In His Chrysalis

“Life is messy, Highness, anyone who says different is selling something.”  Okay, so that might not be exactly the line that the masked Dread Pirate Roberts said, but he could’ve.  In my experience, it’s just as true as the line he actually says about life being pain.   Which makes sense – at least for me.  If I look at the life of a butterfly as a metaphor for my spiritual life, than things get messy – like melty-goopy-change-from-caterpillar-to goop-BEFORE-the-butterfly messy.

Granted, the metaphor doesn’t always work as obviously as it does in my life.  God doesn’t give us ALL messy lives.  I have a very good friend, a woman who loves God with all of her heart, whom God seems to give exactly what she wants.  She got married to the man she wanted to, WHEN she wanted to.  Her wedding day was gorgeous, as she’d been praying for  twelve years that it would be.  She had a healthy baby pretty much exactly when she and her husband planned.  She got a car when she wanted it.  And the crazy thing is, it’s not like her parents are super wealthy to make sure she always gets what she wants.  Not at all!  Each and every time it’s completely, obviously, God!

I confess that sometimes in the middle of my messy life, usually during the unstable, painful moments, I wish I had her life.  God DID NOT give me a stable life.  Mine seems to be full of uncertainty, of surprises, of adventures, of not always knowing exactly how the bills will get paid, of wondering if I’m going to have to live all of it as a single gal.  But the absolute crazy thing is, despite all that, I’m thrilled NOT to be living a predictable, stable life.  I’m loving this crazy adventure.  Sure, there are things I would change – but that’s what heaven’s for, right?  And yes, I sometimes wish I knew what was coming next, or how long a certain station of life is going to last, but in looking back at my life, it’s probably been better that I haven’t known.  I would’ve totally fought God if I’d known what was ahead.

I have a just-in-my-head-totally-untested theory as to why some people God gives totally stable, consistent lives, and others He gives crazy adventures.  I think through stable lives, like that of my friend’s, He shows His constancy, His un-changing-ness.  And through lives like mine, lives full of unexpected twists and turns that ALWAYS seem to be in transition, He shows His adventurous, daring, crazy-ness.  Because somehow, in His immensity, God has both in His character.  He is amazingly faithful and consistent.  BUT He is also crazy, daring and adventurous.

SO, when life doesn’t go as planned, look for God.  Look for God taking you on a crazy adventure that’ll take you who-knows-where, but during which you will learn SO much about Him.  And, when life seems to just be humming along, contentedly, nothing special happening, everything going to plan, look for God’s faithfulness, His unchanging love for you.

In case you hadn’t noticed, Valentine’s Day happened a couple weeks ago, and, thanks to a comment I read on Facebook, the idea of loneliness has haunted me ever since.  I didn’t write it down, so I can’t quote it exactly for you, but it went something along the lines of loneliness being a stop along our path, not a final destination.  It was actually written much more eloquently than that, but that’s the gist.  And it rubbed me the wrong way.  I’m not sure why; it’s not like I’ve done a great deal of thinking about loneliness, but I’d apparently inadvertently done enough that I instantly disagreed.

Now, granted, I’m not the average American.  For instance, I don’t think that ALL pain is bad for us.  In fact, I’m a rather avid believer that God often not only allows, but welcomes pain into our lives in order to mold us into the beings He’d originally designed for us to be. He often uses pain to help us become the most develop version of ourselves that we can in this broken universe.  And so, while I don’t always welcome pain, I think I don’t flee from it as much as many people around me.  I don’t see it as a curse.

And loneliness fits into that.  Loneliness, is, after all, painful.  But what if my loneliness ISN’T a bad thing?  I know most people say that loneliness is that longing to be known, to have someone love you – even after knowing all the wonderful good and slimy junk that makes up your story.  Which, I’d agree with.  I know most people say that loneliness is ended when a person finds their “soul mate”, or the one that makes them complete.  But I have known many a married person (with wonderful spouses) who STILL have lonely days.  And, when that husband or wife doesn’t fulfill the needs of the other, often there is a lot of bitterness and anger.

But, what if humans can’t take our loneliness away from us?  What if no human can, no matter how kindred of a spirit they are, or how very close of a soul mate they are to you?  What if that’s not their job?  Because if so, then we’re getting angry at each other (and breaking up relationships) over something those relationships were never meant to do, over something those people were never able to do.

What if, WHAT IF our loneliness is our soul longing to be back in communion with Christ the way we were originally intended to be at the beginning of the world? In Eden?  What if that longing is the desire to be one with Christ?

Than all of our expecting mere humans to fulfill that desire is idolatry.  Than our trying to block out our loneliness is really us trying to replace God with boyfriends or movies or food or video games or being in shape or cars or shopping or volunteering or sports.   And that’s not good.  It keeps us from knowing and embracing the masterpiece that God intends each of us to be.

So my challenge to you is to stop trying to avoid or drown-out loneliness.  But the next time it comes around, welcome it.  Take some time out and pray, or be still, or go on a hike and talk to your Creator.  Draw close to the One who knows you better than anyone ever could (even a husband or wife); cuddle up with your ultimate Soul Mate, the One you were created for.

I thought a reflection what God’s been teaching me might be appropriate this week, since this is the “week of love”, or something like that, thanks to Valentine’s Day.  Honestly, I love Valentine’s Day.  It’s my favorite holiday.  Now, having just said that, if you don’t know me, you’re probably thinking that the reason it’s my favorite is because I’ve always had some wonderful guy to make me feel special on this chocolate-filled day.  But that’s not true.  Not once in my over-a-quarter-of-century number of years have I had a guy make me feel special on this day, except my father when I was in fifth grade.  But that’s a story for another time.   I take Valentine’s Day and have fun.  I wear something I feel pretty in (usually something new).  On my way home from work I stop and buy myself a flower or two and a nummy dessert (this year will be cheesecake!).  Then, after dinner I’ll curl up with a good movie and savor my cheesecake.  I always go to bed feeling loved, beautiful, and special.

It took me a while to get to this point though.  I have a poem I wrote a couple years ago entitled, “Happy Singles Awareness Day” that is a bit…bitter.  It’s taken me years (like, a lifetime) to figure out that really, despite what everything around me tells me, all I need to feel loved and special is to accept the love of God, my Daddy, my Beloved.  I was sitting in Bible Study Saturday morning with three other wise women, and one commented on how when she was a little child, she never doubted that God loved her.  It wasn’t until she got older that she began to wonder.  The others agreed.  And I just sat there.  I don’t remember ever thinking that God loved me when I was younger.  I mean, I knew He cared, and I knew He loved me because God is love so He couldn’t help but to love me.  But… He didn’t love me AS MUCH or in the same way as He loved everyone around me.  I knew God had placed me on this earth to be a vessel He would use to love other people, not to be loved myself.

I’m not sure exactly where that crazy idea came from, but it affected me and how I lived my life.  I think God got sick of it though.  He began working in my heart, creating a desire to KNOW that I was loved by Him beyond all doubt.  And then He placed some insightful, wise women in my life who insisted that I learn to accept the fact that God (and they) loved me.  It took some getting used to.  You can’t just un-believe something you’ve believed your entire life.  But I worked on it, and now, a couple years later, I KNOW that God loves me. It’s only been in the last year though, that this has become a solid fact in my heart.

There came a point this last summer when I stopped everything and told God that if He really did love me like everyone had told me, then I wanted to know it. I wanted to be as aware of His love as I was of my own name.  I screamed that at Him until I had no more strength to scream.  And then I cried.  That’s generally my version of wrestling with Him. And I’ve gotten so much better.  It’s been a process; and one I’ll probably have to work through for the rest of my life.  But it’s better.

And partly that’s because I realized that God is sending me love letters all the time.  He’s showing me He loves me in every sunrise and sunset.  In every flower that crosses my path.  In every un-looked-for hug from a friend.  In every reason to laugh. In every warm cookie or cup of hot chocolate.  He’s there.  Reminding me that I’m special and He loves me.  I just have to open my eyes and accept that He really and truly DOES love me.  And I maybe need to take time to watch the sunrise and sunset more often; He’d probably enjoy that.

Anyway, all that to say, if you’re feeling unloved this week, maybe it’s because you haven’t been looking around you.  Maybe you haven’t been taking the time to notice all the little love notes your Lover has been sending you. After all, if you don’t open them, what good do they do?  You wouldn’t leave a valentine from your boyfriend unopened would you?  So go open the ones from God.

A couple years ago I spent ten months teaching English on an island in the Middle East.  Since I was American, and the country was friendlier towards non-Muslims than many of the countries over there, I got to attend church on a regular basis.  I will never ever forget the Friday (the Islamic holy day is Friday, so the weekend was Friday and Saturday, with church services and mosque services – or whatever you call them – on Friday) when the Nativity came to life for me for the very first time.

Don’t get me wrong, I had grown up in a Christian household.  I knew the Nativity story front and back.  I even had a giant-sized coloring book of the story.  But it wasn’t anything more to me than that – a cool story that was SUPPOSED to mean a lot to me, but instead it was the reason for the biggest holiday of the year and lots of presents.  At least, that’s how I saw it.

And then God shook things up and laughed.

That Advent season in the Middle East was like nothing I had ever experienced before.  The Sunday before Christmas, the Children’s Ministry did their traditional re-enactment of the Christmas story.  And somehow, those kids brought the story to life for me.  Maybe it was because I was in the same area of the world as Jesus had been when he was born.  But I think it was the fact that not all the kids were white, and the shepherds didn’t wear bathrobes, and the wisemen wore thobes (the white robe-like thing that you see men from the Middle East wearing in pictures), and Mary was Indian.  Somehow it was just more real and relevant to me than ever before.  And I got it!  I finally understood why Christmas was such a big deal!

I understood that Christmas is the culmination of thousands of years of yearning and heartache and faith that the Messiah would come.  I understood that Christmas was just a precursor to the real show – Easter, when the entire WORLD would be healed.  And that’s a wonderful thing.

So this Christmas, as you sit in church and dream about the presents under the tree, or the meal, or whatever it is you’re looking forward to this season, ask God to make the Nativity real for you.  Ask Him to bring it to life for you in a way that it never before has.  Maybe you need to look a homeless man in the eyes as you smile at him.  Maybe you need to do something nice for a family member.  Maybe something else completely.  But ask.  For once you grasp the Nativity, you begin to grasp the importance and beauty of the Story.  And then you can let it shape you.

May your Christmas be Merry and full of Light!

Sorry I’m late with this post.  I really DO intend to post every Friday.  This Friday just got a bit busy, and I hadn’t written it early.

I’m pretty sure at some point growing up I asked my mother why we gave each other gifts at Christmas.  And her response was probably “Because God gave us Jesus and it’s a way to remember that,” or something along those lines.  I say, “was probably” because I don’t actually remember the conversation and until a couple days ago, this is what I would have said and definitely believed.  And really, I bet if you ask most Christian families, they’d probably give you a similar answer.  If you asked someone who didn’t know the Christmas story (or, at least didn’t know the story that involved a baby and a manger and where Santa was nowhere in sight) they’d probably say something along the lines of, “because it’s Christmas”.

Because really, why DO we give gifts?  To show friends and family that we love them?  Because someone gave us a gift last year and so we want to make sure we return the favor this year?  Because it’s the thing to do?  Because it makes us look good?  WHY? I mean, there are lots of reasons; all of what I’ve said and more!

But, why, as Christians, is it important that we give gifts at Christmastime?  Why is it important that we walk that fine line between gift-giving and giving into commercialism and materialism?  Because it’s important, that’s why!

Do you remember as a young kid (and maybe still, I know I’m sometimes still this way!) thinking and dreaming about opening your presents Christmas morning?  On the rare occasion that Mom got the presents wrapped before Christmas morning, I’d sit and stare at each perfectly packaged present, trying to figure out what was in each one. But the typical Christmas at my house was even better because we WOULDN’T get to see the presents until Christmas morning, and I could let my mind go wild with imagination of what my parents might’ve bought me.  When I was in elementary school I dreamed of owning my own tiara.  In middle school, the much-desired purity ring.  In high school, I dreamed my parents got me a brand-new Volkswagon Bug (it was my dream car at the time).  I’m good at dreaming.  I LOVE anticipating things – the good things that is.

And really, for me, the anticipation is what makes something extra-special.  If I have to wait for what seems like FOR-EV-ER for something, when I finally get it, I treasure it so much more.  I remember that moment so much better.

And I can only imagine what it must be like to anticipate, to dream of, to want something for thousands of years – like the Hebrews did with the Messiah.  Thousands of years before Jesus walked the Earth, God promised the Hebrews a Messiah, someone who would come save them.  And from that moment on, their souls yearned for Him.  Thousands of years!  I mean, I thought my three years of waiting for my purity ring was hard.  The five years of waiting for a car of my very own wasn’t a walk in the park.  I’m currently thinking twenty-some years of waiting for Mr.GodPickedForMe is difficult.  But none of that, no matter how much MY soul yearns for those things and experiences comes anywhere close to what the Israelites went through, what the world, really went through while waiting for a Savior.

So when staring at the gifts under the tree this year; when you get to the point where you are SO sure you can’t wait a moment longer to open them up and know what’s inside, wait.  And remember that God sent His son, and that the Hebrews had waited thousands of years for Him.  And that sometimes, in fact, often, waiting, makes you value a thing just that more.  Waiting makes receiving that much more special.

My prayer for you this week is that you yearn with anticipation for His second coming, for that is what we are waiting for now.  Anticipate.  Dream.  Prepare!

Sunday night, as I walked out of church, a large, fluffy snowflake brushed my cheek as it whirled through the air, nearing the end of its pell-mell tumble from the clouds far above me.  And I smiled.

My parents have owned Angie for something like ten years now.  They weren’t looking to get another dog; they had just gone for a walk with their two little lap-sized poodles one Sunday morning and were followed home by a black dog whose nose came to their knees.  They weren’t sure at first if they were going to keep her, and even called the pound.  But the pound didn’t have a place for her, and was actually sad to hear about her escape, since she had just been adopted a day or so before.  So, after a day or two of getting to know her, and a couple weeks of the pound not calling with news of the owners wanting their dog back, we adopted her.

She’s the perfect dog.  Rarely barks – only softly “woofs” when the mailman comes to the door.  She’s gentle, sweet, and quiet.  She doesn’t bark to be let in; she scratches the plastic with her front paw.  Angie doesn’t even push her bowl around when she gets hungry.  In fact, sometimes the only way my parents know she’s hungry is when her stomach growls.  She never asks for anything – except for walks.

Angie loves to take walks around the neighborhood.  There is nothing as exciting to her as when her leash is pulled off its hook and snapped onto her red collar.  In the winter, as coats are put on, she bounds from one person to the next, daring to hope that maybe, just maybe, her favorite pastime is going to happen.  On the nights that her treat doesn’t happen, she doesn’t mop or complain; she’ll just watch your every move with those big, pleading, gentle brown eyes of hers.  During the winter, when Mom is home and hard at work grading her students’ papers, Angie will, oh every fifteen minutes or so, walk up to Mom and place her long, black-with-now-gray nose on Mom’s knee and just look at her for a minute or two.  Silently letting Mom know that she’s hoping.  She’s not begging; she’s almost ashamed to ask; she’s mostly hoping.   And the moment Mom goes to put her tennis shoes on, oh the joy!  Running from one side of the house to the other to see if any of the other family members are coming.  Running behind Mom to make sure she’s going in the direction of the wonderful lead.

And I wonder.  I wonder if maybe we, when approaching God, shouldn’t be more like Angie.  Not constantly barking our demands, or warnings of approaching danger.  Not insistently reminding God that He needs to feed us; He’ll remember – BEFORE our stomachs rumble too loudly.  But gently, quietly, reverently, knowing full well that He has every right to say “no”, or “not now”; knowing that He’s a very busy guy, being the creator and judge of the universe and all.  But still, daring to enter His office with eyes full of hope and ask if maybe, just possibly, He’d be willing to take us for a romp around the neighborhood, or through life.  And you know what, when you enter His presence, completely surrendered to His will (because it does so little good to demand your own way anyway), I’m pretty sure His heart melts.  Hope, because He created it is a pretty powerful thing.

So enter His presence with big brown eyes full of hope, surrendered to His will, but asking, if maybe, just maybe, His will might include a walk around the neighborhood.