An Unexpected Journey

 “It was at this point that Bilbo stopped. Going on from there was the bravest thing he ever did. The tremendous things that happened afterward were as nothing compared to it. He fought the real battle in the tunnel alone, before he ever saw the vast danger that lay in wait.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

As of today, I am half way through my Master's program.

The past 16 months have been filled with peaks and valleys, twists and turns that I never could have anticipated. When I first felt the draw to study in the Chicago area years ago, I had no idea what lay ahead of me. Since then I've wandered back and forth from Exile and the Promised Land, often confusing each for the other. I've found new dear friendships while others grow more precious through time and distance. I've been stretched and sharpened by the glorious exchange of ideas, experiences, cultures and perspectives here among my classmates. I am humbled by the intelligence, passion, and insight of my peers. (You guys will all make fantastic counselors!)  I've been embraced by a community which I can call family. I'm incredibly thankful and delightfully frightened at the changes God has enacted within me in the process. I realize now more than ever that my heart, my dreams, my calling and maturity are under serious construction in this place, and this indeed a severe grace: proof of God's ownership over my life.

I can  hardly believe I'm half way through. I can hardly imagine what lay ahead in the next 16 months.

In Celebration of Limits. ... or...Making Space for Thin Places

Lately I've had a love/hate relationship with cooking; leaning mostly on the hate side. Oh, I like to pretend that I love it: this mixing of ingredients to create something beautiful and life-giving. Aroma, color, flavor, nourishment. An art, science, expertise, passion and basic necessity all rolled into one. But regardless of what's in my fridge or pantry, there's always one ingredient I am always short on: time. Insufficient time makes my chicken dry, my rice undercooked, my veggies freezer-burned or unsavory. Insufficient time forces me into a monotonous rotation of various stir-fries and casseroles, consequently landing me with more raman, bagels, and peanut-butter-and-jelly than my body was made to handle. Worst of all, insufficient time leads me to scarf down an unseasoned meal after a long and breathless day while skimming an article 15 minutes before I dash off again for work. At the end of the day I crash, exhausted, mind racing mercilessly over what I failed to accomplished that day, and how I can cram that dropped item into the next day's already crammed schedule. This is grad school...who has time to cook?

I hate cooking because it interrupts my drive to achieve. It forces me to slow down, to plan ahead, to wait.  Then at the end I don't have anything to present to the world to make me feel accomplished because it ends up in my belly. What's the value in that!? In a world that pushes us to constantly perform and produce more and more, it can be a struggle to follow through with basic care for myself. As much as I would like to, I can't fast 6 hours without consequences felt in my energy, attention, and mood. A limit is imposed on me which keeps me from constantly performing.

I appreciate cooking for the same reasons I hate it:  I need to develop the discipline necessary to slow down, plan ahead, and wait.  Cooking, walking, and cleaning seem to be basic life-tasks which most enforce a more modest pace. These activities cause me to notice other ways I take short-cuts through life so I can skip to the outcomes. 

I struggle to look people in the eye when they speak, or notice when they need to be heard. 

I don't always give myself permission to feel what I need to feel.

I deny my body the sleep, and my mind the rest, I was designed to need. I likewise deny others the care I was designed to give. 

 I use the phrase "pray without ceasing" as an excuse to avoid devotion and intimacy with God. 

Ultimately my irritation at slowing down only reveals that I care more about my accomplishments and performances than I do about myself, God, or others. Praise God for the limits He imposed on our mortal bodies, to demand things like food and sleep. Praise God for designing us to cry when we're overwhelmed, break down when we're overstressed, and loose focus when we're overtired. Otherwise I might zip through life, serving my own devices, never connecting with the people I truly need. Never allowing God to be God, never letting myself just be myself.

Therapists talk about creating a "Holding Environment," in which clients can breathe, process, and emote without the pressure of time or judgement, without the need for answers, achievement, or progress. The goal is to do nothing, just be. This is one of the foundational aspects of good psychotherapy: inviting the client to just be. The office becomes a Thin Place where someone in pain or confusion can sit and rest, and, after a while, maybe catch a glimmer of Hope. I can't help but confess how often I fail to create that Holding Space for myself and those I love. How would counseling as a field, or how would our world in general, be different if we could do this for ourselves? For each other?

So if anyone wants to give me cooking lessons, I would be a reluctant, impatient, and disastrously hopeless student. But I would nonetheless be eternally grateful.

Confession is Social Justice

Did you know, that pornography is not a victimless offense? I was surprised, too. It's easy to think that what a person does in the privacy of their own home is their own business. It's convenient to believe that no one else is hurt by what is done in secret, that the only person reaping the consequence of my sin is me.

Sadly, that's not the case.

Fact is, thousands of persons are trafficked and coerced to make pornographic films. Fact is, the women involved want to escape, but are trapped. Fact is, the industry is invariably connected to child abuse.
I could go on, but the fact is, pornography has thousands and thousands of victims, and those who indulge are consequently participating in the second largest illegal industry in the world: the trafficking and abuse of persons, most often children. We think of Human Trafficking as a social injustice, and social injustices are perceived as happenings "out there," apart from us, removed and abstract. But pornography is a social injustice that happens in our homes, churches, and schools.

When I heard these stats, I wondered, what sins do I commit that are a social injustice? What about when I fail to show compassion to the poor? When I allow favoritism, homophobic, or racist thoughts to remain unchecked in my conversations? Do I criticize someone who chooses abortion but don't help her find options? Do I reinforce slavery when I fail to put forth the effort to shop ethically? Do I steal someone's right to the truth when I decide to lie, to make myself look better? Does my self-centeredness keep me from looking at another person as God's precious possession? Yes. My personal, private sin has effects outside of myself. MY HEART IS A SOCIAL JUSTICE ISSUE. Every 20-something wants to make a difference for a social justice cause. Passion and for justice issues seems to be a mark of our generation. But how can I ever fight such a big issue, when I realize that the problem is in my own heart?

Friends, there is a solution. One thing sin cannot stand; one thing that whisks its power away more than any quoted bible verse or hymn. This is the act of confession. Confession is like casting sunlight on a pocket of mold, illuminating and sanitizing what was allowed to grow in darkness. Confession removes our excuses and justifications, our pretense that we're all doing better than we actually are. Confession provides opportunity for prayer and accountability. But there's more....

There's something called the "Surrender Tactic." The idea is to turn weakness into power by, when a fight is unwinnable, confusing your enemy by giving in. A victory has to be won, so handing yourself over without a fight consequently (and ironically) takes away your opponent's victory. No one can take something that you give them. No one can claim power over you when you choose to give yourself up. So what happens we we take our deepest, most shameful, most powerful secret and reveal it in the light of safe community? Sin looses its power to shame. You don't have to fear being found out when you choose to share your weakness. You want to feel invincible? Share your brokenness. No one can threaten you with secrets you willingly give away.

Secondly, confession leads to worship. Confession is the humility to acknowledge your true state before God, thereby putting Him back on His rightful throne. When we worship, our vision is corrected, our mindset adjusted to what things should be. And as the book of Revelation reveals, Worship is Kingdom Warfare. Satan's lies and tactics are defeated, our hearts are submitted, and I am convinced heavenly agents are released when we worship. But worship begins when we kneel in confession.

Do you see? The solution is so simple and so impossibly difficult at the same time. Sin is injustice; confession conquers sin; therefore Confession conquers Injustice! But to truly develop this as a lifestyle takes discernment, courage, and humility beyond human capacity. We need God's help, help from the One who set the example of weakness being made strong. Philippians 2 speaks of Christ's humiliation as the means of his glorification. Is it not the same with us? And isn't it true that all He really asks of us is to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with Him.

Part 2: the What now?

So you've grasped that coveted Good Thing, held tightly to what was supposed to be the will of God, then come to grips with the resounding request of God to uncurl your fingers and relinquish your one desire. You bow your head in obedience. You surrender to the One who made you. Sorrow mingles with shivers of joy as you realize that the very work of surrender is in itself a miracle from God, proof of His Presence, Victory over your own self, evidence of His tireless work to improve and remake you complete and perfect. You're strong and courageous, you tell yourself. And you are. But after a few days, the words don't seem to help much. What happens next? There's a hole in life, to be sure, and it has to be filled with something. Fill it with God, they tell me. What does that look like? How do I do that? Wasn't I trying to do that all along? Walking away in the first place is a tremendous battle, an incredible victory. Then each day after that, as you decide to keep walking and not turn around, is again a victory after victory. How do you keep those daily victories rolling in? Here's what I'm finding...

Recount what God has done.  How has He been faithful in the past? Scripture is filled with the command to remember; remember your slavery, remember past victories. Remember His faithfulness to your ancestors. Remember seasons of joy in your life followed by valleys of death and up mountains of hope and joy again. God does not owe you happiness. You are not exempt from feeling darkness. But His faithfulness does endure forever. Remember that the highs and lows of life will each take their turn, and God will remain consistent through it. How do you typically hear His Voice? How do you discern His will? Remember times of His direction, remember the clarity you had then even in the present fog. I had to recount the reasons of my decision to myself every day, often multiple times each day. Each time was sweet surrender.

Don't put emotional processing on a timeline. Some people may try to tell you how much or how long its appropriate to grieve or process something. While there are general measures used in mental health, for the most part you can crumple these "thumb rules" up and throw them away. You may feel elation one day and fresh despair the next. That's okay. You may even go five years and then experience the loss all over again. That's fine. All measures are human means of controlling what seems uncontrollable. We want to manage grief and confusion because they are so overbearing and frightening. Tears are inconvenient, so we mop them up and decide to be just fine. If God is my strength, I should be joyful, right?. Rather, we need to learn to be okay with grief. Hebrews says Jesus (who was perfect) learned obedience by what he suffered. Suffering was good for Jesus. Am I better than Jesus? No. So suffering is good for me. Let's not rush this process. Which leads me to my next point....

Ask God to let you see sanctification through His eyes. The deep water is worth it. I don't know how. I could fill this webspace with poetic metaphors about God's presence, but I know those images don't change things, unless God is speaking to you now. In the last chapters of Daniel, the prophet is being told about the end of days, the darkest desolation in Earth's history. He says in chapter 11 verse 35, "some of the wise will far so that they may be refined, purified, and cleansed until the time of the end, for it will still come at the appointed time." Even the wise in the Lord will stumble. This is a suffering akin to or including death. But the promise remains that they will shine out like stars in the end. The days of darkness will end, and we will shine out like stars.

Drop your plans. Drop them like a handful of fireants. Drop them because plans, though we may pray over them and seek the Lord's confirmation, are often assertions of our self-sufficiency. Times like this demand a denial of self-sufficiency; total reliance on God. God does not exists somewhere in that coveted future. He is Here, NOW, and wants you to turn to fellowship with him in this present moment. I found myself in poverty of planning, unable to fathom any future other than that which I had claimed and which God took away. In my poverty I found the richness of Christ's Present Presence. Don't be quick to trade that nearness.

Know yourself. Finally, spend intentional time identifying and defining who you are. If you've sought this Good Thing very long, it no doubt has become a factor that defined you. (This isn't a bad thing. God made it so that we become like what we love.) Who am I without this in my life? you may wonder. Now you have the blessed opportunity to discover just that. So embrace the season of knowing and of being. don't expect an automatic answer. You are a deep and complex person, and God is still writing your story.

When we walk away from something good.

Its time to write again.
Although I'm far unpracticed; although I may have nothing interesting to say; although--dispite the vast expanse of this interweb connection--I may only maybe have one person ever view this page...it's time to put myself out there.
Its time to write again. If this post isn't for you, maybe its just for me. And that's fine, because at least I'm writing.

These past few months I've found myself hungrily digging into random crevices of webspace to find a Christian opinion on career, calling, or relationships that I haven't heard before. Most of what I've come up with is the same recycled considerations; something like "A purposeful life in 6 steps," including the oft-quoted "wait on the Lord" and "don't settle for less" bit. You know the type: present a checklist of the ideal job/family/husband, and how to do more than twiddle your thumbs as you wait for life to be changed for the better. Timeless truths, to be sure, but nothing that speaks afresh to my situation, or the wrestling of some dear brothers and sisters beside whom I am currently walking.  So I'm sitting down today to write my own article. I will call it...

When you walk away from something Good.

Millennial Christian conversation takes up a lot of space describing that Good Thing (whatever it is in your case). We dream about it, plan it out, encourage each other to run for it and not give up. We know God is with us in the pursuit and He will finally deliver it because its part of His plan for us. We love to learn how to hear His voice so we can learn where to find IT, the Good Thing. I believe this vehement pursuit is what fills the life of us 20-somethings with passion and energy, and it's not bad. But what do you do when you find it, submit it for God's blessing, and then realize it's time to walk away? 

I see this in the lives of several around me right now. What's that Good Thing for you?  It could be a degree or career path that promised to be the key to fulfillment and joy, or the comfort of everything familiar and safe. Maybe it's the loving community that supported and strengthened you in your most difficult moments. Family, gained by marriage, birth, or choice; unbreakable bonds that must now be stretched over distance or time, or cut until eternity comes to bind it again.
Whatever it is, this seems God-ordained.  Something celebrated. Something apparently bearing fruit. You prayed over it; you have peace. Plans are laid.  And then all of a sudden God says No.

It seems so unfair, right? Almost twisted and wrong. God, if you gave me this wonderful gift, why would you take it away? Does God change His mind? Is He double-minded? Does He lie?
No, no, and never. God does not lie (Titus 1:2 and Hebrews 6:18) James 1:17 says He does not change like shifting shadows. Scripture is full of testimony that God lays plans that cannot be thwarted. His Word accomplishes His purposes. Nothing He binds can be undone. So did I mishear? Was I somehow deceived? God gives the Holy Spirit to those who ask. He is a good Father who gives good gifts to His children. He illuminates the paths of the righteous, He gives direction to those who humbly seek His face. If I pray consistently, if I am humble and seeking to do right by Him and others, if I listen to His voice and have repented from all conscious sin, then I can continue in what I think is the best route and reasonably trust that God will give me direction. So what do we do with the times that God seems to say "yes," and then clearly says "no?"

       If God didn't lie, and you didn't make a mistake, there's only one conclusion: the good thing was God's will, but only for a season. God has the freedom to tell you Yes one day and No the next, and He's still looking out for your best interested every time. His goodness is not scratched by the fact that I don't understand why He does what He does.

I have such a limited eyesight. I'm terribly nearsighted (I don't recognize my friends without corrected vision) and can only see reality through one perspective: backwards. Even though I am completely blinded by my humanity to everything that lies ahead of me, I still continue to take stock and make plans and pretend I know where this ship is headed. Not that we shouldn't make plans, but seriously. I'm not sure I know how I'll manage to complete my to-do list tomorrow, and I think I know where I'll be three years from now?
       Not only am I limited in my view of time, but my sight is especially dim discerning the worth of things. I fail to calculate the consequences of my choices or all the stuff--for better or for worse--that enters and exits my life at a rapid pace. I don't often understand how something can be good for just a season when I think it will be good forever. Walking away from something good is only possible when you confess your inability to know the true value of things. Its a frightening limitation to own. But owning it makes countless more good things possible.

   See, often times in the presence of what feels like great blessing, my myopia makes me forget why the "good thing" was given. The reason I was given flesh and form was to know God intimately and praise Him honestly. Therefore, this Good Thing is only good insofar as it helps me to know God and give him glory. The moment it ceases to fulfill its purpose, it is no longer good. Not only that, but sometimes the grief that comes from losing it is in and of itself a new kind of Good; helping you know God and give Him glory in an entirely new way.
    The grief itself is good. The losing is a precious discovery. The new poverty is a wealth of riches. This is what Paul meant when he said everything is considered rubbish (or, in the Greek, worth a load of crap). He was talking about good things; good things that just aren't worth comparing to the glory of Knowing God intimately. And nothing makes us cling to God more than loss. But He's gentle and won't make us go through a moment's more of discipline than is necessary for us to know Him more. Blessing isn't in the receiving of good things. It's in the surviving and thriving long after your own power is overwhelmed.

In my own journey, I didn't walk away because I thought I could find something better. I can imagine nothing better than that precious thing I had found. (Good thing God is able to do exceedingly abundantly beyond what we can ask or imagine.) I found the strength to walk away because I'd rather go completely without, than hold onto anything that would keep me from knowing Him more. Knowing and being like Jesus: that's the goal. Nothing else can get in the way of that.
    So it doesn't matter exactly what it is you're walking away from. We've all been there, and we will be there again. I'm not exempt from the experience just because I was really really really sure this would work. The only thing that matters is what you're walking toward. Leaving a good thing for a Greater Good. It makes the grief worth it. 

And we're back! (AKA, why it is hard to start over)

While I was there, I never thought I would miss Bolivar Missouri. During my last year (on which this blog appologically was completely silent) I was filled with such an unshakable restlessness that often felt I could hardly breathe. It seemed that the time to leave and explore the world couldn't come soon enough.
But the time did come. We celebrated by throwing black, square hats in the air. My roomates and I said our so-longs, promising to stay in touch but knowing deep down that our sisterhood had forever changed its flavor. But what of it? Tremendous seasons lay ahead and brilliant, hidden courners of the earth need exploring.
That was a mere 9 months ago, and how I wish I could now return to that place. I never thought I was one for homesickness. I am a chronic "grass-is-always-greener-over-yonder-hill;" an incurable pursuer of unique experiences. It is this craving that draws me to new people groups, tantalizing philosophies, and to push the limits of my own physical endurance (which, truth be told, is sadly decidedly mediocre.) I would be headed to Chicago, where diversity is the very fabric of life, where I would embrace my independence and absorb colorful experiences like the Philharmonic, Broadway Shows, and History museums. The anticipation of what I would attain kept me looking always ahead, and I hardly gave a second thought to what I was leaving behind.

Disillusionment is too "one-dimensional" of a word to define my experience here, but it certainly is part of it. Grad School has a way of taking up one's time--and money. The much-coveted, ambiguous "Independence" also left me with less free time and less money than I had anticipated. These two factors alone quickly rubbed the shine off of my glowing imagination. Some days my adorable 10x8 ft room feels more like a cell, and the unmoving piles of snow make me feel like I'm in Siberia. Except that I've been to Siberia, and it's a lot prettier there.What I miss most though is my roommates. Living with people. Community that was obvious, tangible, and sometimes, inescapable.
I guess the simple version of what I'm trying to say is, this was harder than I thought it'd be. Much less glamorous, for sure. I think back to my beloved SBU, and sometimes my heart just yearns to return. But that's when I realize: the memories I yearn for no longer exist in real life. My friends have all likewise dispersed, if not physically then in other ways. The church I poured my heart into has new students and new leadership. How easily I forgot the restlessness, even the dread, I often felt on days when I wondered "is this all there is?"
Life isn't meant to stay the same. Each season has its own flavor, and not all of them are equally happy. I have nothing to complain about here in Illinois, but I'm not "happy" like I seem to remember myself being. And that's okay. Because if I was back in Bolivar, i would be surely crippled by my comfort. I would have no reason to strive ahead and dig deeper. So in light of the difficulties of this season, I want to share with you what I've learned in the six months I've been here:

        Those who grieve are closer to God than those who are happy.

        "Community" doesn't always look, sound, or feel the same. But we need it. And community you intentionally pursue out of your need is of greater value than that which is given to you without you looking.

       Walking in a "Cloud of Unknowing" is a precious place to be, because it is only in those places that faith is truly possible. 

        God can do more in my waiting, then in my doing I can do (credit to Bethany Dillon here).

Most of all, that there is simply nothing sweeter than knowing Jesus. This is what I signed up for when I said "Jesus, use me in whatever way you please," and now I am experiencing the joy of obedience, without which I would be a restless, wandering soul.  Some days are better than others--and no day is completely miserable--but every day I feel like God has drawn me away from those I love so that I have no where else to look but in His wonderful face.  May the anticipation of what I will attain keep me always looking ahead, not in the past and not in the present, but in that sacred place where perseverance results in perfection, and His promises are true.