An Acceptable Time

I should probably be waiting a little time to write this post, but I want this to be as fresh as possible. In the Career Counseling class I just got out of, we participated in guided imagery in which we were asked to imagine ourselves at the bottom of a staircase. We noticed what our surroundings were, what the staircase looked like, and how long the staircase was. We then "climbed" each step. As we imagined this, we were asked to imagine that each step was a year. One step up, one year gone. By the time we reached the top, we were ten years into our future. Before us was a door. We looked at the door and took note of what color it was and what it was made of. 

Up to this point, I was fairly relaxed. My stairs were a well-polished oak with thick and just-so-slightly stylized rails. But where was my staircase? IN SPACE. I wasn't anywhere, I was just in space. There weren't planets or anything around me. It was just black with faint, sparkling stars all around in the distance. There was nothing behind or below me. And at the top of the staircase? Well, that was the worst part.

As I imagined myself climbing up the years of my life, my mental image of what each year looked like became more and more vague. My breathing grew quicker and more shallow. I knew that I had no idea what I would find at the top. After we finally "opened" the door, we were asked to look around and describe the room we were in. My thoughts were increasingly leaning toward, "I'm doing this completely wrong. There is definitely a malfunction in my brain. What is wrong with me?"

Because when I opened the red, wooden door to see what my life would look like in ten years this is what I saw:

NOTHING

It was horrifying. There was only blackness. It was emptier than the space I had just been surrounded by. We looked at this image for several minutes. In that time, nothing solidified. The few glimpses of images I did catch were just that - glimpses. Nothing certain. Nothing whole.

As we closed the door and came back down the staircase and back into reality, I came out of the exercise not "calm and pleasant" as the exercise prompted, but shaken. Very. Thoroughly. Shaken.

Here I am, getting my master's degree so I can help students find their paths and I have no future. There's nothing at the top of my staircase.

We were asked to draw a picture of what we saw behind our door. I could only draw myself with a compass that pointed nowhere and several roads laid out in front of me. One led to a college setting where my current trajectory most naturally is pointing. One led abroad to an undisclosed location where I would be doing goodness knows what. The other path led to a giant purple question mark. It was the most honest road and certainly the most frightening.

I had to carefully consider what this meant for me. As my classmates discussed who was with them on their staircase, I thought about my alone-ness. As they talked about the decor of their room behind the door, I thought about that empty chasm that made me physically tremble.

I had no answers. I'm supposed to know what my life will be like in 10 years - at least somewhat, right? But I didn't see a single solid thing. So, I asked God. I was afraid and I turned to my Creator, pleading for some peace. And what I got back was:

"In an acceptable time."

I was desperate to know what was at the top of my staircase. Over an hour later, it still makes me shake to think of that absolute void I gazed into behind the red wooden door. But what I heard in my heart from the One who made me was that all things would be clear in an acceptable time. 

This is surely not the first nor will it be the last time that I will have a question with no answer. But Jesus never answered a question without love for the asker. Yes, he often would turn the question around on that person because they had some ulterior motive for asking or he would tell a story and let that person come to the answer on his or her own terms. Today was a time in which I got a simple, straightforward but still hard to swallow answer. The one that I have already talked about and constantly struggle with when it comes to myself and my life. 

Wait. 

All will be clear in an acceptable time.

Not in 15 minutes. 

           Not in a week. 

                 Not in a month.

 But when I am ready to accept the answer, I will know the answer. So, although it is not natural or easy, I am trusting my Creator. I will take one step at a time. Not a step that spans one year, but a step that spans one breath. That's all I can do.

There's nothing at the top of my staircase - AND THAT'S OKAY. It doesn't mean that I have no future. It doesn't mean that I have no purpose. It just means that I simply don't know yet. Not knowing is incredibly scary, but in the darkness of the valley of doubt and fear, I know that I am taken care of by the One who is making all things work for my good.

For further listening:

Sparrow & O My Soul - Audrey Asaad

Please Be My Strength - Gungor

Doubting Thomas - Nickel Creek

I'm Getting Ready - Michael Kiwanuka

Retreat

I can feel myself needing one. Needing a retreat. I've always thought that was a strange term. We don't usually like to imagine ourselves "retreating." It sounds an awful lot like giving up and surrendering. But it's also not a pleasure cruise. Jesus didn't walk into the desert to redeem a gift card for a 40-day spa and hot rock massage get-away. Recently baptized and 'full of the spirit,' he ate nothing and was tempted by the devil the whole time. Not much of a vacation.

Let's be honest, this little creature is not about to go wandering into the desert (or to Gulf Coast, since that's about as close as I can get to the desert) and go 40 days without eating. Then again, I ain't Jesus. But we are called to be like him. I'm giving up the things that keep me from fully loving God, myself, and others. Not all at once, of course, but I am making an effort. Like what they say about eating an elephant (or like eating a 6-foot cucumber, since I don't eat meat) - you do it one bite at a time.

I'm chipping away at the little bricks that I've laid around my heart in an effort to use this Lent as a withdrawal not from the world, but from what the bad things in this world have led to in my life. I'm reassessing the defenses I've formed against future attacks of pain, loss, guilt, and regret. But even in the midst of Lent, I find myself getting lost in the work of Lent and not spending enough time processing it all.

I need a break from the noise spinning around the Lenten bubble I'm living in right now. I have made real changes in my daily life, but there's always that nagging routine.

Eat, work, class, eat, meeting, study, eat, sleep (optional). 

Repeat at least 5 times weekly for best results.

That's why I am starting to believe more and more in the power of meditative prayer. The whole reason I'm focusing my efforts this Lent on processing the things I've ignored is because I never have before. I can't risk falling back into that habit. To power a change in lifestyle I have to change my daily process. I'm building upon my new routines day by day. And now, I'm feeling the strain. It's not the strain of Lent itself, it's the strain from the friction between my outgoing habits and the incoming new ones.

It's the kind of thing that makes me want to go all Into the Wild on my life. Not that I don't think I'd look amazing with a sunburn and a beard, but I don't need that much of a retreat. I just need a breath. A time to sit still and re-synchronize my spirit with the quiet Voice that calls me along. The thing is, I honestly don't have time to just pause everything for a weekend. I literally won't be free until April. I'm going to have to find a way to create a mini-retreat for myself right here in the space I'm already in. 

I think it's just another lesson that this Lent is teaching me. I can't always rely on there being a natural ebb to my daily business. Sometimes, to take time away you've got to fight for it and create it.

How is your Lent (or just your life) going? How do you find/make the time to retreat and be still?

For further listening:

Presence of the Lord - Lizz Wright

Cold is the Night - The Oh Hello's

To Be Alone with You - Sufjan Stevens

Handle With Care

I was thinking about the points I made in my last post about what I want to focus on for Lent this year. This is what happened. I guess I needed it. As my much more eloquent friend, Virginia, put it:

"Though I already know my weaknesses, writing them down makes them more concrete and real."

Her post is beautifully honest and it inspired me to finally write down some of the things I can't bring myself to say or acknowledge most of the time. I guess I was due for a poem. It's not the best piece of poetry ever written. It isn't cleaned up or carefully crafted. It's just what was in my head. I hope you don't mind my sharing.

*   *   *   *   *   *

Handle with Care

Love is patient and love is kind 

and I try to look like love to everyone I meet,

but if love keeps no record of wrongs then

I don't see that love in me.

I despise myself for being weak.

I despise myself for every fault.

I despise myself for the things that I've done.

I despise myself most for feeling this way at all.

Friends console me and tell me it's not true.

It's just something that every creature works out.

But ears that can't hear love certainly won't hear the truth.

And while I struggle against my ropes, I drive the stakes further into the ground.

More often than not, I refer instead, 

with a nod, to the crosses I bear and

the marks they have left - like a rubber stamp

on my heart that reads: HANDLE WITH CARE.

I am begging for the grace that I so easily give away

but I forgive myself half as often as I fail.

Please, come break me and draw out the poison.

Remind me that hate is a veil.

I need You to remake me and re-create me

and teach me to love what I should,

so that when I behold your creation I can look on it

and say, at last, "It is good."

Laid Bare

The Lenten devotional companion I'm reading was based on John 8:3-11 yesterday. It's the story of Jesus stopping the crowd from stoning a woman charged with adultery. There is plenty to say about this story, but mostly it just made me think about how often I tend to throw stones during Lent. I usually keep them to myself but I know that even thinking negative things about others ends up affecting how I act.

It's so easy to point out what I think other people should do in observation of Lent. I can list off what takes up time in others' lives or what their bad habits are. However, when it comes to picking out what fat I need to cut from my life, I always end up making a last-minute decision that I barely remember.

This year, I'm trying to look at things differently. I was talking to my friend about it the other day. The conversation went at such:

                      Me: I always forget to do a self-assessment before Ash Wednesday.
                      Friend: You still can.
                      Me: Yeah, but I always get to Ash Wednesday and go, "Oh yeah, it's Lent now...I should      
                      figure something out."
                      Friend: Hahaha, I completely understand. For me though, a self-assessment happens
                      throughout the year. I notice how I have changed and developed and how that has
                      created my identity. It's progressive for me.

Her words really got me thinking about the purpose of Lent in general and for me. It's not just about taking a break then diving right back into my former life. And it's definitely not about pointing out the speck in my neighbor's eye. It should be transformational and meaningful and personal. Lent is important like any holiday or season because it serves as a reminder to be intentional about our own growth. This year, I've felt God pleading with me to drop my guard. In the Sunday before Lent, my pastor reminded us that Lent is a time to "lay bare" all the things that we are ashamed and afraid of. I used to think that I needed to have all this done before Lent so that I would know what to focus on during my 40 days in the desert.

This year, the laying bare is the focus of my journey. Not always can I be certain of what I want the outcome to be. But I know for sure that if I stick to my purpose of completely revealing my heart to my Creator, to those I love, and (maybe most importantly) to myself, I will be changed. There is no doubt about that.

How does it feel so far? It's horrifying. BUT it's also extraordinarily liberating. These are some of the things I am doing/taking into consideration this Lent in order to be laid bare by the desert:

1. Self-talk - I tend to have very negative self-talk and I know what a great evil that can be in one's life. My first step is to recognize it when it happens. My final outcome will hopefully be to greatly diminish or completely eradicate it's control of my thoughts and self-esteem. I will dare to love myself.

2. What I give my time, energy, and money to - I have cut down the time I'm allowing myself on social media. Mostly, this pertains to Facebook for me. I am not an addict, but there are times that I get on and just look at the screen like you look into the pantry even when you're not hungry. I also want to allocate that time to things I wish I had time for like reading, songwriting, fishing, and praying. You are what you do. I'm also cutting down on how often I eat out to twice a month. I have a tuition to pay, after all. Foregoing my trip to that Mexican restaurant will not kill me.

3. Opening up - Some of the steps going into this are going to be more personal endeavors than I'm willing to share in detail here. But just having this blog is a huge part of my commitment to sharing my thoughts. Often my excuse is that what I'm feeling and thinking and doing are not worth sharing (See #1). I'm changing that.

4. Seeking God - Again, this is not something I only want to do for 40 days. As my friend so wisely said, it should progressive. Therefore, I am using this Lenten season to immerse myself more deeply in God's Word and in things that help me understand myself, my beliefs, and my purpose. My hope is that this will help reset my mental and spiritual appetite. Instead of craving the junk food of unchallenging and unnecessary information, I'm focusing on the essentials.

My (slightly inappropriate) motivating quote for this Lenten undertaking comes from the great philosopher, wood-worker, and carnivore, Ron Swanson:

Never half-ass two things. Whole-ass one thing.

Until next time, be kind to each creature.

Ash Wednesday

Growing up Catholic, Ash Wednesday and the season of Lent have always meant a lot to me. Today, I didn't go to a morning service to receive my ashes. I'm hoping to do this by the end of the day. Part of the reason is to more or less check it off my "Lent task-list." However, a newer and deeper part of me knows the meaning of it and I want to commit to this season of Lent by starting it off with this important sign. As Preston Yancey shared today on A Deeper Story:

"These ashes aren't magic. These ashes are a sign. A sign, like baptism, that it is time to go into the desert."

As my pastor was talking to my friends and I last Sunday, we likened Ash Wednesday and Lent to what Gandalf called, "The deep breath before the plunge." Unlike a final battle for all of Middle-earth, our plunge is into the celebration of Easter and the overwhelming triumph of Life and Love.

I hope that even if you are foregoing a formal Ash Wednesday service, you are in some way preparing your spirit for the "deep breath" and the trip "into the desert." My slow inhale is just starting. As usual, I let the season sneak up on me and now I'm running around my brain trying to organize the things I will take on and give up for this Lent. It seems to get harder every year. But at the same time, it is more meaningful when I stick to it. As my roommate says, sometimes we have to go to an opposite extreme of our normal routine to find that middle ground. 

It's how we balance out being actively in the world without being of the world.

This season, I'm aiming to shed some of my worldly weight and do some thorough housekeeping of my soul. I'm going to take the opportunity to let the desert teach me about necessity, fear, and freedom. The kind of freedom you can only get when you truly give yourself over to Love. I'm going to let it lay me bare. I want to talk more about that later. For now, I hope you all have a blessed Ash Wednesday.

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What do you think about Lent? What does it mean to you? Are you giving up/taking on anything really bizarre or difficult this year?

The Hamster Wheel and the Wait

This time last year, I was fully submerged in the rapids of student-teaching. It wasn't an altogether negative experience. It wasn't a day at the fair, either. Of course, coming to the deep, undeniable realization that I did not want to teach made each day a challenge. But I did it well enough, I gave complete effort to providing good lessons for my students, and I trudged onward. Toward the end of the spring semester, I began looking more to the future. I had applied to a grand total of one graduate school to pursue a degree in Higher Education Student Affairs (you don't have to have a master's degree to have affairs with students, but I hear it helps).

Worst. Decision.

Now, this was totally against my nature. I am not the most meticulous planner in the world, but I do like to know what my next steps are. I still can't really explain why I only applied to one school. To drive the lesson home, I was rejected weeks after driving hours and hours to participate in a whirlwind preview day/rapid-fire interview process. It broke my heart. I felt incompetent; I felt like a failure. So, I made the next logical step and applied to teach overseas with a Christian-based company I had never heard of before. One application and phone interview later, I was accepted. Luckily, I chose not to go that route, either. A mentor of mine alerted me to the fact that the university in the town next to the one in which I was completing my undergrad degree was still accepting folks for their Student Affairs program.

I am happy where I am now that I'm here, but at the time, I applied to that program with equal parts shame and chagrin. I wanted to go somewhere. It felt like I was making a lateral move and instead of getting a 'real life,' I was just moving 30 minutes down the road.

Things have worked out and I'm happy with my decision. I am not wasting resources and, instead, I'm trying to be intentional about getting the most out of my time here. It's going very well.
 
                                                                      *    *    *    *    *

I have thought about how things worked out and how they all coincided with the backdrop of my life. I was in fairly new territory spiritually. I had recently converted from being a lifelong Catholic and joined the Presbyterian Church (PC-USA, if you care to know). I was really happy with that decision and I felt God urging me on in my path toward self-awareness and spiritual growth. Around the same time, I became a pesceterian and had also taken up running. The new diet stuck. The running came and went like Kramer. Last semester, I finally buckled down and started training for a 5k. It went really well but after the race, I quit. I let myself replace the time I spent running with other things.

Now, I'm running again. My body is remembering how to do it quicker than it did last semester and I'm really trying to stay diligent. Every time I run, the same thought occurs to me. God has been training me for a marathon for a while now. Spiritually, relationship-wise, physically, emotionally, academically - God's been telling me:

"Be patient, little one. Don't wear yourself out sprinting; pace yourself. Wait."

Oh, that word. WAIT. Do we ever like to hear it? Not unless you know something bad's about to happen. "Wait! The dancing bears are still limbering up in the tent. Don't remove the stakes!" But when you're young and ready for something new, saying no to it and moving on to something a lot smarter but a lot less exciting can be frustrating. Sometimes I feel like a little hamster just panting inside my wheel and getting nowhere. But I know that's not true. As I train my body to endure longer and longer distances, I'm training myself to be patient with my life. I'm not always going to have the satisfying structure of school to mandate which direction I go in next. I'm learning to wait. In the meantime, I'm seeking to strengthen the weak points of my life. I'm taking care of my body, I'm pursuing a closer communion with God and my fellow creations, and I'm trying be more patient with myself and my shortcomings. When it's time to make the next big change in my life, I'll be ready.

The call to 'be still' is sometimes much harder to answer than the call to boldly leap forward. So I'm learning to pace myself and listen to my Creator. As with familiarizing yourself with a new place, the best way to soak in your surroundings and get your bearings is to be patient and slow down. Pace yourself. Wait.

This Little Light of Mine

I was coming out of a meeting with a friend of mine and as we got in her car, I spotted a very odd looking pair of fellows. They looked to be around the same age but one came up only a little above his friend's elbow. I looked at my friend who is nearly 2 full feet taller than I am and said, "I bet that's exactly what we look like walking around. Geez. I mean I know I'm a tiny person but I always forget how small I look to others." I certainly don't always feel small. As a young adult, it doesn't really bother me too much how my height is perceived by others. It just means that I have to put twice as much effort into gaining the respect of others. Luckily, my Creator gave me a great assortment of tools that help others see past what I am and into who I am.

I was reading an Prodigal article by Jeremy Statton entitled "The Purpose of the Light." Jeremy made some great observations about how Christians are called out to be "the light of the world," but how we often answer this call in a way that doesn't reflect our Creator's love. He said that, like his kids' flashlight, our light often gets turned into a sort of weapon used to jump out and blind others rather than helping them find their path. I certainly agreed with his points and wanted to share some of my thoughts on the subject.

Like any kind of light, we can't always be standing in front of others shining the light in their eyes and blinding them to all else. An effective lamp isn't one that glares in your face but one that stands with you to help you see the path ahead. If we stand behind others, we do no good. If we stand facing them, we risk blinding them. But if we stand with our fellow sons and daughters, equal to them, we can help them see more clearly. I would also point out that lights do not have the same purpose of road signs. We can't assume to know how long we have left until we reach a destination or in which direction someone should go. That's left between God and that person. What we can do is help illuminate possibilities and from there, we each decide where to go. You can't tell others where to go necessarily, but you can help them get there.

We all know people who represent all these different types of light. Some of them always seem to be in opposition to you. I wrote about this last time in "Be kind..." Their need to be right gets in the way of them being kind. Others loom behind you, trying to tell you where to go from the background but doing nothing but casting shadows and muddling your decisions. Then there are those who know how to effectively be the light. They listen attentively and patiently. Sometimes just talking to them helps shine a light on what you're supposed to do. Sometimes they find that theme that you had been searching too hard to see and gently turn their light on the path you overlooked.

I am just one. And a very small one at that. Maybe that's why I've always been drawn to the metaphor of "being the light." Even a small flame can greatly dissipate the darkness, no matter how vast. You don't have to be a big light to shine brightly.

I'd love to hear what else you all have to add.

Be kind to each creature,

Noelle