog about here.  Or maybe write that book I’m always thinking about.

Don’t get me wrong.  I would never have chosen this path, but I am learning to be thankful for it.  I am grateful for the friends God has given to support me in this time.  It’s funny how my One Word for 2013 is LOVED and He is showing me how LOVED I really am! (Even when I start to believe the lie that no one cares, including God.)  Who would have thought the path to knowing I am LOVED would come with so much pain and brokenness–the actual physical breaking of another bone?  It seems all paths are littered with sorrow and suffering.  Is it any wonder that these are little Much Afraid’s guides to the high places in Hind’s Feet on High Places? (I plan to re-read the book as soon as I finish The Covenant Child.)

I am loved.  It rings loudly and clearly throughout my days, and it is revealed through so many ways and so many people.

If I hadn’t broken my left foot, my small group leader wouldn’t have moved our Bible study into her living room so I could attend showing me that I am LOVED.  (Thanks, Amanda!)

Nor would I have received a ride to the Bible study I lead from one of the attendees.  (Thanks, Patty!)

I would never have trusted God to help me make it up to the choir loft for praise team or give me strength to sing when my jaw ached with TMJD pain.  (Thanks to the Praise Team for their encouragement!)

I have moments of despair, when I feel God’s touch or receive a phone call or text or Facebook message.  These are precious things I gather into my heart.  Someone is praying or God is teaching me to trust Him more and more.  I hate the aloneness, and I love the intimacy with God.

If this hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t be writing this blog post.  Perhaps I’d write something else, or maybe nothing at all.  I know not the path I would’ve taken and it hardly matters because this is where I am.  Everything around me is speaking to me–the book One Thousands Gifts, reading the book of Ruth this morning (I was struck that Naomi was so very bitter and yet so very blessed through Ruth in the end.  In the middle, it seemed she would never have joy again), and in watching The Fellowship of the Ring last week. (Frodo never CHOSE for the ring to come into his possession, yet it did.  Yet he carried the burden anyway.  He chose to do the right thing in the midst of his circumstances.)

It’s a conscious choice, this choosing to be thankful and grateful in the midst of this disappointment.  Perhaps it’s a divine appointment to receive greater joy.  That’s an encouraging thought, isn’t it?

Tell me, how has God taught you to be faithful or thankful in the midst of something hard or disappointing?  What have you been reading lately?  Do you miss the fervency of intimacy with God when you aren’t going through trials?

Karaoke Dive-By

The Inn of the Prancing Pony is even more innocent in Lego form.

On Friday night, I let loose with a few friends for some karaoke fun at our friendly, neighborhood pub.  Now when I think of “pub,” imagery of The Inn of the Prancing Pony from the Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Rings comes to mind.  (If you’re not a LOTR nerd, I know I just lost you.  Come back to me! If you are a LOTR nerd, then you’ll probably love the Prancing Pony scenes fully reconstructed in Legos here)  Or maybe an old-fashioned pub like The Eagle and Child where C.S. Lewis, Tolkien ( those LOTR references just keep coming), and the rest of the Inklings met to talk about their literary works.  Yes, a classy joint, sort of like an artistic Applebee’s (which I just learned also has karaoke) or a coffeehouse where people drink beer.

A pub, at least the one down the street, is nothing like that.

There were no writers discussing their works (though I did try literary analysis on some of the song lyrics.)  Or rough and tumble guys playing poker.  There were flashing strobe lights, a cheesy stage area, and a random sampling of people–most of whom were drinking.  I know, I know, it’s a bar, what did I expect?  Well, I thought it was a pub and everyone would be drinking butter beer!  Besides, we were there to karaoke, not get sloshed.

And karaoke we did!  While one of my friends, who is apparently a karaoke superstar, sang love ballads, I relied on classics such as “Bad Moon Risin’” by CCR and “Dancin’ Queen” by ABBA.  I mean, who doesn’t want to sing “Dancin’ Queen”?  It may be cliche, but at least I can cross “Sing ‘Dancin’ Queen’ at karaoke bar” off my bucket list.

In between our performances, we paged through the song catalog placed at each table and laughed at the names of bands and song titles, commenting on some of the more, uh, at “classy” song choices, and trying to yell over the noisy room.  One of us began to look for songs by Christian artists, and that’s when three of us decided we needed to sing one of these songs.  I joked that we needed to be light in the darkness.  We were going to be missionary karaokeers.  We chuckled about it, but I think there could be something to it. I think Jesus would karaoke.

We chose “Dive” by Steve Curtis Chapman.  It wasn’t as in-your-face as Chris Tomlin’s “How Great Is Our God” or as sugary sweet as Point of Grace. I claimed to know it, though I hadn’t heard the song in a few years.  My friends said they’d follow my lead.  After all, I am on the Sunday morning praise team, right?

I wrote our song choice on a slip and handed it to the  D.J.  After listening to a few other patrons, the D.J. called our names.  I was a little shaken by the song before us, which talked about bodies hitting the floor and had some screaming parts.  Still, we smiled sweetly at the crowd and exchanged nervous glaces as the song started.  We were ready to show the pubsters how we Christian chicks karaoke.  As soon as the lyrics began scrolling across the small screen, I realized I didn’t know “Dive”  as well as I thought I did.  Neither did my friends who were counting on me.  So we did our best and half-laughed our way through the verses as we tried to produce some semblance of a tune.  Fortunately, we did know the chorus, which we totally rocked. The nice thing about being among so many people who don’t listen to Christian music is that they didn’t know the song so they didn’t know that we didn’t know it either.  Or they were too drunk to care.  I realized later that lighht in the darkness doesn’t have to be brilliant to be seen; it just has to shine.

So, what’s the point of this post?  Am I trying to get Steven Curtis Chapman to hire my friends and me as back-up singers for his next tour?  (Maybe.  SCC, we’re available.  Call us!) Is there some deep, spiritual platitude I’m trying to get across?  Not really.  I’m just sharing a story about 30-something ladies having a good [sober] time on a Friday night.  We weren’t at the pub to be salt and light.  We didn’t sing “Dive” to be a witness.   We just were because when you allow yourself to be God’s light, you can’t help but shine.

I don’t think we saved any souls with our singing.  I’m not even sure we planted any seeds (Though strangely enough, “The 700 Club” was being show on one of the TV’s in the main bar area, so perhaps Pat Roberston took care of the souls we missed.)  But I think we did bring glory to God by praising His name in a neighborhood pub on Friday night.

Sometimes light is subtle…and that’s OK.  We don’t always have to flood the world with our faith, which can make people feel like deer caught in headlights.  We can be a light in the darkness simply by being radiant and letting God’s light pour out through us into the world.

Maybe we all just need to step out of our comfort zones, take a leap of faith, and dive in.

The gift of anxiety

Today was a victory, just like yesterday and the day before and the day before.  Today’s accomplishment?  I went to Wal-Mart by myself—got myself out the door, drove to the store, and shopped for needed household items (and a couple of extras).  I purchased my items, walked to my car (almost got run over in the crosswalk by some lady in a van who had the nerve to beep at a pedestrian was in the middle of the road when she sped around the corner), and drove home with a triumphant smile on my face.  Victory!

Some of my mom friends are probably thinking, “Going to Wal-Mart alone?!  That would be a dream come true!” 

Others might think, “Seriously?!  What’s your deal?”

A few of you get it because you know me and a few of you understand because you live or have lived with this reality.  Sometimes getting out of bed is a win and making it out the door is a victory.  Such is life for a person who lives very real battles with anxiety and depression and related issues. 

Now that I live a more open life, my absence has been noted, both here on this blog and in my personal and church life.  It started as a sinus infection, then a huge stress attack, and then a second, much worse sinus infection that affected by TMJ.  The stress set my usual anxiety spiraling out of control.  Being home recovering from the second sinus infection has turned anxiety into a major emotional/psychological l battle.  Like all things, it impacts my whole being and becomes a spiritual battle as well.  The enemy always preys on our weakest spots.

Since I was unable to attend church this week, I decided to watch a series of talks by Andy Stanley called, “The Comparison Trap.”  In the first talk, Andy said something I immediately wrote down, “When we speak out of our weakness, we never run out of things to say.”   So, when I write about my weakness, I always have good material to which God gets all the glory, for His strength and light radiate from my cracked, weak spots.

However, talking about my current struggles can be hard because well-intentioned people like to throw misinterpretations of Bible verses at me and tell me that my anxiety is a sin.  Worse are those who think I can just snap out of it.  While I can ask God to remove mental illness from life, I cannot make it go away.  Simply put, my brain is sick.  Neurons are misfiring.  Neurotransmitters have run amuck.  But I’m learning how to deal with it and through it all, my faith is growing because I must cling to God in my struggles.  He never lets go of me.

I used to think the true measure of faith was the absence of fear, but I was set straight during an interview with musician whose music is a breath of life to my weary soul.  He told me clinging to God, reading Scripture, writing in my journal—those are the very acts of faith that seeks God first.  If that’s all I can do, I am doing well.  Everything else is an act of grace for us and grace, in and of itself, is a gift of God’s good pleasure.  My pastor often prays, “Even if Jesus was all You gave us that is still more than we deserve.” (paraphrased)

Sometimes we sing, “Your grace is enough, Your grace is enough, Your grace is enough for me.”  It’s a great song, but do we, do I really believe that?  I mean, if Jesus was truly all God gave me, would that be enough for me?

I don’t know, but if it was all I had left I hope it would be enough.  As it is, today I was given an extra measure of grace—a chance to go to Wal-Mart, shop for a few items, and go home.  This, too, is an act of God’s grace and it is not small thing; it is God-reliance.  If I didn’t have the gift of anxiety/depression, I would be able to rely on myself, but I am forced to rely on God and He has given me a wonderful support system that provides me tangible help.   Mental illness isn’t the kind of gift I would wrap up and give a friend as a birthday present, but I am thankful for the chance to know God more and more through it. 

Tomorrow I will get up and fight this monster again.  Will I be victorious?  I sure hope so.  I do know that God will be with me either way.

One Word: Petros

This is a talk I gave at my church’s One Word, One Day event.  I thought I’d share it with y’all as well.  Hope you like the written form!

It started with a name change.  A holy name change.

Well, actually, it started before that, maybe we should start at the beginning, in Matthew 4:18-20.  It says, “As Jesus was walking beside the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon called Peter and his brother Andrew. They were casting a net into the lake, for they were fishermen.  ‘Come, follow me,’ Jesus said, ‘and I will make you fishers of men.’ At once they left their nets and followed him.”

Simon called Peter?  Who called Simon, “Peter”?  Why does the gospel writer Matthew, the ex-tax collector, make this distinction about his fellow disciple?

Simon was also known as Peter.  In fact, he was probably only known by his nickname “Peter” or “Petros” to the Jewish audience in which the Gospel of Matthew is directed.  Matthew is saying, “You know Peter?  Well, he wasn’t always called, ‘Peter.’”  But we’ll get to that later…

After Jesus called Simon, Andrew and some other guys to His ragtag gang, He healed a multitude of sick people.  Jesus then preached what became known as the “Sermon on the Mount,” which includes the “Lord’s Prayer” that we say every week in church.  As Jesus spoke and taught and loved and healed, Simon watched.

Simon’s own mother-in-law was healed from a fever, two demon-possessed men’s minds and bodies were freed from their oppression.  When their tiny boat was tossed on an angry sea, Simon wondered, marveled really, at who Jesus was—that even the wind and waves obeyed Him.  I’m sure this particularly interested the Simon the former fisherman, who was used to the wiles of the sea.

The disciples traveled on a boat when another storm happened upon them.  Then they saw Jesus walking on the water!  Instead of staying in the boat, Simon jumped out walked on the water with Jesus.  His faith faltered and he started to drown.  This won’t be the first time we see Simon Peter’s disbelief, and it won’t be the last time we see Jesus’ great mercy in saving Simon.

On dry land, Simon witnessed Jesus raise a girl from the dead and helped hand out a few dry fish and loaves of bread to over 10,000 people.  Not just one, but twice.

He saw his rabbi–his teacher–questioned again and again by the Pharisees.  He saw followers come and go.  Along with the other disciples, Simon heard, saw, tasted, smelled, and experienced much.

So when we come to Matthew, chapter 16, and Jesus asked his disciples in verse 13, “Who do people say the Son of Man is?” we know the disciples should have a good answer.

“Some say John the Baptist,” answered one.  (By this time, John the Baptist had been beheaded by Herod Antipas because John made his girlfriend angry.)

“Elijah,” quipped another.

“I heard Jeremiah!” offered a third.

“Actually, any one of the prophets,” mused the fourth.

Here is where I imagine Jesus looked intently at each one of these twelve men.  He asked, “But, you, who do you say that I am?”

Simon said, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the Living God!”

I think Jesus smiled as he said this part, verse 18 in The Message translation, “Blessed are you, Simon! And now I’m going to tell you who you are, really are. You are Peter, a rock. This is the rock on which I will [build] my church, a church so expansive with energy that not even the gates of hell will be able to keep it out.”

Peter in Greek is “Petros” which means “detached rock” or “single rock,” while “petra” which you may also hear means “bed of rock.” (Petra is also the name of an 80’s/90’s Christian rock band.  I know some of you were thinking that!)

What happens to “The Rock” after this?

In the next section, Peter told Jesus the Messiah to stop teaching about His death and resurrection because it will never happen.  Peter was upset that the Messiah would die, which is not part of Peter’s plan.  He wanted the Messiah to redeem the Jews from Roman oppression, but we know that Jesus had a much bigger plan—to redeem all mankind.

Peter also saw more miracles, more healing, more wonders, and it all came to a climax with Jesus’ Triumphal Entry into Jerusalem, which we celebrate as “Palm Sunday.” We know what’s coming.

We know that Jesus washed Peter’s feet and we know that Peter cut off a soldier’s ear while attempting to protect Jesus from being arrested in the Garden of Gethsemane.  Much to Peter’s chagrin, Jesus healed the soldier’s ear and still, Jesus is taken away.

There were two mock trials, and then there was Peter’s bitter betrayal—his refusal to be counted as one of Jesus’ followers, even though he spoke like a country boy with his Galilean accent and even though he was seen with Jesus.  “No, I don’t know the man,” he yelled and then the rooster crowed.  Scripture says Jesus looked right at Peter.  I believe Jesus looked right through him.

Some “rock”!  Then again you can’t exactly be the rock of the New Testament church with a dead messiah…that is, unless Jesus’ teaching about dying and coming back in three days was true.

We all know what happens, don’t we?  Jesus’ resurrection and Peter’s later restoration.

Then in Acts 2, we see a new man—an emboldened Peter talked in front of thousands on the day of Pentecost, after Jesus’ ascension into Heaven.  The Holy Spirit had just come upon the disciples and they preached in various language.

Peter calmed the crowd and then delivered this stunning testimony, in verses 22-24, “Fellow Israelites, listen carefully to these words: Jesus the Nazarene, a man thoroughly accredited by God to you—the miracles and wonders and signs that God did through him are common knowledge—this Jesus, following the deliberate and well-thought-out plan of God, was betrayed by men who took the law into their own hands, and was handed over to you. And you pinned him to a cross and killed him. But God untied the death ropes and raised him up. Death was no match for him.”

In verse 41 we learn the results of Peter’s bold teaching, “Those who accepted his [Peter’s] message were baptized, and about three thousand were added to their number that day.”

Simon. Petros.  The Rock.

The name says it all.  Jesus saw Simon’s potential, his calling and with ONE WORD—Petros—Jesus told Simon Peter who he could be, what he would become—the rock on which New Testament church was founded.  A single rock testifying about Jesus, the Solid Rock.

From simple fisherman to bold preacher, it started with one word—a name given to Simon from the mouth of God.

Misplaced Joy

The actual “Joy Mug” placed oddly in the cabinet. The mug was a Christmas present from the Larimer’s. Thanks, guys!

Why, hello Joy!  What are you doing here stuck between mismatched stacks of dishes?

You seem misplaced. 

You’re not where you’re supposed to be—with the other encouragement mugs.

You’re not where I expected you at all.

I thought you’d be at church, in worship songs, in Scripture, in the smile of a friend… If you were there (and you probably were), I failed to notice you…

I was losing hope in you. I was losing hope period.

My faith is being testing.  My rough places are being made smooth by a holy refining fire.  I didn’t know you were lost to me, but I felt your absence.  I ached for you.  Yet you were hiding in plain sight.  My eyes were blinded by self-pity; I could not see.

I heard you first—in a song on the radio as I drove home from a particularly emotional counseling session.  My throat hurt from a mix of dry air and phlegmy crying.  I sang along anyway.  You started to shine through as the winter sun dried the tears on my cheeks.  My spirit was lifted from its scared, anxious, and pitiful prison.

It wasn’t until I opened the cabinet and saw you there—in front of me in black on white that I knew you had been with me all along in the messy, disorganized cabinet of my life (and tangibly in a very real mug in my kitchen cabinet).

Thank you, Joy, for never leaving me, for being present in sorrow, hardships, trials, and tears.  You call my attention back to God’s promises.  You remind me that there is redemption.  Even as the world continues to groan, there is hope that all will be made new.

You are an inescapable work of the Spirit, a manifestation of His presence.  You are in all things, for I cannot flee from Your Presence.

Father, thank you for surrounding me with Your Joy and for using a simple mug to show me profound spiritual truths.

Photo Essay: Marvelous Migration

The snow geese have hit the Lehigh Valley.  After hanging out with a friend and filling up my gas tank, I spot the whirls of white along Lower Macungie Road right across from the middle school.  I only have my point-and-shoot, but I wasn’t going to miss an opportunity to capture this wonder.  Well, at least try to capture it–how can a lens capture the majesty of thousand of white birds with gray bills and the sound of their honking?  Needless to say, I’m going back tomorrow armed with my DSLR.  Hopefully, they’ll still be in the area.

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2012 in review

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2012 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

19,000 people fit into the new Barclays Center to see Jay-Z perform. This blog was viewed about 72,000 times in 2012. If it were a concert at the Barclays Center, it would take about 4 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.

Click here to see the complete report.