I inadvertently became part of a winter solstice celebration while on my Christmas gift delivery route to a couple of auntie-like friends of mine. Their eccentric nature full of wisdom and adventures makes them fun to be around but at times causes you to ponder their beliefs and your own. This was one of those times.
When I think of this sort of celebration, my mind is filled with visions of hooded figures dressed in black, dancing around a raging bonfire which casts monstrous shadows on the Stonehenge-like megalith that surrounds them as they offer up a burnt sacrifice of a not-so-lucky lamb. Needless to say, I was a bit skeptical when I was invited to join the festivities, but when I found out it was not going to be anything like I envisioned, I cautiously agreed. It turned out to be enLIGHTening.
While winter solstice celebrations vary and can be quite elaborate, this gathering was small, quaint – just the three of us and their dog who checked in on us through the course of the evening.
Winter solstice marks the day with the shortest amount of daylight. From this day on, the daylight will progressively get longer and the darkness that dominates in these winter months will not be as prevalent. The imbalance of light and dark is not as noticeable where I live if compared to those living in Alaska or the other cities and countries that dominate the Northern Hemisphere, but it has been noticeable within me.
The point of this celebration was to wane, to get rid of the darkness in our lives and welcome the light back into it. Sitting in a semi-circle each with a glass of wine and a fruit and cheese platter, we began to wane. The question was simple: “What are two or three things you would like to wane from your life?” It didn’t take me long to answer this question since God had already began working with me on these, evidenced by the tears that were fighting their way through my eyes like a dam waiting to explode.
2008 has not been great. Granted, there were some good things that happened this year, but there were certain events that wounded me deeply, specifically dealing with relationships. A longtime friendship ended; the church as a whole failed me; and a family disagreement was nastily handled. Each of these attacks caught me off guard and like a knife slashed my heart. Those I least expected broke my heart.
Sitting in my chair pondering my response, I realized I had been building a protective wall around my heart causing me to be skeptical of everyone and hold most people at a distance, including God. The wall had grown tall. Instead of a fortress, it had become a dungeon, leaving me in darkness clinging fiercely to my desires and broken pieces much like Gollum in “Lord of the Rings” with only a little window to which light shown down. I wanted out. I wanted to be free again.
These past few weeks, the ears of my heart had become sensitive to a gentle knocking outside the wall, drawing me closer to the patch of Godlight dancing amidst the darkness.
A friend had asked me how my book was coming to which I replied, “It’s not.” I had no inspiration on what to write which was frustrating. He gently replied, “How are your quiet times with God?” I sheepishly said, “Not as good as they should be.” Really, they were pretty much non-existent. “Perhaps you should use your writing time as your quiet time with God to help you get inspiration,” he gently suggested. He was right. My inspiration needed to come from God and I had blocked him out.
For the past two Sundays, my new pastor spoke on the topic of surrender. He encouraged the congregation (which meets in a 1900’s authentic movie theater) to look at what we’re clinging to in our lives. We need to live our lives with our palms facing upward, surrendering all to Him. He was right. I had been clinging to desires that better belonged in God’s hands, not my own.
God wanted to break down my wall and fill me with His light. In the course of explaining this in not as much detail to the auntie-like ladies, I discovered the two things I wanted to wane: pride and control. Once we all made our declarations, we drank our glass of wine, leaving an empty glass for light fill.
The second question was just as simple: “What are two or three things you wish to fill you?” For me it's discipline and inspiration. I’m looking to have a well-balanced life physically, mentally, and spiritually. I have already made exercise a habit. This year, I have some lofty goals to pursue which take discipline – continued writing on my book; spend more time with the college girls in the Christian club I’m a facilitator for, Otter Christian Fellowship; and applying to grad school. I look to make writing and quiet times with God daily habits.
As far as inspiration, I am planning a trip to England, Scotland, and Ireland for April 2009. I’m quite excited as these are places I’ve longed to visit, partly because of my ancestry but also to see the places where many of the Jane Austen books materialized in film such as Mr. Darcy’s Pemberley in Pride and Prejudice.
After we said how we wanted light to fill our lives, a winter solstice story from another country was read and comically enhanced by the sporadic addition of hand drums and the flute as we deemed fit. We all sang a song that had to do with welcoming the light ranging from “Come on Baby Light my Fire” to our own made-up lyrics. With palms facing upward, we concluded the festivities in prayer, reflecting on the celebration and officially welcomed the light into this New Year and into our lives.
Each act of surrender has allowed more and more bricks to crumble down around my heart, allowing the light to kiss my face and heal my wounds, freeing my heart to dance.
Even though this celebration was inadvertent, it was needed. Even though I was giving Christmas gifts to dear friends, they gave me something far better – the gift of waning. Thankfully, the festivities were not full of hooded figures dressed in black as my first thoughts conjured images of. Rather, it did take me to the heart of the matter – welcoming the light into our lives.
Christmas is a winter solstice celebration that reminds us of the spiritual light that entered the world through God’s son, Jesus Christ, waning off the darkness that would be our forever fate. He gently knocks eager to love, heal, protect, and empower. We just need to welcome His Sonlight into our lives. May 2009 be filled with God’s light in your life.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Sunday, September 14, 2008
The Cancer Chronicles XI: Balancing the Happy Goth Plaid Girl
I've noticed a pattern these past few months, one I was hoping to be a flook or at least short lived. But like an annoying piece of tape stuck to my finger, it won't seem to go away. Every month, feelings of sadness stir within in me, daring me to cry, and leaving me to question, "Why am I so sad?" This is not me.
Anyone that knows me is aware I'm a happy sort of person, a personal cheer leader even though I was not an actual one in high school. It's not in my nature to not smile or laugh. I found this out early in life when I had to take school pictures in the 3rd grade. These prints had two photos on one page - one smiley and one straight-faced. I had the smiley photo down but the straight-faced one always ended up looking like I was mad or my lips were at war with the laugh that was trying to break through. This was confirmed a few years ago when I dressed as a Gothic plaid girl for a high school camp spirit day. The black stringy-haired wig and black lipstick clashed with the happy smiley persona hidden under the plaid dress, fishnet stockings, and black combat boots. I freaked the heck out people! I realized at that point I could never be goth.
Lately though I've felt like part of the Gothic plaid girl has come back, not in my outward appearance but in the sadness that seems to touch my soul. I began to question myself to see if there's any validity to these feelings. I have had a stressful few months filled with death, heartbreak, and additional job challenges. Each of these events has warranted time to process. This sadness though seems to happen on a regular basis, a week before my period. Could this be PMS? I've never had PMS before, not until I had my surgery last year. It was then my hormones went crazy due to the estrogen overpowering the lack of thyroid hormones in my body. It felt like my body had become possessed by a pregnant woman who all of a sudden started going through menopause. I had hot flashes, major body aches, was extremely weepy, and my body was swelling in places I didn't think possible but might have welcomed if circumstances were different. This freaked me out! I frantically googled my symptoms praying for some clarity as to what was happening to me. My doctor didn't seem fazed by the ordeal as he confirmed the hormone imbalance. I wish he would have warned me but how can you prepare for that!
Thankfully a year later, my symptoms are not that extreme but still leave me to question. The last tests showed my levels were normal but now I'm not sure. Adding additional symptoms of excessive tiredness and joint pains in my hips cause the question to linger.
On a positive note, I had a follow up ultrasound in June of my neck which showed no cancer. I will meet with my doctor later this month to discuss the balancing of this happy (and hopefully temporary) Gothic plaid girl. Thank goodness the black lipstick isn't permanent!
Anyone that knows me is aware I'm a happy sort of person, a personal cheer leader even though I was not an actual one in high school. It's not in my nature to not smile or laugh. I found this out early in life when I had to take school pictures in the 3rd grade. These prints had two photos on one page - one smiley and one straight-faced. I had the smiley photo down but the straight-faced one always ended up looking like I was mad or my lips were at war with the laugh that was trying to break through. This was confirmed a few years ago when I dressed as a Gothic plaid girl for a high school camp spirit day. The black stringy-haired wig and black lipstick clashed with the happy smiley persona hidden under the plaid dress, fishnet stockings, and black combat boots. I freaked the heck out people! I realized at that point I could never be goth.
Lately though I've felt like part of the Gothic plaid girl has come back, not in my outward appearance but in the sadness that seems to touch my soul. I began to question myself to see if there's any validity to these feelings. I have had a stressful few months filled with death, heartbreak, and additional job challenges. Each of these events has warranted time to process. This sadness though seems to happen on a regular basis, a week before my period. Could this be PMS? I've never had PMS before, not until I had my surgery last year. It was then my hormones went crazy due to the estrogen overpowering the lack of thyroid hormones in my body. It felt like my body had become possessed by a pregnant woman who all of a sudden started going through menopause. I had hot flashes, major body aches, was extremely weepy, and my body was swelling in places I didn't think possible but might have welcomed if circumstances were different. This freaked me out! I frantically googled my symptoms praying for some clarity as to what was happening to me. My doctor didn't seem fazed by the ordeal as he confirmed the hormone imbalance. I wish he would have warned me but how can you prepare for that!
Thankfully a year later, my symptoms are not that extreme but still leave me to question. The last tests showed my levels were normal but now I'm not sure. Adding additional symptoms of excessive tiredness and joint pains in my hips cause the question to linger.
On a positive note, I had a follow up ultrasound in June of my neck which showed no cancer. I will meet with my doctor later this month to discuss the balancing of this happy (and hopefully temporary) Gothic plaid girl. Thank goodness the black lipstick isn't permanent!
Friday, March 21, 2008
The Cancer Chronicles X: Anticipating Aftershocks
It’s always there lingering in the back of my mind, that one question which makes me anticipate the worst.
It’s been nine months since I was deemed cancer-free. Such a title I never thought I would have need to welcome into my life, but do so gratefully.
During these months, I’ve had time to rediscover myself while I adjust to the new ‘no thyroid’ side of normal. The proper medication dosage has been determined, my thyroid levels are where they should be, and my weight returned to its pre-surgery range, making my clothes and I much happier.
With such distance between then and now, one may be inclined to think, “Yea! The battle’s over! I can relax, put this behind me and get on with my life.”
But just when my body feels safe to give a sigh of relief, it happens. I get a cold or the flu that hangs on for longer than I think it should. I forget things I normally would remember or I get dizzy riding a short distance in a car when that never was the case. Like an aftershock to a devastating earthquake, every abnormal health issue that presents itself awakens that dreaded question in the back of my head, “Is the cancer back?”
I recently found that I’m not alone in these feelings. I met a lady in her late 30’s at a writer’s conference who was diagnosed with breast cancer. She had just undergone a double mastectomy and was writing a book about her experience. In our conversation, she mentioned she’s always wondering if every little ailment she has is a symptom of the cancer coming back. I hadn’t really thought about it, but I was having the same feelings.
Just because I was given the cancer-free title doesn’t mean I’m off the hook. I will need to have a body scan every year to see if the title still rings true. It reminds me of when I was a victim of identity theft in college. My purse was stolen out of my car while I was paying for gas. Even though that ordeal happened years ago, I still check my credit report yearly because I never know if suspicious activity will appear.
I admit when my doctor reminded me of this at my last appointment, I wasn’t thrilled for this very reason – cancer won’t let me go despite our breakup. Even though this initial ordeal is done, cancer is still part of my reality, even if it is a lingering thought.
I’m a little gun-shy of doctors right now. The New Year has come and gone. With that come reminders to schedule my yearly physical, eye exam, and any other routine medical appointment. I still have yet to do so although I know I need to. I don’t want to go and have the doctor find something else wrong with me, having yet another ordeal to go through when I just began to catch my breath from the last one. I know this can’t be avoided and face it, with age come additional ailments. We live in a broken, fallen world where no one has escaped alive, except for One.
While I may always carry this lingering question with me, it is during Easter that I am reminded of this – I have been saved by the One who defeated death, Jesus Christ. I have been made new in His eyes.
Through Christ’s death and resurrection, I know the trials I face during my life are temporary. I have been given hope that one day, what has been made new in my spirit will be made new in my flesh. This hope is one I gladly anticipate.
It’s been nine months since I was deemed cancer-free. Such a title I never thought I would have need to welcome into my life, but do so gratefully.
During these months, I’ve had time to rediscover myself while I adjust to the new ‘no thyroid’ side of normal. The proper medication dosage has been determined, my thyroid levels are where they should be, and my weight returned to its pre-surgery range, making my clothes and I much happier.
With such distance between then and now, one may be inclined to think, “Yea! The battle’s over! I can relax, put this behind me and get on with my life.”
But just when my body feels safe to give a sigh of relief, it happens. I get a cold or the flu that hangs on for longer than I think it should. I forget things I normally would remember or I get dizzy riding a short distance in a car when that never was the case. Like an aftershock to a devastating earthquake, every abnormal health issue that presents itself awakens that dreaded question in the back of my head, “Is the cancer back?”
I recently found that I’m not alone in these feelings. I met a lady in her late 30’s at a writer’s conference who was diagnosed with breast cancer. She had just undergone a double mastectomy and was writing a book about her experience. In our conversation, she mentioned she’s always wondering if every little ailment she has is a symptom of the cancer coming back. I hadn’t really thought about it, but I was having the same feelings.
Just because I was given the cancer-free title doesn’t mean I’m off the hook. I will need to have a body scan every year to see if the title still rings true. It reminds me of when I was a victim of identity theft in college. My purse was stolen out of my car while I was paying for gas. Even though that ordeal happened years ago, I still check my credit report yearly because I never know if suspicious activity will appear.
I admit when my doctor reminded me of this at my last appointment, I wasn’t thrilled for this very reason – cancer won’t let me go despite our breakup. Even though this initial ordeal is done, cancer is still part of my reality, even if it is a lingering thought.
I’m a little gun-shy of doctors right now. The New Year has come and gone. With that come reminders to schedule my yearly physical, eye exam, and any other routine medical appointment. I still have yet to do so although I know I need to. I don’t want to go and have the doctor find something else wrong with me, having yet another ordeal to go through when I just began to catch my breath from the last one. I know this can’t be avoided and face it, with age come additional ailments. We live in a broken, fallen world where no one has escaped alive, except for One.
While I may always carry this lingering question with me, it is during Easter that I am reminded of this – I have been saved by the One who defeated death, Jesus Christ. I have been made new in His eyes.
Through Christ’s death and resurrection, I know the trials I face during my life are temporary. I have been given hope that one day, what has been made new in my spirit will be made new in my flesh. This hope is one I gladly anticipate.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Perfect Hair Day
Today was “Perfect Hair Day.” You may not have seen it listed on your calendar because it chooses when it’s to be celebrated, which varies for each person.
I had a sneaking suspicion it may be today. It was one of the rare days when my hair, dare I say, looked perfect! It was as if all the planets aligned themselves in such a way as to proportionally balance the weight of gravity on each strand of hair, getting them to fall into their pre-designated places. Even the frizzies and rebel strands were getting along where normally; they need a bit of encouragement to calm down.
Don't get me wrong. My hair and I have a great working relationship. There are days though when there’s a full out rebellion on my head. I look in the mirror and sigh, “This is as good as it’s going to get.” I had one such day not so long ago.
This morning, I woke up and groggily looked into the bathroom mirror expecting to see my once put together ponytail all in a messy, chaotic jumble, but no! My slightly tousled bangs were swept back towards my ponytail, which was in tact, reminiscent of a hairstyle I saw Reese Witherspoon wearing to a gala. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing! I had tried to get my hair to do this same thing before but had no success.
I admit I was a bit skeptical. So, ok… the bangs look good, but when I take my ponytail out, I’m definitely going to have lumpy ‘ponytail hair’. The think is, I didn’t. It had that ‘I just came from the salon look’. Usually, when I try to replicate such styles, it never comes out quite looking like that salon ‘do’. But today, I only had to do a couple of touch ups. I brushed my golden locks and sprayed them in tact so this ‘do’ would have a sporting chance throughout my work day.
As I was driving to work, I looked in my visor mirror and thought, “Maybe it’s just me getting carried away. Could this hair-do success last an entire day?” I set my purse down at my work ‘cubby’ and walked to my co-worker’s desk to talk about a task, when she stopped me mid-sentence and said, “Your hair looks amazing today!” Wow! That confirmed it. Today was Perfect Hair Day and I am celebrating it. Perhaps I’ll wait to wash my hair tomorrow.
Although, I did notice a few blemishes forming on my face, which has not happened in quite some time. That’s odd. Could Perfect Hair Day have thrown off the hormonal balance of my body? Is my face jealous because it’s not getting the attention it normally gets?
Maybe there is such a thing as too much of a good thing. Now that I think of it, I’m glad Perfect Hair Day comes on rare occasions. I don’t think my body can handle it.
I had a sneaking suspicion it may be today. It was one of the rare days when my hair, dare I say, looked perfect! It was as if all the planets aligned themselves in such a way as to proportionally balance the weight of gravity on each strand of hair, getting them to fall into their pre-designated places. Even the frizzies and rebel strands were getting along where normally; they need a bit of encouragement to calm down.
Don't get me wrong. My hair and I have a great working relationship. There are days though when there’s a full out rebellion on my head. I look in the mirror and sigh, “This is as good as it’s going to get.” I had one such day not so long ago.
This morning, I woke up and groggily looked into the bathroom mirror expecting to see my once put together ponytail all in a messy, chaotic jumble, but no! My slightly tousled bangs were swept back towards my ponytail, which was in tact, reminiscent of a hairstyle I saw Reese Witherspoon wearing to a gala. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing! I had tried to get my hair to do this same thing before but had no success.
I admit I was a bit skeptical. So, ok… the bangs look good, but when I take my ponytail out, I’m definitely going to have lumpy ‘ponytail hair’. The think is, I didn’t. It had that ‘I just came from the salon look’. Usually, when I try to replicate such styles, it never comes out quite looking like that salon ‘do’. But today, I only had to do a couple of touch ups. I brushed my golden locks and sprayed them in tact so this ‘do’ would have a sporting chance throughout my work day.
As I was driving to work, I looked in my visor mirror and thought, “Maybe it’s just me getting carried away. Could this hair-do success last an entire day?” I set my purse down at my work ‘cubby’ and walked to my co-worker’s desk to talk about a task, when she stopped me mid-sentence and said, “Your hair looks amazing today!” Wow! That confirmed it. Today was Perfect Hair Day and I am celebrating it. Perhaps I’ll wait to wash my hair tomorrow.
Although, I did notice a few blemishes forming on my face, which has not happened in quite some time. That’s odd. Could Perfect Hair Day have thrown off the hormonal balance of my body? Is my face jealous because it’s not getting the attention it normally gets?
Maybe there is such a thing as too much of a good thing. Now that I think of it, I’m glad Perfect Hair Day comes on rare occasions. I don’t think my body can handle it.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Thankful to be Thankful
In looking at the days that come and go in a person’s life, today was nothing spectacular. It was what I call a “veg” day – a day with nothing planned and nowhere I needed to be. I could relax, sleep in as long as my body would let me, and do less exciting but much needed functions of living, a.k.a. the laundry, all in the luxury of my pink fuzzy slippers.
It was my change in attitude that made today extraordinary. It seems 2008 has been one set of health setbacks after another, leaving me battling colds, allergies, the flu, and back spasms that give the term “veg day” a whole new, less inviting meaning.
The pain of one such spasm was haunting me this past week, making every task huge to undertake. I hadn’t realized, but I had just been trudging along, doing what I could to keep moving because I had to, not because I wanted to. Pain, whether physical, emotional, or spiritual is exhausting to deal with and in the midst of it, seems hopeless to overcome. I was bummed as well because I had not been able to exercise like I had been and was starting to feel the effects of it.
On Thursday, relief came in the form of a much-needed massage. From that evening on, it was as if a cloud had been lifted from my eyes and I could see life in a whole new, pain-free light. The clear, night sky seemed brighter, the full moon seemed bigger, and my step had more bounce to it. I could feel a smile creep across my face at this realization. I was thankful.
My thankfulness spread. At work, where more people were out due to sickness than those present, I was thankful to be there. I was thankful to be doing work I enjoy; to make people laugh; and continue my quest to make order out of chaos. My co-workers noticed my transformation.
Today, I was thankful to be able to do my laundry, to bend down and pick up load after load with minimal pain. As I put away my clothes, I was thankful I had the funds to afford them. I was thankful for the rain that was coming down outside; for our ‘old man bunny’ who got caught in the rain; for a fireplace to warm our ‘soggy bottom bunny’; for cute kitties whose sheer role in life is to hold down a specific corner of my bed; for a comfy bed in which to sleep in; and for Listerine that now is vanilla-flavored. I wasn’t just thankful. I was thankful to be thankful.
To be thankful is a blessing because it allows one to see life as it should be seen – with a mixture of awe and humility. It’s the hard times in life that are often the sweetest gift because they allow us to appreciate our achievements, even if small, reminding us of the One who really is in control (and it isn’t me!).
I’m hopeful and determined to be on the road to recovery, thankful for every step that takes me there, especially if in the luxury of pink, fuzzy slippers.
It was my change in attitude that made today extraordinary. It seems 2008 has been one set of health setbacks after another, leaving me battling colds, allergies, the flu, and back spasms that give the term “veg day” a whole new, less inviting meaning.
The pain of one such spasm was haunting me this past week, making every task huge to undertake. I hadn’t realized, but I had just been trudging along, doing what I could to keep moving because I had to, not because I wanted to. Pain, whether physical, emotional, or spiritual is exhausting to deal with and in the midst of it, seems hopeless to overcome. I was bummed as well because I had not been able to exercise like I had been and was starting to feel the effects of it.
On Thursday, relief came in the form of a much-needed massage. From that evening on, it was as if a cloud had been lifted from my eyes and I could see life in a whole new, pain-free light. The clear, night sky seemed brighter, the full moon seemed bigger, and my step had more bounce to it. I could feel a smile creep across my face at this realization. I was thankful.
My thankfulness spread. At work, where more people were out due to sickness than those present, I was thankful to be there. I was thankful to be doing work I enjoy; to make people laugh; and continue my quest to make order out of chaos. My co-workers noticed my transformation.
Today, I was thankful to be able to do my laundry, to bend down and pick up load after load with minimal pain. As I put away my clothes, I was thankful I had the funds to afford them. I was thankful for the rain that was coming down outside; for our ‘old man bunny’ who got caught in the rain; for a fireplace to warm our ‘soggy bottom bunny’; for cute kitties whose sheer role in life is to hold down a specific corner of my bed; for a comfy bed in which to sleep in; and for Listerine that now is vanilla-flavored. I wasn’t just thankful. I was thankful to be thankful.
To be thankful is a blessing because it allows one to see life as it should be seen – with a mixture of awe and humility. It’s the hard times in life that are often the sweetest gift because they allow us to appreciate our achievements, even if small, reminding us of the One who really is in control (and it isn’t me!).
I’m hopeful and determined to be on the road to recovery, thankful for every step that takes me there, especially if in the luxury of pink, fuzzy slippers.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Being Real in a Fake World
I confess I’m in a mood. I recognize the symptoms when life around me takes on the tint of gray in the midst of a beautiful, sunny day, like today. When happy people, especially lovers exhibiting PDA (public displays of affection) make me roll my eyes in disgust. Or when that dull pain in my forehead spreads to my jaw, letting me know I’m clenching my teeth, a sign of stress my dentist would highly disapprove of. Like the character ‘Stuart’ in the self-named comedy skit on Mad TV, I am on the path to my dark place, a place I don’t want to hang around for long. When I get in a mood, I try to be real with myself so I don’t stay here permanently. Like quicksand, the moody symptoms can trap you the more you flirt with their negative power.
In my self-exploration, I realized I’m tired of living in a fake world. We’re living in a fast-paced world that’s trying to do too many things at the same time. We pride ourselves at multi-tasking, but how much are we really getting done? In our feeble attempt at juggling, what falls to the ground? We end up putting on a mask of polite affections just to get through the day as smooth as possible, undetected by life’s little glitches often found in the lives of other people.
As I was leaving church today, I saw a friend who I hadn’t talked to in a while. In my state of moodiness, I was thankful to see a familiar face. She asked me “How are you?” but before I could reply, she answered for me, “Crazy, busy, right?” as she chaotically passed through the lobby doors in search for the rest of her family. Before I knew it, we were in the parking lot and they were headed towards their car.
I realize this famed question is part of the introduction in American culture, but just because something’s cultural doesn’t mean it’s biblical. Being real takes time, patience, flexibility, and a selfless attitude. It takes having Jesus actively living in our lives and being obedient to his prodding on our heart so we can be His hands and feet to those in need. I know today I could have used a sincere “how are you” with time to hear my honest reply.
Our culture is full of this plague of polite affections, sayings such as:
“How are you?”
“Let’s get together sometime.”
“You’re in my thoughts and prayers.”
“Let’s do lunch.”
“I’ll call you.”
The question is, do we mean them? If we are saying things we have no intension of doing or don’t plan on sticking around to hear the answer, we’re hypocrites. The power to influence others for good with our words and actions is lost by our lack of sincerity.
I see this fakeness seeping into the church. Just today, I was standing in the sanctuary singing the words on the overhead screen. The blue lights that framed the stage highlighted the flashy PowerPoint background with its swirling colors of blue and purple. It was a nice show filled with warm fuzzies and fresh coffee in hand, but this was supposed to be a time of worship to the Creator of the Universe. I found myself questioning, “Do those people on stage mean what they’re singing?” “Do I mean what I’m singing? Am I being real with God or just being polite, going through the motions so I blend in?” I found myself closing my eyes, asking God to block out these visual niceties so He could take me to His secret place, out of my dark place, so I could be with Him and Him alone.
I’m concerned that in today’s media-crazed culture, the church has succumbed to marketing God, trying to give Him a hip, new makeover with catchy church names and cool-looking flyers that aren’t too ‘Christian’ so He’ll have cool image, all in an effort to get people to hang out with Him. While trying to reach out to some, it can come across as fake and deceptive to others. I realized today, my heart is tired of fluff and fake truth. It’s a phony filler. I want the real thing. I want God and Him alone.
Despite my mood, I must be real with myself. I must forgive. Forgiveness paves the way for peace; it parts the seas; mends friendships; and makes the gray skies blue again. Forgiveness gives me freedom. As I release these burdens to God, I look forward to coming out of my dark place, making peace with the lovers I walk past, relieving my head of its tension headache, and enjoying a beautifully sunny day tomorrow. Experiencing the reality of a warm, sunny day in February when the rest of the world is deluged in snow is truly a gift no one can fake. For that I am thankful.
In my self-exploration, I realized I’m tired of living in a fake world. We’re living in a fast-paced world that’s trying to do too many things at the same time. We pride ourselves at multi-tasking, but how much are we really getting done? In our feeble attempt at juggling, what falls to the ground? We end up putting on a mask of polite affections just to get through the day as smooth as possible, undetected by life’s little glitches often found in the lives of other people.
As I was leaving church today, I saw a friend who I hadn’t talked to in a while. In my state of moodiness, I was thankful to see a familiar face. She asked me “How are you?” but before I could reply, she answered for me, “Crazy, busy, right?” as she chaotically passed through the lobby doors in search for the rest of her family. Before I knew it, we were in the parking lot and they were headed towards their car.
I realize this famed question is part of the introduction in American culture, but just because something’s cultural doesn’t mean it’s biblical. Being real takes time, patience, flexibility, and a selfless attitude. It takes having Jesus actively living in our lives and being obedient to his prodding on our heart so we can be His hands and feet to those in need. I know today I could have used a sincere “how are you” with time to hear my honest reply.
Our culture is full of this plague of polite affections, sayings such as:
“How are you?”
“Let’s get together sometime.”
“You’re in my thoughts and prayers.”
“Let’s do lunch.”
“I’ll call you.”
The question is, do we mean them? If we are saying things we have no intension of doing or don’t plan on sticking around to hear the answer, we’re hypocrites. The power to influence others for good with our words and actions is lost by our lack of sincerity.
I see this fakeness seeping into the church. Just today, I was standing in the sanctuary singing the words on the overhead screen. The blue lights that framed the stage highlighted the flashy PowerPoint background with its swirling colors of blue and purple. It was a nice show filled with warm fuzzies and fresh coffee in hand, but this was supposed to be a time of worship to the Creator of the Universe. I found myself questioning, “Do those people on stage mean what they’re singing?” “Do I mean what I’m singing? Am I being real with God or just being polite, going through the motions so I blend in?” I found myself closing my eyes, asking God to block out these visual niceties so He could take me to His secret place, out of my dark place, so I could be with Him and Him alone.
I’m concerned that in today’s media-crazed culture, the church has succumbed to marketing God, trying to give Him a hip, new makeover with catchy church names and cool-looking flyers that aren’t too ‘Christian’ so He’ll have cool image, all in an effort to get people to hang out with Him. While trying to reach out to some, it can come across as fake and deceptive to others. I realized today, my heart is tired of fluff and fake truth. It’s a phony filler. I want the real thing. I want God and Him alone.
Despite my mood, I must be real with myself. I must forgive. Forgiveness paves the way for peace; it parts the seas; mends friendships; and makes the gray skies blue again. Forgiveness gives me freedom. As I release these burdens to God, I look forward to coming out of my dark place, making peace with the lovers I walk past, relieving my head of its tension headache, and enjoying a beautifully sunny day tomorrow. Experiencing the reality of a warm, sunny day in February when the rest of the world is deluged in snow is truly a gift no one can fake. For that I am thankful.
Sunday, February 3, 2008
The Courage to be Creative
Thursday, January 31, 2008
I find myself sitting in the cushy luxury of my pillow-encrusted bed at the Broadmoor Hotel while I reflect on my first evening at the Christian Writer’s Guild conference. I can’t help but feel like a princess sitting under a canopy of blue and gold fabric, sweetly framing the bed as if it were to be the cover shot in some illustrious travel magazine. It is now I can exhale, allowing my tired body to sink into the blankets, enveloping me like a much needed hug after a long day, a day that began for me at 2 this morning.
I almost didn’t make it here! Last week I came down with the flu, which kept me from work the entire week. My birthday festivities were kept to an intimate gathering of brave souls whose love for me stretched beyond the fear of getting ‘cooties.’ (Sorry, Margaret and Bethany for infecting you!) I was frustrated because my grandiose plans to prepare for this conference were replaced with a fever, chills, and a gut-hacking cough that attempted to free my body of it’s mucus invaders. I am glad to be here, a victor of phlegm and fever. I’m not sure why God wants me here.
This isn’t my first writer’s conference. I attended two over the past few years in an attempt at obedience once God put this calling on my heart to write and to minister to teen/ college girls. Each experience has educated me further on this craft. I have been writing a book for teen girls over the past 6 years. I’ve seen it evolve to its present state and I’m here looking for guidance as to my next steps, to see if my writing is relevant to this audience, and possibly, see if a publisher is interested in it.
The thing is God never told me this was to be published. He just told me to do it and so I am, reluctantly at times. Doubt has acted like an infectious cootie to my confidence, making me think I don’t have what it takes to do what God has called me to do. I cling to the promise that I can do all things through Him who gives me strength. If He says I can do it, then I will muster up enough courage to believe that He can work through me, even if at times this task seems impossible and myself crazy for doing it.
During our conference orientation, we were told to be open to what God has in store. Be aware of who we’re sitting next to, who we’re meeting with, and whose workshops we’re attending. You never know when God will orchestrate divine appointments. We shall see! As for now, I’m looking forward to snuggling into my down comforter and choosing which of the four pillows on my bed will have the optimum cushiness to be my head’s companion.
I find myself sitting in the cushy luxury of my pillow-encrusted bed at the Broadmoor Hotel while I reflect on my first evening at the Christian Writer’s Guild conference. I can’t help but feel like a princess sitting under a canopy of blue and gold fabric, sweetly framing the bed as if it were to be the cover shot in some illustrious travel magazine. It is now I can exhale, allowing my tired body to sink into the blankets, enveloping me like a much needed hug after a long day, a day that began for me at 2 this morning.
I almost didn’t make it here! Last week I came down with the flu, which kept me from work the entire week. My birthday festivities were kept to an intimate gathering of brave souls whose love for me stretched beyond the fear of getting ‘cooties.’ (Sorry, Margaret and Bethany for infecting you!) I was frustrated because my grandiose plans to prepare for this conference were replaced with a fever, chills, and a gut-hacking cough that attempted to free my body of it’s mucus invaders. I am glad to be here, a victor of phlegm and fever. I’m not sure why God wants me here.
This isn’t my first writer’s conference. I attended two over the past few years in an attempt at obedience once God put this calling on my heart to write and to minister to teen/ college girls. Each experience has educated me further on this craft. I have been writing a book for teen girls over the past 6 years. I’ve seen it evolve to its present state and I’m here looking for guidance as to my next steps, to see if my writing is relevant to this audience, and possibly, see if a publisher is interested in it.
The thing is God never told me this was to be published. He just told me to do it and so I am, reluctantly at times. Doubt has acted like an infectious cootie to my confidence, making me think I don’t have what it takes to do what God has called me to do. I cling to the promise that I can do all things through Him who gives me strength. If He says I can do it, then I will muster up enough courage to believe that He can work through me, even if at times this task seems impossible and myself crazy for doing it.
During our conference orientation, we were told to be open to what God has in store. Be aware of who we’re sitting next to, who we’re meeting with, and whose workshops we’re attending. You never know when God will orchestrate divine appointments. We shall see! As for now, I’m looking forward to snuggling into my down comforter and choosing which of the four pillows on my bed will have the optimum cushiness to be my head’s companion.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)