From where we've come and where we're going.

At the moment I am on a train rolling north through Illinois.
 I love train rides. At the cost of submitting your day to another's time table, you get to cut across forested hills and creek beds hidden from the highway in the otherwise-flat Midwestern farmland. Today I'm feeling especially hipster in my light brown top, side braid and striped red Toms. Add a fountain pen and leather green journal and I'm all set. Today I'm in tune with the part of my heart I left in the Southern Missouri Ozarks...pick-up jam sessions involving banjo and harmonica, cowboy boots and flannel, hay fields and rolling acres of pastureland dotted with sleepy towns with just a touch of drawl. Southern Missouri, where my spirit grew wings.

I just left an all-too-brief visit home. I grew up in a suburban college-town, a different world yet not far from my precious Ozarks. I come from a family with that rare kind of solidarity, where every visit home is an overflow of love and laughter, and every place holds gallons of nostalgia; memories of my childhood and adolescence which formed my faith, my passions, my direction. I'm blessed every time I go home by people with whom I am perfectly safe to share my heart: the good, bad, and the ugly. This last visit included arguing over finer points of the application of faith, of laughing till we cried over stupid Youtube videos, and of cuddling the most beautiful 4-month old this world knows. (Nothing is as delightful or rewarding as being the recipient of my niece's coy smiles!) Every visit home as I drift off to sleep in the same bedroom I slept in as a 6th-grader, and I am overwhelmed with gratitude. My parents, by the grace of God, have passed down a strong and solid legacy of faith. This is the place of my roots.

But now I'm headed North again, into a world I once referred to as my own personal Siberia. Out of what I once thought was a wintery wasteland of suburban life, God lifted up a family for me, a mission and a purpose. This life moves forward with a different kind of joy, one fueled more by the work itself than by the atmosphere. Here the farmer sows the seed between highways and office suits, coffee shops and synagogues,  and by His Grace some find good soil. I came face-to-face with God's enduring faithfulness here in a wilderness of business and buildings, and I recognize that there is so much work to do. And that work is good.

Columbia filled up my soul, Bolivar set free my spirit, and now Chicago is nurturing my mind. Without the previous seasons I would be completely unprepared for this new task. If I had stayed in those places that I've come to love so deeply, I'd be missing out on something else so good.

But I guess this is really what I want to say, dear faithful reader (and if you've stuck with me this far, props to you!): Ultimately this is all about chasing God. If I intended to chase after my own happiness or satisfaction, I'd surely have settled in my beloved Ozarks, never far from my roots. But then what benefit would these blessings have been? Having no true outlet, this river would have turned stagnant. Blessings are meant to be shared. Strong foundations are meant to be built upon. I am reminded instead that we all are seeking a higher country, a heavenly one. In a new place I discover the One who made those wide plains; who is more mysterious and beautiful than the Ozarks; who is wilder than my forrested hills;  who hand-crafted each person running through Chicago streets. In Him there is no greater Inheritance; without Him, no lasting peace, no vast or joyful freedom, no security or adventure. Aslan, take me up on your back, that we can run further in and further up with each new day.

The need to be challenged

I'm generally a very happy person, so when I wake up with a vague sense of inexplicable sadness, I know something's off. Some wispy, sneaky force has crept into my life, surprising me with its sinking presence. That something is boredom.

As a graduate student, daily life mandates that I don't have time to be bored. I think the last time I was bored might have been freshman year of high school, before AP classes and part time jobs began demanding more and more of my time. Throughout college I made it my habit to fill every spare inch of life with SOMETHING, always preferring industry over rest, falling into stress rather than idleness nine times out of ten. What keeps me driven? My identity is far too rooted in my accomplishments, of course. But it takes far more to overcome an identity issue than just the ability to articulate it.

So this year I've taken some intentional steps to create more space in my life. A regular bedtime routine gets me up at a consistent hour, so I have plenty of time in the morning to pray, eat, and work out. I've blocked out specific times for homework so I'm no longer filling every gap with reading assignments, and now I can actually have a social life. I quit my job, found a more restful one, and picked up a second instrument. I intentionally took one class less than I have room for so that I could get the most out of my internship experience. So far this has been the best semester yet. I am rested, I am focused, I am at peace.......I am becoming bored. And for someone whose concept of self-worth is derived largely from the number of checks on her to-do list, boredom does not feel good.

Ironic, isn't it, that having recently emerged from one of the most difficult seasons of my life, I now crave challenge more than anything. I appreciate the rest in between, but now I'm off the mat and ready for another round.

So what exactly is my problem? Do I need to learn how to rest? Or, having had my rest, do I need to learn to reach farther to challenge myself?

In the boys club I help out with as part of my internship, I saw an amazing thing. Put 13 rowdy elementary and middle-school-aged boys in a gym, and six adult women can have some understandable difficulty keeping them quite and in line. Our primary concern is their safety, and everything we do is geared toward providing an atmosphere of safety which they may or may not experience at home. Then yesterday I saw a truly inspiring thing. One man led the group, and instantly commanded their complete attention with these words: "If you don't work as team in this activity, I promise you, someone will get hurt." 

Challenge accepted. Against all of our maternal instincts, the children were led through activities and drills without the security of cushy floor mats and helmets. And these were indeed risky drills; activities which made us hold our breath and cross our fingers, worse-case-scenarios running through our minds. And you know what? No one got hurt. The boys rose to the occasion because the risk involved was real. As a result, they were a more cohesive group than I've ever seen them, and each and every one of them was lifted up and encouraged by the group in a way six women probably wouldn't have been able to recreate.

If I'm honest with myself, in the absence of an overwhelming class load and work schedule, I have forgotten how and why I need to challenge myself. In my professional development, as I rub shoulders with people who are different than me, in my free time, am I making choices that intentionally put myself in the zone of good and necessary risk?

Am I intentionally reaching out to people? That's a risk, because then they might suck me dry, or worse, not like me. Am I willing to lead my client into that important topic of conversation? That's a risk, because it's going to be uncomfortable! But I'm not going to be helpful if I play it safe.

Cutting down the business on my life has been essential. It's been restful. Most importantly, it has revealed to me the ways I fill up life so I don't have to be challenged. Rest is important, but challenge is equally as vital. There's no real excuse for boredom.

"The Hope of Heartbreak"

I would like to direct your attention to this excellent article, The Hope of Heartache.
I love the way the author describes the deep reality of something we usually belittle or deny. Her authenticity is startling and refreshing.  I appreciate how she is completely unembarrassed by her pain, and rightly assumes that most everyone has or is or will endure this same grief.

I was delightfully surprised by her thoughts because of how often we minimize or laugh off this particular pain. How many times have I myself uttered an encouragement which deflects attention away from the trial...
               "You deserve better...."
              "You'll find someone else.."
              "In a few months you'll feel better," or
              "Maybe you should get a dog."
How often have I tried to belittle or deny my own grief because it seems silly to talk about, though it was the loss of something so precious.  It is simply human nature to smear yellow over deep dark oceans of grief, but this tendency is especially true in regard to heartache, and especially in Christian circles. (Give me one good Christian song about the loss of romantic love. Okay, Reliant K and Jon Foreman come to mind, but certainly nothing you'd hear on K Love.)  We just want to pretend its not as difficult a journey as it really is. But by doing this, when we pretend that Heartache is somehow a "second-rate" grief, we lose the opportunity to experience God's faithfulness, and we deny the value of what God made good.

It is so easy for us to pretend that Heartache is no big deal, especially if my pride is involved. Break-ups are a sucker-punch to pride you didn't know you had. For whatever reason, a break up means admitting you were wrong, and no one wants to be wrong. We may also think that if other people see our pain, we might be written off as desperate, as if pain caused by one area of life means you're automatically weak. This is as illogical as saying I shouldn't cry over my broken arm because the rest of my body is in good shape. For Christians, however, I think the deepest lie is believing that finding my satisfaction in Christ means not having any other desires. Nothing could be further from the truth. Contentment in Singleness (as well as marriage) means sacrifice, and losing a spouse or potential spouse is a loss nonetheless.

We miss out on something very important when we try to minimize this type of grief. For a culture which goes to great lengths in celebrating marriage, why do we then fail to pay homage to the loss of it? If God Himself instilled in us a yearning for intimacy, would we then ascribe this ache to the devil or to human weakness? Could it be that the loss itself is a gift to be treasured, just as the gift which is celebrated?

I have been guilty myself of minimizing grief, of trying to "be strong" in the face of loss. I have "shrugged off" the deep ache as an inconvenience or weakness, pretending to be "over it" much sooner than I should have. But beyond being inauthentic, this only results in minimizing the Good Thing God Himself gave. If this hurt less, that means the relationship would have been less.

The fact that this is painful now means what we had was very good. Such a good thing deserves to be celebrated and deserves to be grieved.

As the author reiterated, Love is worth it. Are you bearing a deep grief because of what was lost? Then you are strong, because you loved much. Sisters, you are NOT pathetic when you ache for someone to hold you. Brothers, you are NOT desperate as you watch and wait for her to enter your life. And as much as you want to savor every wonderful moment with someone you love, so too hold onto each hour of suffering as if you are undergoing something holy. Because you are. And when that sun finally does break out, it shines out all the clearer.

I've finally seen it; it's worth every minute of waiting.

Dating is like backpacking

I was inspired by this post by Samuel Kee: Dating is Like Going into a Haunted House.
True, thought I. Though I have no high-school dating experiences to speak of (praise God I was spared!), as an outside observer it seems like a legitimate comparison.
Then you approach marriageable age, and the scene changes. Suddenly dating is expected, and in fact, appropriate. Though I'm no dating expert, I've taken a couple trips, and this is what I've found.

Dating is like a backpacking trip:

• Its highly idealistic, until about 20 minutes in. Then suddenly you realize that this is a big deal and what did you get yourself into and oh my gosh, we're really here and how did we get here and I can't believe I'm doing this! Elation and excitement and being overwhelmed all at once. You realize that this is not a small decision, but there's no turning back now. 
• Like a Haunted House, it's still risky business, Perhaps more risky now that you're backpacking. You could roll an ankle or break a bone; you could get lost or run out of water; at the very least your feet start hurting after a while when you realize this trip actually involves some work and some sacrifice. 
• Higher risk, more work, requires  more intentional planning. Trips like this--successful ones--don't happen by accident or on a whim. But the element of calculated risk is precisely what makes the journey epic. Which leads me to the next point...
• Sometimes the journey is more important than the destination. Cliche but true. You are passing  some absolutely phenomenal views. This doesn't happen in every day life or without sacrificing some comforts here and there. But the view is worth it. Sometimes it really is best not to stress over your destination and to enjoy the view. On the other hand...
• Pace yourself. Injuries happen when you're clamoring down a mountain-face of scree. Don't run because you're bound to trip on something. As each new turn unfolds another stunning landscape, enjoy it. Don't rush through the wonderful. 
• Consult the experts. Your own past experience will only get you so far, and each trail is different, with different discoveries and risks. And for Pete's sake, don't go sneaking off into the woods alone! Your people back home want to know you are safe, so give them a call from time to time and tell them where you are. At the very least they can call in a helicopter if things don't go as planned. And don't forget to check the map from time to time and make sure you're still on the right path. 
• Be conditioned. No one goes from couch potato to Sherpa in one day. Journeys like these take exercise: patience and discipline, the ability to be uncomfortable, good humor, a sense of adventure,  grace, thoughtfulness, communication,  and the humility to admit you smell bad after three or four days. Are you developing the disciplines to be a good hiker? Are your muscles and lungs strong enough to finish the journey? Don't sit around playing XBox while you're waiting for your trip to start. Get out there and get in shape! 

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.