I like to feel like a failure. I have a wonderful routine for those days of self-pity where I sit in pajamas I have owned since I was fifteen, drinking coffee despite the late hour. I scroll through other's music, noting the lack of my own collection, trying to find the perfect series of songs that will resonate with my hatred of self; reminding me that I really am not worth as much as I claim. A reminder that someone else feels just as useless.
And sitting on my little sofa, in the box I call my room, I sing along to a tune from the alcoholic days of an apostate guitarist rambling on about how God has forsaken him, or at least never shown up, leaving his still totally depraved but without an ounce of hope left.
And its easy. Life is easy when you have no ambition. When you feel like you've crumbled. Its at that point that you stop trying. That you rest in your brokenness and rejoice in the loss of all goals and desires.
I was stuck in an ice storm in Indianapolis one Christmas Eve. After breaking an axle when my car merged with curb, I was sure that my future was doomed to be lived in an isolated hotel room. I would never leave, I thought, devolving into an unintelligible brute, living on Cheetos and cheap hotel coffee. Clearly, one night in ice must produce a life of failure and confinement in a hotel in a city so close to home.
You see, I like to think the worst. I call it optimistic pessimism: if you always think everything is going to fall apart, you will never be disappointed.
Yet, somewhere near the fifth repeat of "In Stitches" by David Bazan, I realize my error. I am not failure; I am a child of God. I am redeemed, and restored to right relationship with God. I will stumble a thousand times, but I will always have Christ to lift me back up, dust the dirt off my shoulders and lead me back in the way of righteousness.
I spent about a week crying about my depravity. I told my best friends and bosses that I felt like my life was falling apart. I was full of pride. My family was as dysfunctional as always. I was getting sick. The girls on my floor didn't love me. And certainly, no man ever would. Nothing was the way I dreamed it would be when I was 15. I thought I would be married by 20, have children at 23 and a Ph.D. by 30. Yet, I couldn't even accomplish getting a coffee date with a girl on my floor, let alone a date with someone of the opposite gender. I was useless. A bad leader. A worse Christian.
I was like Bono, calling myself a crap disciple, forgetting that in God's eyes, we're all equally awful and bad at this life of discipleship.
Then the notes started to come in. A post-it on my door. A letter in my CPO. A note slipped under my door. Little reminders that while I have a lot of growing to do, I wasn't a complete failure. I shouldn't need letters to know that's the truth, but I appreciate them nonetheless.
Today, I listen to Christmas music. Granted, it's Sufjan, and sounds way more emotionally devastating than the average Christmas hymn, but I like. Today, I jump on the birthday celebration early. Reminding myself that Christ was born so that he could carry my burden. He could give hope when all else seemed doomed. And today, I'm going to live in that truth. Not with regrets and old pajamas, but with prayer and sunshine.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Learning Biblical Submission
I don't like the word 'submision'. It's a dirty word in my book, up there with 'feminism' 'chauvinism' and 'the White Sox.'
I was raised to believe that there were an evil group of pretend Christians who told women they needed to submit to their husbands, and live passive lives. I was told they called themselves "Calvinists."
In case you didn't know, I grew up Wesleyan. That's right all of you Moody-ites, I grew up believing that salvation is a free gift given to everyone, that you can lose your salvation and that men and women are complete equals.
And then I came to Moody. Some would say I found truth. Others would say I went to the dark side. Either way, as anyone could tell you, I would never be a quiet and meek wife.
I am loud. I am opinionated. I am well-educated and plan on becoming better educated. I do not back down easily, I make my own decisions and above all, I stand up for myself. I am the archetype for the independent woman.
Therefore, something seems terribly amiss. Either my theology is wrong or I am terribly in sin.
Yet, God has been teaching me something about humility and submissiveness, and I'm learning that both are good things at which I am not very good. As defined by the wonderful Pamela MacRae (or more aptly, as quoted by the wonderful MacRae), submission is "the opposite of self-assertion. It is the desire to get along with one another, being satisfied with less than one's due, a sweet reasonableness of attitude." Or as Danica put it, a peacemaker.
Being submissive is not about obeying someone else. It is not about giving up your hopes and dreams for someone else's. Submission is about humility. It means honoring others as better than yourself. It means striving for peace in all circumstances. It means being reasonable. In other words, it's the Christian duty.
I am not submissive. I am often selfish, unwilling to compromise. I value myself highly, and frequently place my own needs above the needs of others. I have a sin issue with pride that I'm working on through the strength of God.
On Thursday, I sat in my Greek class with a sheet of sentences moderately well translated. I sat in the second row (my usual spot) listening to my professor walk us through the translations. We came to sentence 4, with only a few minutes left in class. He gave us the translation, and I instantaneously caught a seeming error. I had to confront this error, so, without raising my hand, I burst out the appropriate translation, only to be told I was wrong.
For the next 3 minutes, I restated my case, explaining why I was right and the professor was wrong. He dismissed class, and I continued, this time pulling a few students to side with me. The issue was no longer understanding Greek. This battle was now about who was right, and I was determined it had to be me.
I was wrong. The second I began acting in arrogance was the moment I stepped outside the desires of God. God calls me to be in submission to others. Not just my husband, but the Christian community. He calls me to respect my elders and learn quietly. I am called to do this not because I'm not worthy of talking, but because in quietness is how we learn.
I decided on Friday that I needed to apologize to my professor. I did not send the e-mail until today. Its funny how hard it is to be humble. I was amazed at how hard those three sentences were to type, how hard it was for me to say "I'm sorry" and "I was wrong." I have a long way to go on this road to godliness. Yet, I am grateful that God does not rate me on my performance, but loves me in Christ, who has already paid the price for each and every sin I commit, day by day.
For his glory and honor, I will keep limping along, knowing that he has given me strength
I was raised to believe that there were an evil group of pretend Christians who told women they needed to submit to their husbands, and live passive lives. I was told they called themselves "Calvinists."
In case you didn't know, I grew up Wesleyan. That's right all of you Moody-ites, I grew up believing that salvation is a free gift given to everyone, that you can lose your salvation and that men and women are complete equals.
And then I came to Moody. Some would say I found truth. Others would say I went to the dark side. Either way, as anyone could tell you, I would never be a quiet and meek wife.
I am loud. I am opinionated. I am well-educated and plan on becoming better educated. I do not back down easily, I make my own decisions and above all, I stand up for myself. I am the archetype for the independent woman.
Therefore, something seems terribly amiss. Either my theology is wrong or I am terribly in sin.
Yet, God has been teaching me something about humility and submissiveness, and I'm learning that both are good things at which I am not very good. As defined by the wonderful Pamela MacRae (or more aptly, as quoted by the wonderful MacRae), submission is "the opposite of self-assertion. It is the desire to get along with one another, being satisfied with less than one's due, a sweet reasonableness of attitude." Or as Danica put it, a peacemaker.
Being submissive is not about obeying someone else. It is not about giving up your hopes and dreams for someone else's. Submission is about humility. It means honoring others as better than yourself. It means striving for peace in all circumstances. It means being reasonable. In other words, it's the Christian duty.
I am not submissive. I am often selfish, unwilling to compromise. I value myself highly, and frequently place my own needs above the needs of others. I have a sin issue with pride that I'm working on through the strength of God.
On Thursday, I sat in my Greek class with a sheet of sentences moderately well translated. I sat in the second row (my usual spot) listening to my professor walk us through the translations. We came to sentence 4, with only a few minutes left in class. He gave us the translation, and I instantaneously caught a seeming error. I had to confront this error, so, without raising my hand, I burst out the appropriate translation, only to be told I was wrong.
For the next 3 minutes, I restated my case, explaining why I was right and the professor was wrong. He dismissed class, and I continued, this time pulling a few students to side with me. The issue was no longer understanding Greek. This battle was now about who was right, and I was determined it had to be me.
I was wrong. The second I began acting in arrogance was the moment I stepped outside the desires of God. God calls me to be in submission to others. Not just my husband, but the Christian community. He calls me to respect my elders and learn quietly. I am called to do this not because I'm not worthy of talking, but because in quietness is how we learn.
I decided on Friday that I needed to apologize to my professor. I did not send the e-mail until today. Its funny how hard it is to be humble. I was amazed at how hard those three sentences were to type, how hard it was for me to say "I'm sorry" and "I was wrong." I have a long way to go on this road to godliness. Yet, I am grateful that God does not rate me on my performance, but loves me in Christ, who has already paid the price for each and every sin I commit, day by day.
For his glory and honor, I will keep limping along, knowing that he has given me strength
Monday, November 9, 2009
Pride in my Brokenness
I have been thinking a lot about my depravity. Somehow, the crushing of my ego becomes rejuvenating, and I ruminate in my horrendous existence. Yet, I'm realizing that I like being in pieces. I like being cracked and wearied, and feeling unworthy of any love.
I think something is terribly wrong with me.
I talk a lot about being seen like Christ. I marvel in this idea that we are united with the Son, and in that, we are viewed as righteous. We are worthy of being called children of God because Christ has redeemed us and taken all our depravity and covered it in his perfect and holy blood. I like that a lot.
And I think its healthy. I think we should be made increasingly aware of how unable we are to merit God's favor. To see clearly, that we are not the sum of our actions before Christ: we are simply his.
I nanny two precious boys: Tyler, 4, and Sean, 2. Everything they do is perfect. Sean spins in circles and touches the ground to a FloRida song, and suddenly he's a choreographer. Tyler counts to 24, and suddenly he's a math wizard. I am like Grandma, whose reality extends only to the existence of these two children; therefore their every move is glorious and wonderful.
Sometimes, I'm not so pleased. Like the time, Tyler shoved his brother off the front porch. Or the time, Sean kicked and screamed furiously because I held Tyler's hand to cross the road. But I don't love those boys because their good moments outnumber their bad. I love them, because they're my children. They are the kids I identify with; the ones that I feel personally responsible for. I take joy in their being, and even when they hurt me, I love them. I forgive them, because I know their youth and the foolishness that goes along with it.
God is kind of like that with us. He rests in heaven, watching us be children. He watches our nonsensical mistakes and he hates our sin, but he sees it through the lens of our foolishness, and knows one day we will be more sanctified than we are now. He knows multivariable calculus, but he celebrates when we get 2 + 2 right on only the third try.
But somewhere, in my love of brokenness and depravity, I've lost touch with reality. Being broken and hating oneself is not the same as making silly mistakes. Its blatant sin. If God loves us, who are we not to love ourselves?
I like to think sometimes, that hating myself means I'm not prideful. I like to think that if I am lost in the abyss of my badness, then I won't ever get any worse. I forget that God doesn't call us to be in misery. He calls us to boast with gladness that we are his. That we are in him. That we are transforming from one degree of glory to another. I get stuck in Romans 3:23 and forget verse 24. We are justified (declared righteous) by God's grace through Christ Jesus. There is no doubt that I am totally depraved, and I need to be reminded a bit more frequently of that fact. However, God has already decided that I am good. Not because of anything I do or anything I am, but because he has freely chosen to call me that through the work of his son.
So my brokenness is a good starting stage. When your foundation is shaky, the house must come down. Yet, God doesn't ask for me to be a pile of rumble before him. He calls me to be rooted, built up, and established in the faith. That faith that says that God loves me, and he wants to finish the good work he started in me. He wants me to look more like Christ. Any day I say that I can do it myself, I'm a liar, and I pridefully say I don't need God. But any day I say I can't grow or change, but that God loves me as I am, I deny his good purpose and pretend as if God is not able to do far more than I can comprehend.
I'm not sure where that leaves me today. I still feel like a jigsaw puzzle of a thousand pieces of a clear blue sky, but I know that God is putting me back together, and I will trust my jagged edges in the palm of his hand.
I think something is terribly wrong with me.
I talk a lot about being seen like Christ. I marvel in this idea that we are united with the Son, and in that, we are viewed as righteous. We are worthy of being called children of God because Christ has redeemed us and taken all our depravity and covered it in his perfect and holy blood. I like that a lot.
And I think its healthy. I think we should be made increasingly aware of how unable we are to merit God's favor. To see clearly, that we are not the sum of our actions before Christ: we are simply his.
I nanny two precious boys: Tyler, 4, and Sean, 2. Everything they do is perfect. Sean spins in circles and touches the ground to a FloRida song, and suddenly he's a choreographer. Tyler counts to 24, and suddenly he's a math wizard. I am like Grandma, whose reality extends only to the existence of these two children; therefore their every move is glorious and wonderful.
Sometimes, I'm not so pleased. Like the time, Tyler shoved his brother off the front porch. Or the time, Sean kicked and screamed furiously because I held Tyler's hand to cross the road. But I don't love those boys because their good moments outnumber their bad. I love them, because they're my children. They are the kids I identify with; the ones that I feel personally responsible for. I take joy in their being, and even when they hurt me, I love them. I forgive them, because I know their youth and the foolishness that goes along with it.
God is kind of like that with us. He rests in heaven, watching us be children. He watches our nonsensical mistakes and he hates our sin, but he sees it through the lens of our foolishness, and knows one day we will be more sanctified than we are now. He knows multivariable calculus, but he celebrates when we get 2 + 2 right on only the third try.
But somewhere, in my love of brokenness and depravity, I've lost touch with reality. Being broken and hating oneself is not the same as making silly mistakes. Its blatant sin. If God loves us, who are we not to love ourselves?
I like to think sometimes, that hating myself means I'm not prideful. I like to think that if I am lost in the abyss of my badness, then I won't ever get any worse. I forget that God doesn't call us to be in misery. He calls us to boast with gladness that we are his. That we are in him. That we are transforming from one degree of glory to another. I get stuck in Romans 3:23 and forget verse 24. We are justified (declared righteous) by God's grace through Christ Jesus. There is no doubt that I am totally depraved, and I need to be reminded a bit more frequently of that fact. However, God has already decided that I am good. Not because of anything I do or anything I am, but because he has freely chosen to call me that through the work of his son.
So my brokenness is a good starting stage. When your foundation is shaky, the house must come down. Yet, God doesn't ask for me to be a pile of rumble before him. He calls me to be rooted, built up, and established in the faith. That faith that says that God loves me, and he wants to finish the good work he started in me. He wants me to look more like Christ. Any day I say that I can do it myself, I'm a liar, and I pridefully say I don't need God. But any day I say I can't grow or change, but that God loves me as I am, I deny his good purpose and pretend as if God is not able to do far more than I can comprehend.
I'm not sure where that leaves me today. I still feel like a jigsaw puzzle of a thousand pieces of a clear blue sky, but I know that God is putting me back together, and I will trust my jagged edges in the palm of his hand.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Sunshine, Pride and the Early Morning.
I was giddy about the sunrise. I couldn't see it from my corner of the air mattress, but I was excited. As each ray of light slowly started to peak into the upstairs window, I knew it was nearly time to get up.
There are mornings where I wonder what the rest of the world is sleeping. 7 am, Saturday morning, I am cheerfully jumping out of bed while the other 10 girls on retreat nestle under their covers until at least 9:15.
But morning is here and I am ready to be here as well. Lately, I've been overly concerned about my actions being prideful. As I stumbled out of the room to do my devotions, I wondered if waking up early was something I prided myself on. I wondered if I should lay in bed longer, until it was more appropriate to get out of bed.
That's a silly suggestion. I'm still working on how to balance my pride with my every day life. I am slowly learning that pride seeps into every decision and every conversation, even those about working on pride. I am unable to conquer it alone. I'm slowly learning to put my struggles at the feet of the Cross and come to Jesus as I am.
So this morning, as I wait for the coffee to finish brewing and as I check the weather for the 15th time, I'm coming to God with my pride and my shame. Letting him know that I'm stuck in the balance: not sure of what comes next.
This is a battle I will fight everyday if I'm lucky. Let's just be grateful I'm never fighting it alone.
There are mornings where I wonder what the rest of the world is sleeping. 7 am, Saturday morning, I am cheerfully jumping out of bed while the other 10 girls on retreat nestle under their covers until at least 9:15.
But morning is here and I am ready to be here as well. Lately, I've been overly concerned about my actions being prideful. As I stumbled out of the room to do my devotions, I wondered if waking up early was something I prided myself on. I wondered if I should lay in bed longer, until it was more appropriate to get out of bed.
That's a silly suggestion. I'm still working on how to balance my pride with my every day life. I am slowly learning that pride seeps into every decision and every conversation, even those about working on pride. I am unable to conquer it alone. I'm slowly learning to put my struggles at the feet of the Cross and come to Jesus as I am.
So this morning, as I wait for the coffee to finish brewing and as I check the weather for the 15th time, I'm coming to God with my pride and my shame. Letting him know that I'm stuck in the balance: not sure of what comes next.
This is a battle I will fight everyday if I'm lucky. Let's just be grateful I'm never fighting it alone.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Drowning in 2 Feet of Water
I'm not sure where I'm headed. I've packed my bag, preparing for the deepest winter and hoping sunshine and 70s will prevail. I've thought, maybe it will be smooth sailing from here on out — more like staying in the penthouse on a luxury cruise ship than smuggled in dark box hidden at the bottom of a cargo ship.
Yet something tells me that I'm not going to look forward to midnight buffets and cable tv. I'm gearing up to go to war, hoping to hold out long enough to reach my goal.
Its been a tough battle with God. He tells me we're on the same side, that its for my own good, but at the moment, the tears pour freely and I'm petrified.
I'm feeling a little like Jonah at the moment. As I'm heading down the path that I see best, I'm being thrown overboard and told its for my own good.
It's been a day. A hard day in a dark world and I know I have a few more left. Yet, something inside of me keeps saying this is a good place to be. Take the hard moment to soften yourself, to be the girl God created you to be. Something is saying that its not enough to wait it out; I need to obey.
So here's to being a repentant Jonah. One who doesn't curse the tree for not providing for shade and one who does what God asks willingly. Its a lot to hope for, and takes more than I have to give. Luckily, I've learned something in my 2 years of Bible School: I don't do it alone.
So here I sit in this puddle of muck knowing this is not where I want to be and I am not who I want to be, but knowing — or at least hoping — that God really is enough for me. He alone gives us strength. He alone carries us through the chaos and brings us from death to life so that we can glory in all that he is.
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