Write a blog post inspired by the word: shattered
I had a meeting yesterday morning. It was supposed to be one of those 30 minute meetings to go over and finish up the details from a previous meeting. It turned into something very different.
Last summer I agreed to participate in a PhD study on lectio divina -- in short the practice of reading and meditating on scripture. This is something I've been interested in for some time. I've gone to a few workshops and retreats. I liked the idea that my practice might benefit someone else -- I'm altruistic that way.
Yesterday I met with the PhD candidate (MC) to go over my journaling from the experience and to give him the opportunity to ask me some follow up questions. I felt that I had let him down by not doing as well with the practice as I had hoped, thus providing less data for his research.
MC asked me an open ended question when I got there -- What hindered me from going further with the lectio divina? I knew the short answer, but I wasn't prepared to go that route. The longer, more accurate answer was going to open up a lot of my past and require me to verbalize a lot of what the abuse did to my relationship with God. I asked him if he was prepared for a winding, long winded answer, and he was.
That began a nearly 2 hour conversation about God, our representation of Him, insular societies, secret keeping, understanding how my past colors my perceptions, and how Christians show the true character of God to others.
I didn't say anything I didn't already know about myself and my history, but I did experience that strange epiphany that comes with verbalizing thoughts. There is a clarity that comes from saying or writing out thoughts in complete sentences and paragraphs that doesn't come from random thoughts and ruminations. MC said it himself to me, "Your journal was in phrases, and you're not a phrase kind of person." It's true. I write and talk in paragraphs, but when I looked back at what I'd shared with him, it was all phrases and incomplete thoughts. I had edited myself out of fear that he would not understand, agree with, or validate my complete feelings. And it's scary to think some things through to their ultimate conclusions.
What does this have to do with the prompt -- shattered? I believe I shattered a stronghold or a wall yesterday. I completed a lot of sentences about my true feelings and beliefs about myself and God and how the abuse impacted (impacts) my daily life and inner conversations.
There's a lot more demolishing to do.
The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world. On the contrary, they have divine power to demolish strongholds. -- 2 Cor. 10:4 (NIV)
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Showing posts with label God. Show all posts
Showing posts with label God. Show all posts
Thursday, March 5, 2015
Shattered
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Saturday, January 10, 2015
What's Important
It's tough here in my world right now. Things are not flowing the way I want them to. I don't think they're flowing the way God intends either, but I am waiting for Him. I know He is present. I know He is in control.
I keep asking Him what He wants me to do. All I hear is "Wait". But waiting can be difficult and lonely. I am waiting in faith. Faith that He has this covered. That He won't abandon me. I have evidence to support His faithfulness. So I'm clinging to that.
I'm praying for myself, but I'm praying really hard for someone else. Someone who is struggling. He's depressed and dissatisfied and scared. Maybe he's feeling hopeless, I'm not sure. I want to fix it, but I can't. I've got some ideas on things that might help, but he's not receptive right now.
So I'm waiting. It's not something I'm particularly good at, and it's not something our society encourages. We are the "get it now" society. "Just do it". "Have it your way." In America, especially, we are the "pull yourself up by your bootstraps" kind of people.
None of those are going to cut it in this situation.
So I keep praying, reading, confessing, and asking, with no end in sight. I know what I want, hope, believe to be the outcome -- I just don't know how it's going to happen.
I keep asking Him what He wants me to do. All I hear is "Wait". But waiting can be difficult and lonely. I am waiting in faith. Faith that He has this covered. That He won't abandon me. I have evidence to support His faithfulness. So I'm clinging to that.
I'm praying for myself, but I'm praying really hard for someone else. Someone who is struggling. He's depressed and dissatisfied and scared. Maybe he's feeling hopeless, I'm not sure. I want to fix it, but I can't. I've got some ideas on things that might help, but he's not receptive right now.
So I'm waiting. It's not something I'm particularly good at, and it's not something our society encourages. We are the "get it now" society. "Just do it". "Have it your way." In America, especially, we are the "pull yourself up by your bootstraps" kind of people.
None of those are going to cut it in this situation.
So I keep praying, reading, confessing, and asking, with no end in sight. I know what I want, hope, believe to be the outcome -- I just don't know how it's going to happen.
Monday, April 21, 2014
loving myself -- then and now
What were you writing about last year at this time? What has changed?
I'm trusting in Him to show me how to learn to approve of myself. To see who I really am. Warts and all. To love myself despite my dark places. And maybe by acknowledging those dark places, I can spread some light in them while sweeping out the dust and cobwebs. Creating more space for Him.
He sees all of them. All the time. I can pretend to hide them from Him, but I'm only hiding them from myself.
The dark places in my heart. Fear that I am not good enough. Shame at my deepest desires. Judgment of my self. Judgment of others. Lack of compassion. Envy.
The places that bog me down when I let myself recognize their existence. That drag me farther away from Him. That make it impossible to hear His voice calling me back to Him. His voice saying, "I knew that about you already. Come back. It's okay. I'll help you. I love you in spite of yourself."
Saturday I sat on a blanket on the floor of a sanctuary I'd never entered before. I sat with my head bowed, my beads in my hands, my shawl over my lap. And I listened. I told Him I was opening my heart to Him. I told Him my deepest desires. I cried -- not long aching sobs, just simple tears sliding down my face and landing on my hands. No choking or gasping. And I don't know if they were tears of sadness, hurt, gratitude, or joy, but I don't think it matters. I cracked the shell open a little more, and let Him come in deeper. I trusted Him to not take advantage of my vulnerability.
There was no epiphany. There is no sudden change in my life. I don't know if it will happen again (I hope it will), but I do know that something shifted. I acknowledged all those dark places, and I'm still here. He didn't strike me dead.
The dark places in my heart. Fear that I am not good enough. Shame at my deepest desires. Judgment of my self. Judgment of others. Lack of compassion. Envy.
The places that bog me down when I let myself recognize their existence. That drag me farther away from Him. That make it impossible to hear His voice calling me back to Him. His voice saying, "I knew that about you already. Come back. It's okay. I'll help you. I love you in spite of yourself."
Saturday I sat on a blanket on the floor of a sanctuary I'd never entered before. I sat with my head bowed, my beads in my hands, my shawl over my lap. And I listened. I told Him I was opening my heart to Him. I told Him my deepest desires. I cried -- not long aching sobs, just simple tears sliding down my face and landing on my hands. No choking or gasping. And I don't know if they were tears of sadness, hurt, gratitude, or joy, but I don't think it matters. I cracked the shell open a little more, and let Him come in deeper. I trusted Him to not take advantage of my vulnerability.
There was no epiphany. There is no sudden change in my life. I don't know if it will happen again (I hope it will), but I do know that something shifted. I acknowledged all those dark places, and I'm still here. He didn't strike me dead.
A man cannot be comfortable
without his own approval.
-- Mark Twain
I'm trusting in Him to show me how to learn to approve of myself. To see who I really am. Warts and all. To love myself despite my dark places. And maybe by acknowledging those dark places, I can spread some light in them while sweeping out the dust and cobwebs. Creating more space for Him.
*****
Since writing this piece last year I've gone on several more silent journeys of meditation, both guided and unguided. I am continuing to open myself up to God. To trust Him to remain constant and loving. I'm definitely clearing dust and cobwebs and replacing them with love and light. It is not an easy journey, and it is one that I must make on my own. I'm glad I stepped out in longing and fear. It was worth the leap of faith.
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Wednesday, February 6, 2013
Stained Glass Epiphanies
I grew up in the center of the Bible belt -- Nashville, Tennessee. I am the daughter of a conservative, evangelical minister who was a literature professor as well. In his spare time, he loved doing community theater. A strange amalgamation.
I married a man raised in the Methodist church. His mother had been raised Catholic. We are an odd compilation.
The first time it happened was in a church in a Key West, FL. My husband and I walked into an episcopal church just as tourists. I sat down in a pew and began to look around at the stained glass windows depicting different scenes from Bible stories with which I was all too familiar. And I began to cry.
It may have been the first crack in the armor I'd been using all my life. Armor established in early childhood to protect myself from the horrors of abuse, but also from the dissonance of my home life. A conservative minister, who gave me Stephen King and The Catcher in the Rye to read. Who took me to see The Effects of Gamma Rays on Man-in-the-Moon Marigolds and Equus by the time I was 14, and quoted Mark Twain more than the Bible.
I looked at those stained glass windows, and for the first time instead of seeing gaudy, papist opulence, I saw devotion and love between God and man. I saw a God who was in love in with me, instead of a God who held a rule book in one hand and ledger of misdeeds in the other. My husband sat beside me, and understood what I couldn't articulate.
I've spent a lot of time since then looking, seeking, and reading. Trying to decode what were merely religious traditions from what God actually wants from me and for me. I still have more questions than answers, but it doesn't scare me the way it once did.
Stained glass epiphanies.
linking up with Write at the Merge and imperfect prose on thursday
I married a man raised in the Methodist church. His mother had been raised Catholic. We are an odd compilation.
The first time it happened was in a church in a Key West, FL. My husband and I walked into an episcopal church just as tourists. I sat down in a pew and began to look around at the stained glass windows depicting different scenes from Bible stories with which I was all too familiar. And I began to cry.
It may have been the first crack in the armor I'd been using all my life. Armor established in early childhood to protect myself from the horrors of abuse, but also from the dissonance of my home life. A conservative minister, who gave me Stephen King and The Catcher in the Rye to read. Who took me to see The Effects of Gamma Rays on Man-in-the-Moon Marigolds and Equus by the time I was 14, and quoted Mark Twain more than the Bible.
I looked at those stained glass windows, and for the first time instead of seeing gaudy, papist opulence, I saw devotion and love between God and man. I saw a God who was in love in with me, instead of a God who held a rule book in one hand and ledger of misdeeds in the other. My husband sat beside me, and understood what I couldn't articulate.
I've spent a lot of time since then looking, seeking, and reading. Trying to decode what were merely religious traditions from what God actually wants from me and for me. I still have more questions than answers, but it doesn't scare me the way it once did.
Stained glass epiphanies.
linking up with Write at the Merge and imperfect prose on thursday
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Friday, October 26, 2012
Voice [Day 26 of 31]
Voice(s)
How many voices do you hear in your head?
I hear a chorus. A very discordant chorus.
There are the abusers' voices full of threats and lies.
"You are worthless, self-centered, unloved, dramatic. No one will miss you when you're gone."
There is my child voice.
Full of questions about why this is happening and what I did wrong to make it all happen.
There is my counselor's voice.
Assuring me that I am not a bad person, but rather bad things happened to me through no fault of my own.
There is my husband's voice.
Filled with love and humor, frustration and pain, patience and intellect. Reminding me of what is real and true.
There is God's voice.
Calling to me. Reminding me that I am His. His daughter. Christ's sister. God's "crown of all His creatures" (James 1:18). The only voice that really matters.
And I struggle to tune out the evil ones and focus on the good ones.
To hear the loving voices telling me truth.
And I post a note above my computer -- Only God is truth.
His is the voice on which to focus.
linking up at 5 minute friday and WOE Weekend Linkup
How many voices do you hear in your head?
I hear a chorus. A very discordant chorus.
There are the abusers' voices full of threats and lies.
"You are worthless, self-centered, unloved, dramatic. No one will miss you when you're gone."
There is my child voice.
Full of questions about why this is happening and what I did wrong to make it all happen.
There is my counselor's voice.
Assuring me that I am not a bad person, but rather bad things happened to me through no fault of my own.
There is my husband's voice.
Filled with love and humor, frustration and pain, patience and intellect. Reminding me of what is real and true.
There is God's voice.
Calling to me. Reminding me that I am His. His daughter. Christ's sister. God's "crown of all His creatures" (James 1:18). The only voice that really matters.
And I struggle to tune out the evil ones and focus on the good ones.
To hear the loving voices telling me truth.
And I post a note above my computer -- Only God is truth.
His is the voice on which to focus.
linking up at 5 minute friday and WOE Weekend Linkup
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Thursday, October 18, 2012
What's Broken? -- [Day 18 of 31]
What's broken?
For a long time I thought the answer to that was me.
If I could just do things right, I'd be slim enough, smart enough, happy enough, friendly enough. People would like me more. I would understand the world at large. There would be less pain, fewer wars, less pollution, no global warming.
I took a lot of responsibility on myself, and gave myself a lot more power and credit than I deserved as well. Oh look, something else to feel guilty about!
What's broken?
The real answer to that is, everything.
Everything in this world is broken. It's not just me, or all my fault. It's that this world is not the way God wanted it to be. But it's the way He knew it would be.
He knew by giving us choices and options, we would invariably make some bad choices; choose some wrong options. But He wanted a real relationship with us. Not just automatons following a preconceived map of action. Where is the fun in that for any of us?
But when I realize that it's not just me, that the whole world is broken, well that makes it a little easier to take in each day. A little easier to be more loving and compassionate to myself and others around me and around the globe.
God knew we'd screw it up, but He also loved us enough to let us screw it up. And then He sent His Son to fix it for us.
What's broken?
Nothing. Nothing that God's love can't fix.
linking up with Mama's Losin' It and imperfect prose on thursdays
For a long time I thought the answer to that was me.
If I could just do things right, I'd be slim enough, smart enough, happy enough, friendly enough. People would like me more. I would understand the world at large. There would be less pain, fewer wars, less pollution, no global warming.
I took a lot of responsibility on myself, and gave myself a lot more power and credit than I deserved as well. Oh look, something else to feel guilty about!
What's broken?
The real answer to that is, everything.
Everything in this world is broken. It's not just me, or all my fault. It's that this world is not the way God wanted it to be. But it's the way He knew it would be.
He knew by giving us choices and options, we would invariably make some bad choices; choose some wrong options. But He wanted a real relationship with us. Not just automatons following a preconceived map of action. Where is the fun in that for any of us?
But when I realize that it's not just me, that the whole world is broken, well that makes it a little easier to take in each day. A little easier to be more loving and compassionate to myself and others around me and around the globe.
God knew we'd screw it up, but He also loved us enough to let us screw it up. And then He sent His Son to fix it for us.
What's broken?
Nothing. Nothing that God's love can't fix.
linking up with Mama's Losin' It and imperfect prose on thursdays
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Sunday, September 2, 2012
Finding God on the Moon
This is a piece my minister wrote. Just sharing.
- Neil Armstrong, Apollo 11, 1969: The crew of the Apollo 11 mission -- from left Neil Armstrong, Mission Commander, Michael Collins, Lt. Col. USAF, and Edwin Eugene Aldrin, also known as Buzz Aldrin, USAF Lunar Module pilot. In all, 12 Americans walked on the moon from 1969 to 1972. (NASA)
Buzz Aldrin and Neil Armstrong are famous for this moment in American history –the giant leap in human creativity, engineering, and science. I found myself thinking about Buzz and Neil over the weekend after we learned of Neil Armstrong’s passing.
My generation (I was born in 1979) is virtually incapable of appreciating (even with the help of Wiki and Google and YouTube) the magnitude of Aldrin and Armstrong’s courage. You’ve seen the photos. Some of you have the uncle, the conspiracy theorist, ever ready to tell you that we did not, in fact, ever land on the moon. “It’s propaganda!”
My generation (I was born in 1979) is virtually incapable of appreciating (even with the help of Wiki and Google and YouTube) the magnitude of Aldrin and Armstrong’s courage. You’ve seen the photos. Some of you have the uncle, the conspiracy theorist, ever ready to tell you that we did not, in fact, ever land on the moon. “It’s propaganda!”
A story has emerged out of this watershed moment . . . the story comes directly from Buzz (Aldrin, not Lightyear, I have to remind my 3 year old son, Lucas). I wonder, to myself, if Neil thought about this moment during the final few days of his life. I wonder what these memories meant to him as he drew closer to the great mystery that is our inevitable death.
An elder in a Presbyterian Church in Houston, Aldrin wanted to mark the occasion as a tribute to God, the Creator, and as a blessing for the rest of the world. (You can look this up in Aldrin's book, "Magnificent Desolation".) After consulting his minister, he decided the sacrament of Communion would be the most appropriate. Don’t ask me how this worked in zero gravity (one-sixth gravity technically).
During a break in the hoopla and conversation with the rest of the U.S., Aldrin took out the bread and the wine. He received the meal Jesus had instituted two thousand years prior, when no one could have possibly imagined space travel. Aldrin read the words of Jesus, “I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.” (Jn. 15:5) He also read Psalm 8: “You have set your glory in the heavens . . . When I consider the heavens, the words of your fingers, the moon and the stars which you have set in place . . . Who are we that you are mindful of us, human beings that you care for us?”
The first food ever consumed . . . the bread. The first liquid, wine.
The first food ever consumed . . . the bread. The first liquid, wine.
In Aldrin’s own words: “. . . It’s interesting to think that some of the first words spoken on the moon were the words of Jesus Christ, who made the Earth and the moon — and Who, in the immortal words of Dante, is Himself the ‘Love that moves the Sun and other stars.’”
When these sacred moments come to you . . . what do you do? How do you respond?
The birth of a child.
A marriage mended from the snare of divorce.
The relief from immense physical pain.
The call that announces the absence of cancer from your body.
The end of an arduous journey.
The return of a prodigal friend or child.
Good news from a distant country.
The death of a hero, like Armstrong.
Bread and wine, a table, a thankful heart.
Jesus is already present in those moments. The bread and wine remind us, embodying this eternal truth down to the tips of our toes. Or to the edges of the universe.
The Love of God holds all things together. 250,000 miles from home. Aldrin knew that God was all around, in each moment, on the moon, in the bread and in the wine. I like to imagine Neil Armstrong remembering this in his final hour. I like to think all of us might do the same.
Like the prophet Jonah of the Jewish Scriptures, Aldrin and Armstrong learned what he already knew, there’s nowhere you can go that God isn’t.
So eat and drink and celebrate and dance and laugh and give thanks. Chief Tucumseh famously penned these words, words that fit Armstrong’s life and death so well. When it comes your time to die, be not like those whose hearts are filled with the fear of death, so that when their time comes they weep and pray for a little more time to live their lives over again in a different way. Sing your death song and die like a hero going home.
Josh Graves is a minister and writer. Visit his website: joshgraves.com
or follow him on Twitter: @joshgraves.com. His next book, "Heaven on Earth" with Chris Seidman (Abingdon), comes out in November.
Read more: http://www.foxnews.com/opinion/2012/08/31/finding-god-on-moon/#ixzz25KPm1k8G
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