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.

Really God

This morning I was checking out my women’s ministry’s private Facebook group and one prayer request stuck out.  After a long time of waiting, a friend’s family hit a snafu.  Just when it seemed like God had finally responded, that the trial was finally over, there came to a bump in the road.  Normally, it would be a minor-to-somewhat major inconvenience, but after what this family has endured, it seems like one more detour, one more thing to offer up to God’s throne with shaking hands.

And, yes, it will be OK.  God will work all this out in His timing.  Everyone knows this and finds great comfort in the all-embracing loving arms of God.

Yet there’s this part of me that just says, “But really, God?!  Are you kidding me with this?”  Because I’ve been there, done that, and know the frustration these “minor” things can bring.

Just when it seems like you’re leaving Egypt after generations of slavery, there’s a snag—oh, it’s the Red Sea!  I guess we Israelites, God’s chosen people, are going to be slaughtered right here by the Egyptian army, even though Pharoah pinky swore with Moses to let us go.

But really, God?!

Or you FINALLY get that son that God promised you, even though you’re 100 and your wife is 80!  It’s about time You made good on that promise God, because Sarah and I aren’t getting any younger.  Now You want me to sacrifice my only son?!  The one you blessed me with in my old age? 

Are you kidding me, God?

Maybe you’ve been bleeding for a dozen years, which is, well, embarrassing to say the least.  Thank goodness for those BOGO 50% off female product sales at CVS because you’ve spent all your money seeing one specialist after another.  Your family is tired of hearing about it, and frankly, you smell.  So you take a chance, just one chance, to touch the hem of Jesus’ garment because you’re desperate.  To be found “unclean” among this crowd of religious folks could mean death, but you need healing…and you get it.  You hear a voice rise above the others, “Who touched me?  I know someone touched me.  Who was it?”

Umm, it was me? (All the while giving yourself a mental beating; you’ve been found out and you will probably die.)

Jesus seemed like a safe choice, until now.  But then He looks at you with those eyes of compassion and He listens to your story, which you tell through sobs.  Jesus takes His own hand and wipes the tears from your eyes.  Then He does something you didn’t expect; He forgives your sins, too. 

Really God. 

You’re a little more quiet this time.  Your voice takes on a sense of awe.  Because the Red Sea has parted, so you cross on dry ground (you didn’t even have to muddy up your sandals).  There’s a ram in the bushes to offer as a sacrifice to the Lord, instead of your precious baby boy, for He always provides.  You feel silly, foolish, and relieved that this wasn’t the one thing that broke your faith.  He’s been good, very good, but sometimes you forget because it’s hard to remember what He’s done when you’re in the midst of chaos, or even at the tail end of a long trial.

This is a lesson for me today, for my heart, which is weary and trampled upon from a week of “Really, God’s?!”  I know in this, as in all things, I’ll have that jaw-dropping moment of realization when I see how He uses these bad circumstances for the greater good.   He’s really God and He is in control of all things, including the “little” moments that splinter my resolve.

He is fully, divinely, amazingly, always and forever really God.

What’s your “But really, God?!” moment?  How did you come to see God as really God?  How can I pray for you in the midst of these momentary troubles? (I am not making light of your plight, just trying to look at things with the view of eternity in mind.)

Prone to Wander

When I first learned that I broke my foot, I comforted myself with the thought of lying about my apartment—in bed, on the couch—reading, watching documentaries on NetFlix, catching up on my mental to-do list, and writing my little heart out.  I haven’t finished one book, watched one documentary, written a to-do list, yet I have been writing…in my journal.  While these conversations with God are precious and private, I feel that my silence has added to my struggle with identity.  Oh, I know my identity is in God alone!  I know He created me and He defines me and He tells me who I am!  I know this!

But…sometimes it’s difficult to explain that to others when they ask me what I do.  It’s a long story.  A really long story.  Fortunately, my faithful family (which includes dear friends) knows my story as do you, my loving readers, because you’ve been on this journey with me for years.  Even though I’ve spent so much of the past year in silence, even though some of you have wandered to other blogs, know I appreciate you, pray for you, and cherish you.

Writing for you to make my joy complete (see post) has fallen by the wayside.  And part of that is my fault, for chasing after things that don’t add life.  Things which, in fact, break my heart.  God says, “No.”  Quietly, patiently, lovingly He says, “No, this is not my best.  You can have this thing you so desire, but I have something even better in mind.  Just you wait and see what I will do!”  I imagine a glimmer in His eye; I hear a hint of it in His voice.  And even though I don’t like surprises, I know whatever He’s planning, working, creating is good because God is good.

So I will wait.

Still, I really hate waiting.  My anxiety fights for control.  I understand matriarch Sarah’s confusion as she waited for her promised son, Isaac.  I imagine her wringing her hands, noticing the wrinkles, new age spots.  She stood up and her knees cracked and ached with each step she took. The laugh lines around her eyes—ha, what did she have to laugh about?!  Yes, God, You have promised something good…but is there something I’m supposed to be doing?  I mean, should I be vigilant about the process?  Maybe help You out a little?  What if I miss it?  As if Sarah could miss pregnancy!  As if I could miss my blessing from God!  (Side note: This blessing, though a mystery to me, will probably not result in immaculate conception and/or marriage.  I just know it’s something, and it may not even seem like a gift from God to anyone else…but I will know it’s from Him.)

As I wait for this good thing, I know I’ve missed the blessing of writing and the joy it brings—the complete joy.  Because I’ve been so busy “making it happen,” I didn’t factor in the time it cost me—time that could have been more effectively used to do things like read, watch documentaries, or even write for others!  Not that my free time has been a complete waste either.  I just know that I might have been blessed and been a blessing.  Oh, distraction will get us every time when we take our eyes off the prize! (God used Sara Groves’ song “Eyes on the Prize” from Invisible Empires to help me realize this.)

I’m sorry for not being there for you, for chasing after that which does not satisfy, for that which leaves me longing for more.  I told you I would write to make my joy complete, that I would let the Holy Spirit fill me with all joy…and I meant it then and I mean it now.  Sometimes I get distracted by the scenery on the side of the road; it comes when you write from the backseat, I guess.

“Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it…” I’ll try to keep the wandering to a minimum…as long as I’m wandering towards God, towards His joy, and towards the better, make that best, choices.

Let’s chat.  Like me, are you prone to wander?  What do you do when you realize you’re still on God’s path, but you’ve stopped to smell the roses for a bit too long?  Will you pray for me?  How can I pray for you?

So…it’s been a while.

After more than three weeks of silence, she speaks!  The first post after a long respite always seems to be the most awkward.  I have a lot to say,  and yet so much I want to keep close to my heart.  Pardon me, as I work it all out and return to the happy world of writing/blogging.

Two days after Brinley (now Bailey) went to her new home, I broke my right foot.  While I wish there was a fantastical story that accompanied this injury (like when I got bit by a werewolf), there isn’t.  I could say I tripped over a gnome, but I wasn’t even outside when it happened.  I was walking in a store, heard a loud snap, and that was it.  When I’m out I’m accompanied by my mom’s rollator (who I named Tobey), my chariot of fire (transport chair known as Elijah), and Stella/Gloria my non-wheeled original walker that I only use on the stairs and to get in/out of the shower.  (Of all the devices, Stella is the most fun.  My friend Shari and I decked her out with ribbons.)

Mostly, I’ve just been sitting around hoping and praying for visitors, who sometimes show up, spending time with God (who always shows up), listening to a lot of music, and social networking (the way home bound extroverts feel connected).  But I feel like I SHOULD be doing something more.  The should’s get me every time.  I guess there are things I would rather be doing, like feverishly writing something so powerful and so amazing that it’s truly and wonderfully from God or fleshing out the great ideas that are constantly bouncing around my brain (including my book, which I am worried my never get written, at least I’m not under contact, right?) or diving into book after book.

I want to do more, dream more, be more…and that’s all very exhausting!  I can’t keep up with my dreams, and I know my dreams and ideas need to be yielded to God or they’re destined to fail.  I mean, plans will always fall apart and some dreams are not meant to be.  I’ve learned that so clearly, and the pain is still fresh. 

As I sit here, struggling to pull my thoughts together, I realize that this is a good moment.  Maddy the Shih Tzu is warming my lap, the afternoon sun is casting an ambient glow across the room, and I am doing what I love–writing.  In this moment, I find serenity and purpose.  God is in this moment, just like He as in the last and just like He will be in the next moment of my life.

There is something about aloneness that inspires lessons in moment by moment living.  Maybe it’s because moments seem longer, less fleeting, and full of emotion.  In busyness, moments slip by unnoticed.  I believe, despite it all, I am learning to live a contented life–one of joy and, yes, of happiness.  Sometimes that just takes a while to learn.

An Open Letter to Satan

Because why wouldn’t Satan and [hot] Jesus arm wrestle?  Seems perfectly weird natural to me.

I was starting to feel glum about recent events taking place in my life.  Instead of lashing out at God, which is my former way of doing things, I decided to write an open letter to Satan instead so that I could remind myself and others of God’s promises to His people.  Am I still sad?  Yes.  But I also know that this is temporary in light of eternity…and eternity is an awfully long time. (Feel free to leave comments, if you’d like. Oh, and don’t steal this without permission because that would be mean and very Satan-like.)

Satan,

I am writing you this letter to inform you that your rebellion against God and His people isn’t going so well.  Granted, it looks like you’re winning, and I admit there are casualties in our camp.  However, God is guaranteed the final victory, and until then, I suppose you’re going to keep on causing misery and pain in your kingdom here on earth.

Therefore, if you must continue on with this rampage against God’s image bearers, I’d like to give you a few insights on how this all works.

First, you can maim, torture, denounce, martyr, and rip apart our earthly bodies, but you can never touch our souls, though they may experience the darkest of nights.  Even when God seems so far away that we ache and we doubt, our allegiance will never be swayed, for our King will come through in the end.  When we are at our weakest, God is at His very strongest.  If you want to test us, go ahead, because we will only be made stronger.

Second, though I am forced to live in your kingdom temporarily, I won’t be here forever.  My loyalty is to a King with a heavenly kingdom that will not pass away.  The more I learn about my kingdom of eternal residence, the less satisfied I am with earth.  Oh, there are beautiful sunsets, soaring hawks, and wonders that take my breath away, but these things only prove that there is a Creator.  My soul was made for eternity, and I can’t wait to see creation in its glorified, original state.  See, spring is coming here on earth, and you can’t stop it or the fact that it reminds us of the eternal Spring that will one day come and make everything new.

Third, the Bible says that you masquerade as an angel of light, that you were once the most beautiful in all of creation.  Of course, you rebelled against God, took one-third of the angels with you, and now you’re here on earth.  Then Eve (formerly known as “woman”) came, the signature of divine, and you deceived her.  Tragically, the earth and all that is in it because cursed.  I don’t need to tell you the story.  After all, you were there. 

I suppose that some are still deceived by your “beauty,” but I only see you as ugly, twisted, and disgusting.  While some horrible events are the result of living in a fallen world (aka your temporary kingdom), others are the result of the work of you and your counterparts—wars, broken families, corruption, violence, murder, divorce, abuse, and so on.  When lives are devastated, some question God and doubt His existence, but real Christians turn to God with our heartache.  (For reference, see above paragraph on “when we are weak, God is strong.”)

While you do hurt us, injure us, ruin our days, and even destroy lives, you cannot fool us into thinking that you are beautiful, lovely, or “light.”  You gave that all up when you wanted to be God, when you fell from beauty.  I almost pity you.  Almost.   But you made your choice, took humanity down with you, and caused so much suffering, death, and destruction, I cannot pity you.  Once you were breathtakingly gorgeous, and now you’re this—an ugly, imitation of what you were created to be.  We are not fooled.

Fourth, I am personally affronted by all the pain and heartache you’ve caused in my life…and the pain and heartache I’ve caused others.  To the end of my days, I will never stop giving God the glory, which I know also means doing battle with you and your demons.  While I am not thrilled about the prospect of dealing with you and your kind, the Bible assures me that I am fully equipped for this war.  I know I’m not as intelligent as you, so no doubt you will trip me up.  I may even be a P.O.W. in your camp from time to time.  Know this, Satan, my God will always come for me.  He will never leave me or forsake me. 

In summation, you may be winning a few battles here and there.  You may even claim victory from time to time.  Know this, you will lose the war.  God’s people will always rise up, be made strong in our weakness, and be defended by a Warrior, who rejoices over us with singing.  We will sing, dance, and praise God in our suffering; we will take this heartache and turn it into thankfulness, and these ashes will be traded for crowns of beauty.  In the end, it’s not about what we will do, but what God has already done.

Sincerely,

An unsatisfied temporary resident of earth

Joy comes in the mourning

Necklace crafted by Etsy artist, Lisa Hopkins

I’ve cried until my eyes swelled up and blotted until my face went raw.  I’ve mourned long and hard for my dog, and in many ways, still do.  But joy comes in the mourning.

Usually, I have an attitude like this: “God, does ONE MORE bad thing have to happen to me now?  How can I ever move forward with my life?  You are not good or loving or kind.”  Then I feel bad, so I repent yet remain absolutely miserable—a pitiful creature that spurns the happiness of others.

But not this time, not with this incident. 

I knew that I had to CHOOSE to turn my sorrow into thankfulness and find that elusive joy in troubles that James speaks so highly of in his New Testament book.  Even though I mourned and wailed for my lost dog, I thanked God for her life and for choosing me to be her human guardian in her life here on the fallen planet.

And I continued to thank Him for Cassie, and then I thought of more reasons to be thankful.  If Cassie had died a few months ago, I would have completely fallen apart.  Her life was in His hands…and yes, God cares about animals.  He created them, didn’t He? (If you’re in doubt, read the book of Job.  God tells Job that He knows when the mountain goat gives birth on the mountainside.  An infinite God cares about a goat on a mountain somewhere?  Yes, He does.)

Will I react the same way the next time I’m face down with a broken heart?  I hope so, but it’s not a guarantee.  I just know I’m closer now than I was before to finding “joy in all circumstances,” one step closer to choosing joy.  And I’m only asked to take one step at a time with my God. 

Between you and me, I don’t think I could handle much more than that.  Then again, God knows that already, doesn’t He?

Let’s dish…how has joy coming in your mourning?  What helped you arrive at this place?  Or is this still a foreign concept to you—why or why not? 

Imagine… A Women of Faith Weekend

On Friday morning, BFF Sarah and I will be heading to Philadelphia to attend the two-day Women of Faith weekend (WoF).  Thanks to BookSneeze, I received two free passes in exchange for telling y’all about my experience.  Sounds good to me!  Ah, the perks of being a blogger.

I’ve never been to a Women of Faith weekend, so I don’t really know what to expect.  According to the WoF website, outside food and drinks will be confiscated—does that mean I can’t shove a pack of Mentos into my purse?  Will I be forced to pay $4 for a small soda?  I know that Jesus is the living water, but will He be handing out Deer Park at the event?  Keeping us dehydrated could cut down on those infamously long lines at the women’s restroom I suppose.

Anyway, the theme of the weekend is “Imagine,” and I will, “be refreshed, encouraged and inspired. Because the God who loves you can do far more than you can ever Imagine.”  (Refreshed = free water, I’m sure of it.) Lately, I’ve been feeling parched, discouraged, and vacant.

I’m so thirsty for something more.  (More of God?  Definitely more than just slogging through the day.)

I don’t feel like I can make it through another minute.  My strength is failing me.  Not only do I need courage, but I need to be encouraged.

I have so many thoughts running through my head.  I want to do this and that, but I get so tired—I’m too tired to start, too depressed to even try. I ache for inspiration (and motivation).

And I think, I can’t go to Women of Faith this weekend.  I’m too weak, too depressed, too me.  My anxiety is kicking up at the thought of being closed into a stadium with thousands of women.  The thought of being touched or hugged by a stranger gives me knots in my stomach.  O, God, please don’t make me go.

His response? “I love you far more than you can ever imagine.”

I won’t let my fear control me.  I will bask in refreshment, encouragement, and inspiration.  I will let it fill me up and surround me like a warm bubble bath, and seep into my dry soul like aloe vera. 

Just let go of the fear and imagine…

(The video makes the Women of Faith weekend look pretty fun!)

Have you been to a Women of Faith weekend?  What was it like?  Think my Mentos are contraband?  Are you going to Philly this weekend for WoF or another stop on the Imagine tour?

Book Review:: Permission to Speak Freely by Anne Jackson

“What is one thing you feel you can’t say in church?”  It’s a question author Anne Jackson posed on her blog, receiving a worldwide response.  Readers mailed hundreds of confessions, some artistic, some simply written on index cards to Jackson who cataloged the responses on PermissionToSpeakFreely.com.  Jackson uses these artistic avowals along with essays and poetry in her astounding new book, Permission to Speak Freely.

In the introduction, Jackson outlines her purpose for putting together Permission to Speak Freely; she wants to let others know they are not alone in their secrets.  She is also clear that her intention is not to malign the church, but rather to allow broken hearts to express their woundedness.  In the end, the author desires readers to find the irresistible hope rooted in God.

Since Anne Jackson is one of my favorite bloggers, it was with eager expectation I began to read Permission to Speak Freely, which is also like an essay-guided PostSecret book, but better!  Incorporating telling art and poetry into her lush writing, Jackson produces her own mosaic masterpiece with the glass shards of her own story.  Admitting her past and present struggles with mental illness, pornography, and drug addiction, Jackson offers the readers freedom to admit their own shameful secrets, first in their minds and then to close friends, small groups, or even PermissionToSpeakFreely.com.

While this book could have easily fallen into an art niche or essay niche, it’s not that kind of book.  In fact, the infusion of Scripture, art, essay, and poetry make this a book that is a treasure, both visually and intellectually.  At times, this book is challenging because readers are meant to wrestle with this book.

Permission to Speak Freely has changed me as a person.  So many books about Christian freedom come from the perspective of male authors, the fact that Anne Jackson is a woman immediately made me more receptive to her message.  And because she is a woman, I believe that her struggles resonate with me in a deeper way, which is not to say that she is not massively appealing to both genders.  Her book is for everyone and really should be read by everyone.  And I do mean everyone, though I fear some may not be ready for the freedom Jackson offers Christians.

Thank you, Anne, for having the chutzpah to write this marvelous book!

Amy’s Grade:: A

**Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from the publisher through the BookSneeze.com book review bloggers program. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”**

God’s Love Song:: “Hard to Say I’m Sorry” by Chicago

It was not until “Hard to Say I’m Sorry” by Chicago started playing on the radio that I felt the darkness flooding my world start to lift.  As I absently sang along on my drive home from Hobby Lobby, the words never seemed so clear.  I wasn’t breaking up with a person; I was breaking up with my church.

And I confused that with breaking up with the Church and with God; neither of which I was kicking to the curb.

In case you’ve never heard Chicago’s “Hard to Say I’m Sorry” (Shame on you!), I’ve included an incredibly retro video here, which makes me laugh and sort of ruins the seriousness of this post::

“Hold me now, I really want to tell you I’m sorry, I can never let go…”

The lyrics rang through my head and I started crying.  Not just because it’s hard to say “I’m sorry,” not because my now ex-church didn’t say “I’m sorry,” but because I felt God saying “I’m sorry.” He wasn’t sorry for something *He* did being flawless and perfect; He was sorry for what happened to me, for the pain I felt.  I felt a gentle whisper in my soul, “It’s hard for them to say I’m sorry, but I’m so sorry.  I feel your pain and I’m holding Your broken heart in My hands.”

“I couldn’t stand to be kept away, just for the day, from your body…”

Clearly, Peter Cetera and the gang had different intentions for this lyric, but I thought about the Body of Christ and how the Church has been supporting me during my recent disappointment with my break-up from church.  And how the Church will support me as I seek out a new church home because God made it clear I should not stay.

It seems silly that a Chicago song could stir such revelation, such a knowing of God’s love, but then again, whenever I see a hawk, I also hear God whispering, “I love you.  I see you.” Being the Lord of all creation, I suppose He has a right to communicate His message however He sees fit—through the Bible or from an 80’s song about how it’s hard to apologize.

I Still Believe in Love

Before you write me off as a 30 year-old spinster with slight feminist sympathies, I want you to know that I still believe in love.  I believe in romance and my little girl heart longs for it—just not with a man.  I mean, it does, but at the same time I’m still shattered from my mom’s two divorces (read post).  I know that godly men exist, love their wives, teach their children about God, and desperately seek to live a life worthy of the Gospel of Christ.  I am fortunate to be acquainted with such men.  However, I am not intimately involved with any as either a daughter or a lover.

Oh, but how I enjoy a good romantic novel (I recently discovered romance novels with Christian characters have come a looooooong way since) or a chick flick!  I feel happy (and slightly jealous) when a husband professes his love for his wife or vice versa.  I do want to know that kind of love, even if my hard heart is fighting tooth and nail against it.

And, love, oh love—what shall I do with you?  I mean, I love my parents, my friends, my pets, and of course, God.  But those are different kinds of love than loving a man, than giving my self wholly to a man in the holy mystery of sex.  (Yes, I’m saving my stuff for the altar, if I ever reach it!)  For those of you who have been fortunate to find love, hold it close, even when the feelings fade and the commitment is what counts.  Be committed to being committed. Singer/songwriter Andrew Peterson compares marriage to “dancing in a minefield” in his latest album, Counting Stars.  Sounds scary to me.

There’s another reason I believe in love…and that’s because God is love.  God cannot separate Himself from love because that is what He is.  Love is His nature, His character, and His totality.  In fact, when I consider it, how can I know love at all?  God is so vast, deep, wide, and unfathomable—so love must be the same. We mere mortals try to tie it up with ribbons, flowers, cards, and boxes of candy.  But have you ever stopped to consider that simple expression we’ve seen a million times above the Salvation Army or slapped on the bumper of a car?  God is love.  If we take time to really let that sink in, it should change our entire view of God…and love.

And Love came down in the form of a helpless babe and Love lived a perfect life, died on the cross, and rose again.  Love truly conquers all—it just depends on your definition of Love.  My definition of love is high because it is God.  I even believe in the clumsy kind that we humans mirror because we are made in the image of God.  I have to believe in Love, because I believe in God.