Processes.

My very dear friend, Eliza, got married this weekend.
Wow. It was lovely. She looked like a goddess.
It was a beautiful, exhausting, blessed weekend.
Very good friends from, literally, all over the world, flew in and made it just a capital time.

 

 

And then it was my birthday :)

 

~~~~

You know, it’s interesting. Eliza and her new hubby have known each other for years. They became doctors together. Took classes together, studied together. Yet, for the first number of years they weren’t together. There might have been a little crush here and a while later a little crush there. But no. They were just friends. Classmates. Study buddies.

And then one day I got a phone call. “Um…..so, we’re dating,” she said to me.

“Excuse me, what?! When did this happen? Because last week it hadn’t happened….”
And that was it.
All those years of being friends, of seeing the other person interact with people, with stress, etc. paid off. The timing was finally right. From that point on they were together (and now till death parts them…)

So in thinking of all this as I was there sharing her joy, the thought occurred to me, “Well, why all the hassle? Why all the years? Why all those conversations we would have of ‘I don’t know! I think he might like me but then he never does anything!!’?”

Why is it that God made them go through those years? The wondering, the confusion, the emotional roller coasters? Why doesn’t God just say to you upon meeting a person, “This is the one you will marry, the church is open this Saturday, don’t waste any time in getting this show on the road”?
It’s not as if God doesn’t know how this is all going to unfold, how it is all going to end. That’s not why he withholds information.

I can’t help but think, then, that God must be more interested in the process. Not so much the end result the way we pine for the end result, for surely he has good reasons to do the things he does. I mean, think about it: For those of us who are Believers in Jesus, we know and he knows where our final end result is. That’s settled, secured, so that’s not what all this fuss is about. All this wondering, all this confusion, all this going back and forth doesn’t determine a destination, but I think it is doing something.

It’s got to be the process.

I think that is where God is concerned. If he wasn’t concerned with that, and he just wanted us to get from point A to point B, Eliza would have been married to her man 4 years ago.

But what if that had happened? And what if there was no process, just end results? Then I fear we all would be un-grown, immature Christians. Because it’s not results that change us; it’s the getting there. It has to be, or else this wouldn’t be the situation we find ourselves in.

I relish great comfort in knowing that God is the Alpha and the Omega; the first and last; the beginning and the end. I find confidence in knowing that he started me and he will finish me.

But those are bullet points, aren’t they? What about all of this middle ground where really my whole life is lived? What about God “in the middle”?

My mind is calmed to know that he is there, too, convincing me more and more that God loves this process, even if I hate it. Like any great artist, he loves the craft, not just the product.

Jehovah Mekoddishkem.

That’s the name he gives himself for why there is a middle; for why he is more than Alpha and Omega.
Jehovah Mekoddishkem: “I am the LORD, who makes you holy.” (Exodus 31:13, Leviticus 20:8). It says that Jehovah means “to become known,” denoting that God reveals himself unceasingly. And how does he reveal himself? Mekoddishkem. By setting us apart, by making us holy. It’s in the process that we see him.

I think it’s as simple as that. There is a middle, there is more than a beginning, more than an end, because the middle is what makes us holy.  

It’s in the struggle, in the praying, in the believing, in the wondering, in the confusion, in releasing our control, that’s what births holiness, that births sight of the One who reveals himself.
The process.

You know, it took a lot to make Eliza a bride.

Like four years.
I think she would agree with me when I say that four years ago, when she met her man, she wouldn’t have been ready to be his wife. She had to go through some things, she needed to be molded a little more, needed to grow a little more. Might I use the phrase “She needed to be processed”?
Four years ago she wouldn’t have been ready for this result, but this weekend she was. All that praying, all that believing, all that confusion and wondering…it all made sense this weekend. It was all worth it this weekend. This weekend it was a beautiful thing.

Processes, Wolfies. This is where the holiness happens, where the getting ready happens, where Jesus makes his bride ready.

~~~

This song, which was sung at Eliza’s wedding, speaks brilliantly of life in the middle.

And now I can’t stop listening to it!
Your Love is Strong

Universal.

The Pacific Northwest is to blame. If it had not been for me spending an entire summer out there I would never be having the issues I am having right now.

What in the world am I talking about, you wonder?

An identity crisis. That’s right. I think I am in the middle of one. I look in the mirror and go, “Who in the world are you?”

Let me just say this before I really dive in: Yes, I understand that I should have had this revelation more than a decade ago.

It all started, as I said, last summer out west. For whatever reason, the company I kept while out there was—adventurous. And maybe the better word is dumb, because sometimes I was thinking to myself that what they were doing was not wise.

See, they all had this fascination with jumping off stuff. Big stuff. Cliffs, bridges, boulders. And jumping into water. Water which they probably hadn’t personally tested, they had just been told that said cliff was safe to jump off. So they did.

Now, I have told you all about my big jumps before, so as I like to say, all of the hijinks of last summer were “Not my first rodeo,” yet, there was this feeling that came over me unlike any other I had really ever had.

I think we shall call it FEAR. To a certain extent. But then not.

After a jump in Switzerland.

Let me back up. At one point last summer a group of us were in Utah…at a lake…with cliffs and boulders again, so what were we doing?. Jumping off them, naturally. Well, some of us were.

After a jump, no doubt.

There was this one girl, maybe 14 years old, who was terrified. She kept standing at the edge of this boulder, probably only 20 feet above the water, ready to take the plunge, then not ready. Ready, then not ready. For probably a half hour.
Our group, being very supportive, kept encouraging her, “Come on! You’ll love it!” “It’s not that high!” “You standing there is scarier than you jumping!” I am sure I was saying similar things…after all…I have done the big jumps before; I know what it’s like! But at one point, in rebuttal to a “You will feel so awesome about yourself after you do this!” a boy, an honest boy of 17 said, “No. You won’t feel any greater satisfaction about your life after you do this.”

I died laughing at his dry sense of humor.

Yet, for the first time in my life I realized that what he said was, about me, true.

Wait. What?! Did I not find adrenaline rushes due to falling from great heights really a boost to my satisfaction in life?!?!

Some of you might be confused at this point. So was I.

Here is the deal: Never before in my entire life had I ever thought that there might be an activity that I didn’t particularly gain personal satisfaction from doing. That I didn’t like more than another.

Like jumping off cliffs.
Or bridges.
Or boulders.

Oh sure, there were some activities I knew I preferred, but…no. Never that there were some I simply did not like at all. Because up until that point I—get this—literally thought that I was interested in, game for, or fond of—anything. Everything, actually.

I thought I pretty well liked all activities. Thought there was nothing I would say, “No thanks, I don’t get any great satisfaction about my life by doing that. I’ll pass.”

Ha. Go ahead. Have a good laugh. I have had enough good cries about it, so it would be refreshing to have at least one of us laughing at me.

: )

Yep. That’s right. I told you I should have had this revelation decades ago. Like at the age of 4 when I was realizing that I hate socks that slouch down around my ankles. That would have been a good time to understand this fact.

But alas. No. This was slotted for me to come when I was well into adulthood apparently.

How could I have possibly lived my life like this?! Trust me, it was not for lack of experiences. No. I have had every experience, my friends say. Was it a denial? Was it a lack of evaluative thought?

I have no idea.
I just know that I thought I liked everything.

Oh. And there is one more thing I failed to mention.

As I was standing on that boulder (I made that jump, btw. No big deal {but also no big satisfaction—aha!}), I was beginning to feel an anxiousness. A “What if something goes wrong on this jump?” kind of thought. Then, a few weeks later I felt this in full force as I watched my brother and some of his friends jumping off this ridiculous bridge. “Do you want to jump, B?” they asked. “No,” was my instant reply. It would seem, Wolfies, that I was terrified.

Which is obnoxious. I don’t get scared!

Or do I?

This thought had also never crossed my mind before.

This is when the agony of my identity crisis really started. “Am I----could it be true----no. Wait? Am I—not—FEARLESS?”

But I thought I was fearless.

I have travelled the world by myself for YEARS, never once afraid (well there was that one time in Rome when I thought I was being kidnapped, but that’s another story for another time), never once thinking I couldn’t do what needed to be done, talk or run my way out of any situation, etc etc etc.

I was fearless. Or so I had always thought. Because, well, much like how I always thought I like to do everything, here is the kicker: I also thought I WAS everything.

Yes. I admit. I thought I possessed every desirable character trait (I had never much desired to be sweet or mild mannered, so it didn’t bother me that I wasn’t those : ) ).  Smart, resourceful, funny, adventurous, creative. I figured the list went on forever. I thought I liked everything, was good at everything, WAS everything. In short, I thought I was The Universal Woman. Appealed to every—thing. Everyone.

But now I was having serious doubts. If I am not fearless—which I always thought I was—were there other things I might in fact NOT be?
Surely not, I thought.

I have come to find out, though, that surely YES is the more correct answer.

I was talking to my friend about this and she said, “But B! That’s ridiculous! You are the most fearless person I have ever met!” to which, at that point I truthfully had to admit, “No, I am only fearless about the things I am not afraid of…” I was coming to find out even that was not an endless range. There were in fact things I was afraid of. There were in fact desirable character traits that I did not possess.
My mind was blown.
There were things that I did not like to do. There were things that I was not.

What a shock to my system. I wish I was kidding. This winter I think I walked around in a cloud for about 4 months wondering for the life of me, “Well, if I am not The Universal Woman, who in the world am I, and how does this woman live?”

The funny thing is that nothing about me actually changed. I didn’t lose any talents, abilities, experiences, or crazy curly hair {praise the Lord for that!}. My perception was the only thing that changed, which come to find out, is all there really is to life. How you perceive things becomes your reality, whether it is true or not.

In all of my wrestling with God about this, I have come to the conclusion that there can only be one good reason for this to be true: He apparently doesn't need me to be The Universal Woman. What else could the answer be!? If he needed me to be everything, he would have made me to be everything.

Don’t be alarmed. Jesus is helping me figure it out. God is good. Universal Woman or not, Jesus still freed me from my sin, so that’s great! Ha. And he has been really good to bring situations and experiences into my path to start illuminating who I might be—and who I most certainly am not (a list, which, I hate to admit, seems get longer by the day).

Anywho. In spite of my ill-feelings about this, there is one thing I have come to accept: God does not make mistakes, he makes just what he wants. And if how he has made me (and is constantly making me) is how he wants me, then I need to REALLY be whatever it is he created me to be. Since I am not everything, I feel as if it is my overwhelming responsibility to be wholeheartedly whatever it is I am. None of this in-the-middle-of-the-road kind of stuff. No, if there is something God has left in tact post-salvation, I am going to assume he needs me to REALLY play that role in his kingdom.

So I will.
With REALLY big curly hair and all.  

Freshen Up.

I was back in my old stomping grounds over the weekend, staying with the dearest Al and Ella, buzzing around with Eliza (who is getting married!), doing a bridal shower for her, seeing some of my besties.
A good weekend.
A busy weekend.
Full of those I love, doing things I love to do.

Which is why it’s always so curious to me when I find myself in these types of situations I still sometimes feel the need to take a breather.

And it’s not as if it’s because I was with these people. Not at all. It’s when I am with any people—and I don’t care how much I love them.

When I got there the first night we were going to head out to dinner, but before we did I felt the need to “freshen up” a bit. You know—powder my nose, re-do my hair. I had to make myself more presentable to not only the world, but to myself (how ridiculous I must be).
But see, here is what I know about me: if my hair is all out of whack, I am all out of whack because all I can think about is my whacked out hair. So things like this just need to be hair-sprayed immediately and forgotten about. That’s my motto.

I should not be surprised then when I find that my spirit needs to be “freshened up” a bit on weekends like this. Just like my hair and how I have no idea where the loose ends come from, sometimes I feel like my soul has a couple wrinkles that need to get ironed out. And I can’t think of anything else until they do.

Do you know what I am talking about? When out of nowhere you are like, “Oh my gosh, why am I not patient right now?” or “Goodness sakes, this shouldn’t be making me anxious!” and it all just needs to be righted. Your soul needs a bit of a breather. Not a total makeover, not a re-do, it simply needs to be freshened up; the loose ends need to be brought in.

For me, I have found, it doesn’t take much. 5 minutes maybe. A few words from Scripture to bring me back to center, a prayer with my eyes closed to remind me who is in charge and who has got it all under control.

“Your word, Lord, is eternal; it stands firm in the heavens. Your faithfulness continues through all generations; you established the earth, and it endures. Your laws endure to this day, for all things serve you.  If your law had not been my delight, I would have perished in my affliction. I will never forget your precepts, for by them you have preserved my life. Save me, for I am yours; I have sought out your precepts.” Psalm 119:89-94

Don’t get me wrong, there are definitely times when my heart needs a whole makeover. And let’s be honest, sometimes I need one like 4 days a week. But in those situations like what I described, full of all kinds of comings and goings, don’t forget to bring Jesus into your rush. He is the only cure for a hurried heart, an anxious spirit, and a harried day; the only way to freshen up your soul.

~~~

Ella's gardens.

Love my friends :)

The Pirate Queen.

I felt REALLY royal drinking out of this.

All the pretty horses on my bike ride tonight.

Nothing.

It’s the classic story. Christians and pagans alike know it.
Jesus feeds 5,000+ people out of…..nothing.
{Mark 6:30-44}

I don’t want it to be trite in my heart.

There is one thought about this story, though, that I have never had before:
Jesus was thankful for nothing.

No. Not like a “Thanks for nothing, you jerk” kind of thanks-for-nothing, but a, “God, right now you have decided to give us relatively nothing; thank you for that.”

“Taking the five loaves and two fish {NOTHING in comparison to the crowd} and looking up to heaven, he gave thanks and broke the loaves….” (verse 41a).

Seriously.

So that’s my thought for the day. Do you ever feel as if God has given you nothing to work with? Do you feel like there is “nothing” happening, “nothing” is working?

Then thank him for it.
I don’t know how this whole thankfulness thing works, but Jesus thanked God for the nothing.
Which means I probably should, too.
~~~

Seas.

For the last 4 days, if I have been in my house, I have listened to exactly ONE song.
Over and over again.
On repeat for 4 days.
It’s not a Christian song. It’s by my probably favorite artist. It’s from The Great Gatsby.

 

I was in a wedding this weekend and had to play piano in it. Naturally, then, days before the wedding all I did was play that song on the piano. Over and over again. Listen, I’ve played piano for almost 19 years, but….um…haven’t consistently practiced in, let’s say…..6 years. So I needed a little work.

Therefore, when I heard that song from Gatsby, there was a line in it that caught my attention, particularly due to the timely application of my life.

I had just had this fantastic devotion time where my soul (and maybe I admit my eyes) shed a few tears over the indelible love of Christ.

The line, then, that sliced me right through is this:

“And I’ll sing from the piano, tear my yellow dress, and cry and cry and cry over the love of you.”

 

And while yellow is not my color so I therefore never hardly wear it, I found myself singing from the piano, crying and crying and crying, belting out who knows what over the love of him.

See, there is another line in the song that fueled said piano session that also went acutely right with my devotions:

                “Because you’re a hard soul to save with an ocean in the way, but I’ll get around it.”

Do you ever feel like that? That you’re a hard soul to save with an ocean in the way?

I do. One thing I find myself praying over and over again is for softness. A softness of heart towards Christ, a softness of heart towards those who need kind words, and softness in my relationships. Being sharp is easy for me. Softness requires Christ.
I pray against bitterness—which is a hardening of your heart—the opposite of softness. Bitterness makes you like a rock. Unlovely.

Even as I type that I realize it is probably a harsh thing to say.

But I say it to myself, too.
Because I don’t want to create an ocean for the Lord to get around. And yes, I realize we are all putty in God’s hands and he can mold us into whatever and ocean or not he can get through just as easy, but I don’t want to add more issues to my list for him to clear away, you know? He doesn’t need another ocean to bridge.

I think that devotion touched me so because I could easily imagine myself in the shoes of the character in the story.

Mark 5:27-32. “When she heard about Jesus, she came up behind him in the crowd and touched his cloak, because she thought, ‘If I just touch his clothes, I will be healed.’ Immediately her bleeding stopped and she felt in her body that she was freed from her suffering. At once Jesus realized that power had gone out from him. He turned around in the crowd and asked, ‘Who touched my clothes?’

‘You see the people crowding against  you,’ his disciples answered, ‘and yet you can ask, “Who touched me?”’ But Jesus kept looking around to see who had done it."

I think the crying started then.

This lady had had her issue for 12 years.

That’s more than a decade, kids. That’s a long time.
And in that day she would have had to live outside of the city. People wouldn’t have been able to live by her, talk to her, socialize with her, touch her.
She was alone.
People would cross the street when she came near. They would turn away so as not to look.
She was unclean.

She hadn’t been “seen” in 12 years.

Have you ever felt unseen?
I can only imagine that there is probably a difference between feeling unseen (which I guarantee all of us women have felt) and actually BEING unseen.
No doubt in my mind she knew both of those.
Knew both of those as if it was another issue she needed healing from. Another death she lived in.

I won’t feign that I know her trauma. But I try to understand.

Already in tears over her, my crying continues as I see his response.

Imagine: Here she was; desperate.
She wasn’t looking for a show, she didn’t need other people to know she had gone to him. She didn’t even need him to know.
After all, he wouldn’t want to know her, touch her, heal her anyway.
Right?
Wasn’t he like all the others? Wouldn’t he condemn her too?
So in her agony she finds the crowd. Blends in so as not to be seen. Maybe she had even concealed her identity so she could get close enough without causing a stir.
It was going to be easy. A touch and run.

She fades into the masses and finally gets close enough. “If I can just touch his clothes….” She thinks.

She reaches out.

Whoa.

Immediate freedom.

No longer unclean.

No longer an outcast.

No longer necessary to remain unseen.

And then, in classic Jesus form, as she is no doubt walking away, he turns around.

“Who touched me?”
He wants to know.
His eyes scan the crowd.
His disciples think he has gone crazy.
“There are all kinds of people around! You think someone actually touched you? No way, man,” they say to him.
But see, here is the difference that Jesus knows about the world: There are people who reach for him, and there are people who just bump into him, lay claim to him, grab at him, vie for his attention, for his power.

People who need their death healed reach. People who want his power grab.

She was reaching; she needed him to heal her in her darkest areas, her area of shame, exile.

But then we see how Jesus is different than all the others:

He turns, looking for her; he wants to see her.
He was not angry that the “power had gone out” from him. HE JUST WANTED TO SEE HER.
Because he doesn’t believe in mass healings, he doesn’t believe in nameless faces.

Jesus is about individual encounters and the healing of personal problems. Even the ones nobody else dares to look at. The wars that wage in our minds, souls, and bodies do not shock him or make him run.

They make him coming running after us.

Knowing her new reality of healing, yet still thinking in a castaway mindset, she turns herself in. She goes to Jesus, “trembling with fear” and throws herself at his feet (verse 33).

And what does she get?

Softness.

“Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace and be freed from your suffering.”

Whoa. He didn’t take it back. He didn’t say, “Get away from me, you scum of the earth; how dare you make me unclean!” which, doubtless, is what she was expecting: you don’t tremble with fear when you are expecting to hear niceties.

But no. “You can keep it. Freedom and peace, it’s mine and now I give it to you.”
That’s what he says.

That’s what he says to you, too, Wolfies.

And what else could you possibly want? Freedom. Peace. With God and with mankind.

I guess I cried and cried and cried at the piano because, well, I know it. I know what it’s like for Jesus to come into those messyplaces of my life and say, “I’ve come to give you freedom—freedom you can keep.”

There is a picture I saw on a blog once and the phrase in the picture popped into my head as I was contemplating this passage. I saved it to my computer thinking that if I ever were to get married I would paint this somewhere in our house.

But now, well, now I think it has another meaning because, really, isn’t this what Jesus did to her?
Isn’t this what he does to us? When he gets around our oceans, when he looks to see who reached out to him? When he sees us, even when nobody else sees us?