Category: Spiritual growth

Fleshing out flesh, saving my skin

Somehow, for most of my life, my identity as a Christian has seemed to negate my identity as a human. However the message came, I picked up that my flesh is sinful and to be hated so that my spirit can prosper and live eternally with God. Maybe that’s why I did so many self-destructive things as a young adult. Maybe I figured that my body was so detestable, that I should just abuse it and neglect it. Maybe that was why I didn’t care when I saw friends or loved ones abuse or neglect their bodies. This body, after all, will be replaced with a glorified body one day, following the resurrection steps of Jesus. So, it’s pretty useless in spiritual terms anyway, right?

Well, that isn’t so right. The first thing I had to sit with for a while – like, years – is the fact that Jesus did come to earth wearing flesh. Fully Divine and fully human – that’s what we believe, right? If flesh itself is so detestable, Jesus probably would have come up with another way to save us, so that he could avoid such contamination of his Divinity.

There are a lot of Gnostic Christians still walking around, I think, believing that bodies are bad and spirits are good. Think about this, though: Jesus came to us and for us . . . in a body. And beyond the miracle of the incarnation, our bodies are redeemed toward a future BODILY resurrection. As Barbara Brown Taylor says in her best-selling An Altar in the World, in the middle of pain or disease, most of us miss the fact that “our bodies remain God’s best way of getting to us.”

How can we reconcile our flesh, then, in spiritual terms? How can we seek holiness while wearing this fleshy dress without despising the dress? I suppose we can all start by recognizing the way Jesus lived in his skin. Having skin really is the most basic connection we have as humans. Flesh and bones, we are – all of us. And Jesus’ ministry was profoundly a ministry of restoring bodies that were, in various ways, broken. Jesus saw spiritual value in healing, loving, and restoring flesh. He redeemed it. He showed us how to transform.

As always, transformation is where I land. I am so grateful for the possibility and the process of transformation! So, as I continue to walk the earth in my bony, often dirty feet, and as I walk alongside my companions who also might have issues with dirt or disease or destructive habits or other intensely human traits, I am reminded that Jesus thinks wearing skin is a great way to change the world.

Hurts so good

My foot is killing me today. The reason is a tad embarrassing, only because of the mental images you might conjure. I found a pair of headphones last night, which coincided with the arrival of a $15 iTunes gift card . . . which led to music downloads . . . which then led to about 40 minutes of dancing around my room. I have to tell you, it felt soooooo good to dance. It was late. I danced. I sang. I was in another world for those 40 minutes, and it was simply wonderful.

It didn’t take long after I stopped to notice that my left foot was hurting. Honest to Pete, I don’t know how it happened. But, I did damage to my foot, with a bruise across the top as an indicator of some sort of sprain.

But, guess what? I was so happy when it happened, I don’t really care even now about the injury. It hurts, yes. But it happened while I was doing something I really loved and, if I had it to do over, I would probably do the exact same thing.

I can’t help but compare that sentiment to the process of bringing children into the world. If there wasn’t so much joy attached to the outcome, there would likely never be more than one child in any family. How else can you explain our willingness to endure childbirth more than once in a lifetime? (And for men, how else can you explain their willingness to endure the misery we inflict on them during pregnancy and labor?)

I spoke in a previous blog about how there is always an element of imperfection to our experiences of joy here on earth. But this is a different angle, I think. This connection between suffering and joy emphasizes the presence of love in both. Love empowers us to endure suffering.

As I think about that concept during this Lenten season and apply it to the suffering Jesus endured, I am utterly overwhelmed by the vastness of His love. I cannot speak because there is nothing to say. A beautiful combination of Divinity and humanity, Love and suffering, is the story of Jesus’ passion. The whole time, He had us in mind.

That kind of covenant-based love is not an easy concept for us to grasp. We don’t see the value in enduring hardship when there are so many other choices. Today, I remain in a state of gratitude for Christ’s covenantal love and the lesson I am afforded because of it.

In the middle of joy or sadness, my heart dances in His love, whether my feet can keep up or not!

Lenten reflections: ashes to ashes

I probably haven’t blogged long enough to re-post a previous entry, but I think this one is worth revisiting. Besides, in my attempt to give up working entirely for Lent this year, I figured a good place to start is with reposting previous articles rather than creating new ones.

Actually, since I have already engaged in all sorts of work today and it seems certain that there is no escape from it for the next 40 days, I will practice a new, daily spiritual discipline instead of fasting from anything this year. I pray that your Lenten journey will bring you closer to the presence of God, a greater commitment to your calling, and a refreshed love for God, self, and neighbors, *Sandy

Late winter-early spring was different before I knew about Lent. I think that my introduction to Lent may have actually been my introduction to spiritual disciplines in general. Before when I didn’t know about any spiritual disciplines – besides praying and reading my Bible, neither of which were accomplished with anything resembling “discipline” – I didn’t think about any of my indulgences. I’m talking about the way I spent my money, the things I chose to eat and drink, or how I chose to spend my time. I didn’t worry so much about how I could be a better neighbor or even a randomly-kind stranger.

Those things didn’t matter to me because I saw my faith in Jesus as something very personal. I didn’t see myself as part of a faith community. Frankly, I didn’t trust a lot of the people I went to church with. I learned not to trust church people when I was old enough to have a different social opinion from most of the ones I knew – because they turned on me in ways that I believed were unjustifiable for folks who claim to know Jesus. That sort of thing happens more than most people would like to acknowledge. I am grateful that God continued to pursue me, knowing how I felt about some of His other children and what I saw as their offenses and failures. Living life as an offended person is not a happy life.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…that’s what most of us heard who received the imposition of ashes on Wednesday of this week. It sounds so “funeralish”. [My spell-checker hates it when I make up words!] But that’s what it’s about for me now: death and renewal until we get to the resurrection. I’ve been reading some of Fred Craddock’s sermons for a project and in one of those sermons, Fred said that he didn’t understand how any Christian expected to be invited to the resurrection party if they never attended the funeral. During this season, we have the privilege – all of us, collectively – to experience again through spiritual disciplines the suffering that Jesus experienced, even to the gut-wrenching death, all for the sake of our reconciliation with God.

So, in light of that understanding, I am compelled – more happily than ever – to let die some of my indulgences and stinkin’ thinkin’ as the Holy Spirit reveals those things to me. One of the first things that had to go in order to get to this place was my misguided notion that I could follow Jesus in isolation. A faith that turns inward is no faith at all. It is when we reach out in faith to share something of ourselves with others that we encounter Jesus. He didn’t stay dead, remember? That is a deal-breaker for determining whether you’re a Christian or not. We talk and sing about His resurrection, but many of us live like Jesus just died. When you encounter the risen Savior, the only possible response is to be changed. Transformed! It’s easy to change personal habits, but I’m convinced that only encounters with Jesus can change our bad attitudes and misguided beliefs.

I carry the ash mark and a small piece of sackcloth with me through this Lenten season along with Christians around the world. It reminds me of Jesus’ ministry, death, and resurrection, the history of the Church, and my journey with Jesus as I meet so many friends on the path with me.

The thing is . . .

Well, the thing is, most of us don’t have just one “thing” any more.

This idea was triggered by a quote I read from D. L. Moody: “Give me a man who says, ‘This one thing I do’ and not,’These fifty things I dabble in.'” I might be one of the most hopeless cases of “these fifty things” in the land. I confess my own frustration with being such a multi-tasker – out loud. I suppose I could focus well into just one thing, but I like to do different things. Obviously. Or else I am the biggest ADHD person in my family and, to me, this is absolutely normal.

In the course of any hour of any day, my mind is juggling thoughts and work in my “day job”, my ministry, my school assignments, my daughter’s upcoming wedding and all that must be prepared for that special event, care plans for my youngest child, any and all of my mothering and household duties . . . Man, I feel frustrated just by writing that list! Is it even possible to have “this one thing I do”?! Perhaps it is my womanhood that answers, “No,” and explains why Moody said, “Give me a man . . .”

Surely women are used to wearing multiple hats, but I think our current environment has led all of us – men and women – into this jack-of-all-trades-master-of-none pattern of working. Technology is available to the masses and moves us at warp speed. Specialists find themselves in danger of losing jobs they have enjoyed for years, requiring new training and career paths or long periods of unemployment, or the resignation to accept under-employment. We feel an insane amount of pressure to keep up with the world and our own marketability.

Moody’s quote made me feel badly about myself for being so “one thing”-challenged, but I believe his key phrase is a reference to Paul’s letter to the Philippians, which, in context, really means something entirely different. In 3:13, Paul indicates “this one thing I do” as forgetting what is behind and focusing on what is ahead. It is a message to focus on our ministry-calling and where it leads.

Have you ever written your life’s mission statement before? I have tried it – once or twice – but I failed to keep it handy. I’m going to find my last statement and see how well it states my life mission as I perceive it now. Pondering and developing a personal mission statement will take some time and some real soul-searching. Having a statement will also lead to a need to spend time goal-setting based on the mission. Then, of course, there is the continuous work of turning away things that don’t fit the mission. The thing is, that “one thing” drives all my other things. So . . . this one thing I do!

Hard to live with

My youngest child is like so many others in that he speaks, unfiltered, whatever is on his mind. “Why do you have to be so hard to live with?!” he cried after I issued his punishment for the crime of disobedience. What he did wasn’t terrible – he simply chose not to listen to me until he was ready – and his punishment wasn’t earth-shattering, either. (Although, to a 6-year-old boy, losing a few hours of Wii is close to earth-shattering.) The point of my response wasn’t the level of severity of his bad behavior and the point of his response wasn’t the severity of the assigned punishment. It was the principle of the thing – on both counts. I insist on respectful obedience from my children and he persists in trying to do things his own way and in his own time, regardless of what I say. So, who’s harder to live with? I dealt with it by laughing. You know, that “Silly boy, it isn’t ME who is being difficult, but your own choices that are creating difficulty for you” laugh; the “You’re the one being stubborn, not me” laugh.

This may be easier to resolve in parent-child relationships since there is a power differential. But what about stalemates like this in adult relationships? Are there times when we are less-than-gracious when we should offer someone the opportunity to express their individuality? Well, of course.

I am not a big fan of campaign season in the political realm. I dislike the negative ads and the boasting ads equally. If there was a party called Humble Integrity, I’d probably join that one. As it stands, there isn’t one remotely close to that. [Ok, I came up with the cool acronym: Humble Integrity Party = HIP!] As a HIP candidate, I would do all my campaigning via Facebook, Twitter, and blogging. Oh wait – maybe that is how I would do it as a member of the DLCP (Don’t Like Crowds Party). . . Let’s face it. I’d never be a suitable candidate for political office.

Not too many of us risk having our lives dissected, chewed up, and spit out in the national forum. Our family has a way, though, of exposing to us the things we either deny or would otherwise like to keep under wraps about ourselves. Marriage is the great revealer of life areas in need of personal growth. Our level of stubbornness is revealed in how we respond to the knowledge that we need to grow enough in an area to demonstrate grace. If we can humbly apologize and seek to let go of our personal agenda (which is often linked to nothing vital), then we become much more pleasant to be around. If we disregard the revelation and dig in our heels to ensure no one “runs over us”, then we might be setting ourselves up for a lot of head-butting.

So, with that in mind, and to avoid running the risk of being known as a head-butt-er (or any variation of such), let us be mindful of the grace that is ours through Jesus. I would rather be known as someone who is hard to live without than hard to live with.

Sweet Communion

Nature walks always take my mind away from the insanity of life’s daily grind. I welcome the distraction and the retreat! Hiking is probably my favorite, although I rarely (read: “never”) go hiking alone. I am able, however, to take a stroll around a local lake or in a wooded park fairly routinely for some time to myself. As a documented introvert, I enjoy a very lively “inner life” with all sorts of ideas and creations dancing inside my head. But during these walks, the mental move away from the busy-ness of the world is not a move into my head. It is a real sense of connection with God and a time to listen and to pour out my heart to him.

I feel certain that all of my recent decisions and major upsets were reconciled on walks. (Those that were not most assuredly should have been.) I can tell when a walk is going to become more than just a way to burn some stress or calories. If there is some soul-cleansing to be done, I am always first overwhelmed by an awareness of beauty and a strong sense of gratitude. It doesn’t take much of anything to trigger it. It could be a particularly comforting breeze, an unusually shaped tree trunk or branch, a singing bird, or a colorful and random mushroom. Then comes the awareness that God is there – an overwhelming sense that he has not only been there, but that he IS there . . . and that we should talk. I usually try to listen first, because that is pretty much all you can do when you sense God.

It’s tricky, of course, to discern what God is speaking from what you might manufacture in your own thoughts and desires, projecting those things on him. There aren’t “12 steps” to figuring that out, but it develops over time and with lots of practice. Plus, I don’t think every quiet time with God has to produce something instructional or life-changing for us. We can’t manufacture the time, place, or setting for God to speak. Sometimes, we need to just be content with an intimate, quiet walk together. Everything we could ever need, after all, is in his presence.

Is there a special place where you sense God most? Would you be willing to share your story as a comment to this post? Speaking for myself and probably many others, I would love to hear all about it!

Making the most of Week 52

The last week of the year is awkward. It’s hard to plan anything since so many people are still traveling. For working folks, it’s often a “wish-I-was-anywhere-else” week since little can be accomplished due to the absence of so many others. Should be a great week for thinking back on a good year, right? Maybe.

For someone who claims to love to reflect, I risk conveying a sense of contradiction or else the after-Christmas blues with the picture I’ve painted of this week. Perhaps it seems awkward precisely because it is only one week. With all the focus on Christmas festivities through December 25th, we really only leave ourselves that one week-between-the-big-holidays to think about the year – and surely we need more time than that to process where we have been over the past 365 days and where we would like to go from here.

Perhaps it isn’t the week itself that is awkward, but is instead the things we Americans tend to hold in focus. Inevitably, the media will spend the week rehashing the best songs, the best movies, top videos, and best gadgets of 2011. We will also assuredly be reminded of those beloved stars and otherwise-famous people who died this past year. I suppose all of those things are suitable ways to reflect on a passing year. I, however, (predictably) would prefer to focus on other things in assessing the year.

The first obstacle in any act of remembering for me is the most obvious: my memory. I can’t remember what I ate for breakfast this morning, so how could I possibly remember the year without some reliable support? Perhaps the new Facebook Timeline could serve as a way to track the year. Of course, I would have to read between the lines and somehow remember the things that were not published – you know, the things that were not happy enough, witty enough, or interesting enough to use as status updates. Helpful, but not entirely sufficient.

There are a few reliable gauges in determining how well I have spent the past year, which is how I prefer to spend this week. In using the metaphor of time being “spent”, I suppose I would first want to look closely at my bank statements and checking account register. Those lines will tell a tale in great detail (been reading a lot of Dr. Seuss lately) of where my particular treasures lie. “For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” [Luke 12:34]

The next gauge would probably be one of quality time spent with family and friends. How many memories (hopefully documented in pictures or other keepsakes) were made this year? More than ever, I am beginning to value pictures that capture special days or moments. While it is not possible to document every special moment with digital photography, every special time deserves some sort of keepsake or marker. To add interest to your measuring efforts, try asking your family and friends what they remember the most. You may discover that what they remember and value the most is not what you remember or value!

The next thing that I would want to consider is how well I spent my creative energy. Have I made steps toward God’s calling in my life? Have I produced anything to benefit others beyond my self or my immediate family? Have I even worked at all toward some specific mission or goal that is Kingdom-focused and altogether bigger than me?

Of course, it couldn’t hurt to consider these things more often than once each year – particularly the goals/creative energy aspect. We would do well to keep that one on a daily prayer cycle and quarterly assessment! Can you imagine how effective we could be with that kind of focus?!?

With this process in mind, I challenge you to create your own “best of” lists for 2011 and make a supporting list of goals for 2012. Let’s all set aside extra time to pray and write down what we hear God saying about this new year, then turn those leading words into our personal gameplan for 2012!

This could be the most important week of 2011.

Tears that bind us

I must confess that I embarrass myself. Any time I attend an event that precipitates applause and I am part of the audience, I cannot contain my tears. I mean, my throat lumps up, my facial muscles contract, and the tears start rolling. If the performance is in a darkened auditorium, I fare better than if I am in a well-lit stadium. If my children are with me, they are always the ones to ask if I’m ok – God bless them – but I’d rather not have to explain why I’m crying.

Tears unrelated to pain or sadness are more difficult to explain anyway, aren’t they? Why do I cry when something strikes my “happy chords” just as easily or as much as when I feel hurt or just plain sad? Of course, curious minds turn to Google. As I researched this question I learned another tid-bit that I could link to my most recent embarrassing cry. This week as I attended (and cried at) Raleigh’s special version of “A Christmas Carol”, I noticed that my right eye cried first. I have since read that when the first tear comes from one’s right eye, it allegedly signals happiness while a first drop from the left eye signals sadness.

For reader-friends who share in my curiosity, it seems that we don’t really know the answers, but we can comfortably relate to some of the facts about tears. Tears are, in general, in three distinct categories: basal, reflex, or emotional. Basal tears simply keep our eyes moist. Reflex tears respond to environmental stimuli such as onions. Emotional tears are the most peculiarly human type – although there is some debate about whether chimps cry emotional tears or not.

Apparently, there has been some “research” (I only add quotes because I did not read the study but only a brief description of the results and do not know how scientific it actually was) to determine if there is a chemical difference between sad tears and happy tears. For the sake of brevity, suffice it to say that happy tears consist of brine and not much else, while sad tears contain hormones and chemicals that are toxic in the body and thereby can be understood as a physical mechanism for protecting the body from negative emotions and their nasty chemical by-products! Others argue that all tears are the same and that so-called “happy tears” are in truth a stress-relief response from built-up negative emotions such as fear or worry.

So, my Googling expedition didn’t really satisfy all of my curiosity, as is typically the case. We can know some of the things that define our humanity, but so much is still speculative. There is a piece of this puzzle, though, that seems to be a pretty solid observation: our tears communicate. They communicate the content of our hearts – what we acknowledge and what we hide. Tears bind us in compassion for one another as we are made vulnerable by their revelation. Tears are a spectacular part of our design!

Tears not only bind us together as people in community, but they serve to bind us in the sense of binding a wound to promote healing. I remember during the years when reaching the milestone age of 100 was just becoming commonplace, centenarians were asked for their secret to longevity. I don’t remember any of them ever attributing their long life to lots of good cries, but I’m betting they shed their share of tears.

I suspect we all have times when we feel embarrassed by our tears. Even my very-young son has sensed the cultural pressure that boys should not cry. I say that notion is hogwash, by the way, and I urge my sons to cry when they feel the need to drain their eyes. Jesus cried, after all: “Jesus wept.” John 11:35. Perhaps we should all just embrace our very human tears and keep the tissues handy at all times, because you never know when you’ll need one, or when you’ll have an opportunity to offer one to a neighbor!
*“Jesus Wept” is a life-size, original clay sculpture by Mike Scovel.

Over the hill and still climbing!

Perhaps the “hill” has a new summit age now that 50 is the “new 40”, 40 is the “new 30”, etc. Either way, I’m pretty sure I’m considered over it these days, at least by folks younger than I.

The thing I’m noticing, though, is that life doesn’t feel like a downhill slope – and for that, I am grateful and utterly encouraged! As a matter of fact, life still feels very much like an ongoing upward climb. At the moment, it feels like one of those climbs that goes from shelf to shelf. You know, you climb for a while, then take a short, level rest to catch your breath, then start climbing some more.

The most curious thing about climbing is that most of the time, you can’t see the top. You may see glimpses of the top – just enough to stay encouraged – but you never know precisely how the top is going to look or feel once you get there.

If I think too long or too hard about the climbing metaphor, I remember my first experience at rappelling. I attended a “summer enrichment” camp. Rock climbing and rappelling was one of our excursions. I don’t remember the climb, but I remember that after I reached the top and was asked to begin the descent, my knees were shaking uncontrollably – so much so that it took me a while to get myself back together well enough to be able to make the trip back down.

That’s what trauma does. It robs you of your memory of the beautiful climb. I’m sure the climb was exhilarating! I’m also sure that, if I had been aware that I would be gripped by fear and amnesia-by-trauma, I would have processed the trip up in some intentional way that would have allowed me to retain my good memories.

Since those days of youth, long ago and mostly forgotten, I have climbed many mountains, up and down. (Not real ones, mind you. Metaphoric ones. I do like to hike, but I believe my rappelling experience cured me of any notion that I might one day grow up to be a rock climber.) I must confess that I remember the more traumatic times more vividly than I remember the beautiful and peaceful times.

Now that I’m “over the hill”, or at least close to it, I think God is giving me a new gift: the gift of remembering the good. For this next phase of my life, I will remember what was traumatic only to the point of reflecting on what I’ve learned from it and seeing the love that brought me down to safer ground. I will be intentional about recognizing and remembering the beauty of each person and each day. Oh, what memories I will have!

My wish for you this Christmas Season is this gift of recognizing and remembering the beauty in your own life. Oh, what beautiful scenery we will see as we climb, each to our unseen mountain-tops!

The Art of Choosing

We are all faced with choices every day. Some are more critical than others: black suit or brown suit, salad or combo #5, answer “yes” or “no” to a new job offer, get up early for exercise and devotion or sleep in for those few extra minutes . . .

As a very young woman, I decided that I wanted to move away from North Carolina and everything I knew here to pursue my musical interests. I gave myself three choices: LA, Boston, or Minneapolis. Each of those three had its own special attractiveness. My method of choosing was a bit reckless for the implications, but I remember throwing a dart at a map to see which city would be my destination and my new home. I had no idea the day I made that choice how much my life would change based on that particular decision.

I suppose we never really know how life-changing our decisions can be. We do know, however, when life begins to feel out of control. Sometimes that happens through no fault of our own, but other times we feel that way after we’ve made some bad choices. I don’t think we ever set out to make a bad choice, but if that happens too often, we lose confidence in ourselves as competent agents for our own life decisions. We may lose hope for a good life regardless of what we do because we’ve created such a difficult “bed to lie in.” And then we decide to stop making importance choices. We might decide to just keep things exactly the way they are, hoping that this approach might make it possible that, at the very least, things will not get any worse.

The thing about the no-choice approach is that it really is a choice . . . but, once again, it isn’t a very good one. I have made several very good choices in my life that turned out to be of critical importance. I have plenty of experience with difficult outcomes from risky choices, too. I found it necessary after those times to spend some time regrouping, whatever that might mean in the situation. But soon the day always comes when I know I must make another big decision.

While I understand now how important it is to choose well, I also understand that some of the decisions I have made that may seem to be the most unwise are the choices that have brought me through trials that taught me the most about God, about myself, and about others. When we place our faith in God and then make our choices with confidence that God will redeem our perceived failures, then we have the advantage of choosing based on faith instead of basing our choices on fear. And after we carve away our fear and make our choices based on God’s redeeming love for us, then the sculpture of our life becomes more and more unique, more and more beautiful. Even the scars that might have defined us take on an intentional, artistic quality in the light of God’s faithfulness.

“Trust in the LORD with all your heart, and do not rely on your own insight.” (Proverbs 3:5, NRSV)