I think I am dying.
Not a typical way to start a blog, so let me qualify: as I’ve been reflecting lately and going over what God continues to speak to me in prayer (the need to wait and trust in the Lord, imagery of a refining/purifying fire, various lessons on how to love, the realization that the “mission” is first and foremost ME…), I’m realizing that one of the underlying messages is that I am really being asked to die—as in, dying to self, to pride, to knowledge, to being comfortable, to having any clear sense of purpose or direction. At the end of the day, after all that is gone, there are really only two things left: love and trust (ha—the two things I have the least of!). And only when I am stripped down to those two things can the real work begin.
Surprisingly, when I came to this conclusion today, I felt a lot of peace. Not what I expected. But I’ve been finding a lot of beauty in this realization that I am dying, along with a hopefulness in the expectancy that this is not the end. God really had a plan when He created this world we live in, and He leaves little hints all over the place that point to how death and life are all wrapped up together, and even depend on each other for true fullness to be brought about. The biggest sign that God has been calling my attention to lately is the changing of the seasons (both in nature and in the Church); He has been speaking a lot to me through the imagery of the process of growth that plants go through as the seasons change and pass.
If we were to imagine myself as a seed, you could say I was planted early on and tended all throughout my life; and last year I finally started to blossom and bear fruit (not to mention, a whole lot of weeds were pulled up along the way). It was beautiful—I felt beautiful—having a period of time that was all blooming. But (as God has ordained and nature has it), while flowers and fruit are beautiful and good, they eventually have to give way to the other stages in the cycle of growth. Now, I’m no botanist, but I’m pretty sure that when fruit finally comes, part of the natural process is that some of it falls on the ground, so that the seeds can be deposited back into the earth and new things can grow. But before anything new can grow, the fruit has to first ripen, which turns into rotting, which turns into disintegrating. It’s not pretty; it’s messy. It’s smelly. But it has to happen (I suppose, this seed could also be eaten by an animal and then come back out after a journey through the digestive system, or be thrown into a trash heap by humans only concerned with a tasty snack, but neither of those options are really either less messy or less smelly). The only way that the seeds can get in the ground and start growing is if everything is stripped away first. I feel like over the past few months, I could relate a lot to this ugly, messy, stripping-away process; God has been hard at work getting rid of everything excess and preparing me to be “planted.”
After this ugly mess, I found myself smack-dab in the middle of winter; everything becomes cold, hard, dormant. Even the tree that bore the fruit is dead (at least in appearance, if not in actuality). And thus passes a long—sometimes seemingly endless—period of what appears to be nothing: the old tree is not doing anything (no flowers, no fruit), and the new seeds have yet to grow. All you can see is a tree, stripped of all its leaves, standing rather starkly against the sky and horizon, and a frozen patch of ground around it. Depressing—although, admittedly, somewhat poignantly beautiful in its starkness, its…humility…its being there with nothing else to commend itself to your senses but itself, and itself alone. You can’t help but admire it—this bare outline is, after all, what makes the tree. Soon, though, even that beauty is jaded by the long, drawn-out COLD that just pervades everything; you start asking yourself the question, “when is it going to end?” and cursing that darned groundhog when he suddenly, arbitrarily decides upon 6 more weeks of winter.
BUT—oh, the glory of the promise in that one word—all the while, underneath the ground and deep within the core of that tree, small things have been happening, even while to the eye nothing is changed. The seed, when it first made its way into the earth, had to “die”—it had to break out of its shell, cease to be itself in a way, so that it could start the process of growing into something else, something more beautiful. The shell cracks, light and moisture and nutrients creep their way in; and slowly (VERY SLOWLY…) little roots start to push out, to explore, to extend out into the soil. And the more the roots grow, the more nutrients that little seedling needs—the roots are not very strong at first, they’re just fragile little things, brand-new and trying to make a go of it. That’s why no energy can be spent on growing up. Not yet.
But, eventually, it is time to start venturing up toward the top, up toward the light. At this point, the scenery outside is starting to change as well—it’s still cold and dark outside, but not as cold and not as dark. The snow has changed into rain, every now and then little glimmers of sun peep through the clouds, and you can start hearing the birds sing again. There is a thawing, a settling; almost as if the world were sinking into a warm bath after a long period of being sick and sad and tired, heaving a deep sigh and letting all the cold, all the dirt, all the sweat of hard work just melt away. The work is not nearly finished, but it’s a great start—like that one turning point in the darkness of the middle of the night when, oh-so-subtly, the seconds start creeping toward the light and the day instead of receding from it. Everything holds the promise of newness and life. It’s not here yet—we’re only just on the cusp of spring—but the promise of it is tangible and it’s delicious. There’s a waking up of all the senses, all the faculties: “Awake, lyre and harp! With praise, let us awake the dawn!” (Ps 57:9).
The world is full of promise—just keep watching the ground! Keep hoping! “Hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us” (Rom 5:5). There is a lot of work left to go—the journey up requires so much energy, pushing the way through the heaviness and darkness and wetness and dirtiness (something to consider: these are the very same things that were, at one point, needed for the seed to grow. The only thing that changes is the seed. It may seem like an immensely vast amount of difficult stuff to get through…but maybe none of it is actually working against the seed after all…it’s just time for a different stage in growth). And then there’s still the matter of those little roots—by no means finished growing. But it’s coming!!
And until it comes—until spring arrives, until those little shoots finally sprout out of the earth, until those tiny little blossoms bud on the tree—there is only waiting. But the waiting is taking on a different shade; there is no longer enduring, in the way that you trudge through the slush and sludge of winter and hope it’s over soon. Now there is an exhilarating, anticipatory holding-of-breath as we teeter on that cusp point, anxiously waiting for that rush of a moment when you wake up and spring has burst through in all its glory! This is the waiting for Easter morning.
Just keep growing. There is nothing else without that. Shade trees don’t happen overnight; there has to be growth. No cute little kids can pretend to be explorers and climb to the tippy-top without that first step. I cannot produce any fruit without first dying, and then growing out of that death. This step is hard, it’s unseen, un-glorified, un-noticed, un-remembered when the glory of the flowers and fruit come. But the flowers and fruit would not come without it, and that’s the most important part.
This is a big deal.
This is just the beginning. I am just now starting to understand my dying, looking forward in the hopefulness that it is starting to give way to a spring-time of new growth, that I am being prepared for a new fruitfulness.
And this one little seed is in it for the long haul.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Friday, February 12, 2010
unplugged
Yesterday, I was challenged to ask this question: “Lord, what do I desire you to work in and through me?” Below is how I answered Him in prayer this morning. For this one, I’m not going to explain…it’s just all me, straight from the journal:
I want to be changed—ultimately and permanently, but also every day. I want to be convicted of the truth of your love—with a passionate, burning conviction that settles down into the very core of my being. I want to be confident and bold in that love—to a reckless degree.
I want others to know they are loved. I want to talk about their hopes and desires, and be with them when they discover that all of those point to you and are found in you. I want to journey with people toward you. I want to be your living heart in the world—I want to reach out to others in their time of need, in their confusion, in their rejoicing over glory stories. I want to see hearts changed by you.
I want to be able to really talk about you—in a way that’s not just talking, because we live out fully this life you’ve called us into: to work hard, to laugh harder, and to cry in both beautiful and tragic moments. I want prayer to be a joy and not a job. I don’t want to think about living—I want to do it!
I want to feel fully, deeply, with a heart that reaches out to others—I want to be moved by others; to laugh when they laugh, to cry when they cry, to dance around the kitchen with them when they’re bursting with excitement, to talk through the confusion.
I want to be able to love everyone—I mean, really, everyone. I want life to be full of people! I don’t want to think in abstracts or categories; I want to live in flesh and blood! I want to be a bearer of life!
I want to claim the freedom you’ve already won for me—to claim it fully, and live it! I want to be a woman of joy. I want to always wonder at creation and marvel at your movement. I want to always be wonderfully surprised by you—with that feeling of familiarity because you’re always surprising me.
I want to love recklessly, breathlessly—from the very center of myself and with all I have. I want to be selfless. To give, and keep on giving, and not count the cost.
I want to be unshackled by awkwardness and timidity.
I don’t want to tiptoe around convention or the status-quo.
I want the Holy Spirit that is alive and active in me to reach out and embrace the Holy Spirit alive and active in another—in the same way that John leapt for joy when encountering Jesus for the first time as Mary greeted Elizabeth. I want to live the mystery of the Visitation.
“he looked up to heaven and groaned, and said to him, [‘Be opened!’] and (immediately) the man’s ears were opened, his speech impediment was removed, and he spoke plainly” (Mark 7:34-35).
God, grant me the grace…
I want to be changed—ultimately and permanently, but also every day. I want to be convicted of the truth of your love—with a passionate, burning conviction that settles down into the very core of my being. I want to be confident and bold in that love—to a reckless degree.
I want others to know they are loved. I want to talk about their hopes and desires, and be with them when they discover that all of those point to you and are found in you. I want to journey with people toward you. I want to be your living heart in the world—I want to reach out to others in their time of need, in their confusion, in their rejoicing over glory stories. I want to see hearts changed by you.
I want to be able to really talk about you—in a way that’s not just talking, because we live out fully this life you’ve called us into: to work hard, to laugh harder, and to cry in both beautiful and tragic moments. I want prayer to be a joy and not a job. I don’t want to think about living—I want to do it!
I want to feel fully, deeply, with a heart that reaches out to others—I want to be moved by others; to laugh when they laugh, to cry when they cry, to dance around the kitchen with them when they’re bursting with excitement, to talk through the confusion.
I want to be able to love everyone—I mean, really, everyone. I want life to be full of people! I don’t want to think in abstracts or categories; I want to live in flesh and blood! I want to be a bearer of life!
I want to claim the freedom you’ve already won for me—to claim it fully, and live it! I want to be a woman of joy. I want to always wonder at creation and marvel at your movement. I want to always be wonderfully surprised by you—with that feeling of familiarity because you’re always surprising me.
I want to love recklessly, breathlessly—from the very center of myself and with all I have. I want to be selfless. To give, and keep on giving, and not count the cost.
I want to be unshackled by awkwardness and timidity.
I don’t want to tiptoe around convention or the status-quo.
I want the Holy Spirit that is alive and active in me to reach out and embrace the Holy Spirit alive and active in another—in the same way that John leapt for joy when encountering Jesus for the first time as Mary greeted Elizabeth. I want to live the mystery of the Visitation.
“he looked up to heaven and groaned, and said to him, [‘Be opened!’] and (immediately) the man’s ears were opened, his speech impediment was removed, and he spoke plainly” (Mark 7:34-35).
God, grant me the grace…
Thursday, February 11, 2010
The Waiting Game
Lately, I feel like my prayer has sounded something like the beginning of Psalm 13:
How long, Lord? Will you utterly forget me?
How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I carry sorrow in my soul, grief in my heart day after day?
How long will my enemy triumph over me?
Look upon me, answer me, Lord, my God!
(**side note: I love the Psalms. The more I read and pray with them, the more I am drawn to the honesty in their poetry—the beauty of sheer humanity crying out to God, in all conditions of the heart.**)
For what feels like an incredibly long time now, God has been speaking to me this message:
“WAIT.”
If you’re thinking that I’ve already written about this topic, you’re right—I’m just still waiting. The difference now is that my knowledge of what waiting means is taking on a new breadth and depth as I’m still being asked to wait, as I’m continually challenged in waiting, as I’ve been finding it increasingly difficult to wait and trust in the Lord. Hm. This must be really important…because everything I pray ends up being answered with that same four-letter word: W.A.I.T. (ugh). And, in my stubbornness, I reply, “How long, Lord?” (Hello, whiny Israelites, anyone? Ps 95: “When at Meribah and Massah, they challenged me and provoked me, although they had seen all my works…”)
As I was praying this morning, I felt really frustrated—like I was just yelling out Psalm 13! And all of a sudden, I had a flash of perspective; I realized that getting frustrated with God wasn’t getting me anywhere, least of all closer to being done with waiting. I began to recall my 8-day silent retreat last year—one of the questions Br. John challenged me to ask was, “Lord, how do you want me to wait?” (yes…I was waiting then as well. Seems to be a theme…).
So I started praying that instead—“Lord, how do you want me to wait?”—which is quite a different question from “How long, Lord?” Because really, this life with Christ is FULL of waiting. Pick up the Bible! Open it up to any book, and you will find people waiting: Adam waiting for Eve, Sarah (and a whole host of other women) waiting for a long-promised and hoped-for child, the Israelites waiting to enter the Promised Land, David waiting to hear the voice of the Lord, the Jewish people waiting for the Messiah, the Apostles waiting for the Resurrection, all of humanity waiting for the new Heaven and earth of Jesus’ second coming. We are a people who WAIT—and don’t like it! But God keeps asking us to do it! So really, the HOW is the key.
God is proving to me time and time again that He really does answer prayers—I just have to learn how to ask the right things! Once I stopped asking “how long?” and started asking “how?” He was ready and willing to clarify; specifically through today’s Gospel story of the Syrophoenician woman’s faith (Mark 7:24-30). To summarize: a non-Jewish woman makes a request of Jesus, and He answers, for all intents and purposes, “no” (or, really, “not yet”). Then, this incredibly bold woman renews her request (with that famous line, “even the dogs under the table eat the children’s scraps”). She knows and believes Jesus can do anything—and she’s probably heard that He’s already broken all sorts of conventional rules at this point. So she boldly and trustingly approaches Him again after His initial response, with a simply astonishing amount of humility (I mean, a dog.)…and it’s at this point that Jesus grants her request.
This is not the first—or the only—time in the Gospel when Jesus reacts like this. In fact, Fr. Jean C.J. d’Elbee points out, in I Believe in Love, that Jesus responds to professions and acts of faith, above all else: “That is the great question, the condition for the miracle. ‘Do you believe that I can do it? Do you believe that I am going to do it? [...] Because God loves you, He wants to see how far you will push your confidence. He wants to be able to say to you, as He did to the Canaanite woman, ‘How great is your faith!’” (50).
That’s the point, really. God is asking me to choose Him—that act of choosing that is at the heart of faith. To believe in Love even when (especially) He says “no” or “not yet” or “wait.” To be able to always say (even though it might be through gritted teeth sometimes), “Lord, I trust in you. I know that your plans for my life are greater than anything I could imagine. I believe and hope in your desire to bless my life. Today, I choose to wait on you, and I trust that you will answer.”
How will I wait? With a bold trust in a God who I believe can work all sorts of miracles and blessings in my life—and who wants to.
I wait for you, O Lord;
I lift up my soul to my God.
In you I trust; do not let me be disgraced;
[...]No one is disgraced who waits for you,
but only those who lightly break faith.
[...] For you I wait all the long day,
because of your goodness, Lord.
[...] My eyes are ever upon the Lord
[...] I wait for you, O Lord.
(Psalm 25)
“Do not be afraid; just have faith…” (Luke 8: 50).
“Trust God and he will help you; make straight your ways and hope in him. [...] has anyone hoped in the Lord and been disappointed?” (Sirach 2:6, 10).
How long, Lord? Will you utterly forget me?
How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I carry sorrow in my soul, grief in my heart day after day?
How long will my enemy triumph over me?
Look upon me, answer me, Lord, my God!
(**side note: I love the Psalms. The more I read and pray with them, the more I am drawn to the honesty in their poetry—the beauty of sheer humanity crying out to God, in all conditions of the heart.**)
For what feels like an incredibly long time now, God has been speaking to me this message:
“WAIT.”
If you’re thinking that I’ve already written about this topic, you’re right—I’m just still waiting. The difference now is that my knowledge of what waiting means is taking on a new breadth and depth as I’m still being asked to wait, as I’m continually challenged in waiting, as I’ve been finding it increasingly difficult to wait and trust in the Lord. Hm. This must be really important…because everything I pray ends up being answered with that same four-letter word: W.A.I.T. (ugh). And, in my stubbornness, I reply, “How long, Lord?” (Hello, whiny Israelites, anyone? Ps 95: “When at Meribah and Massah, they challenged me and provoked me, although they had seen all my works…”)
As I was praying this morning, I felt really frustrated—like I was just yelling out Psalm 13! And all of a sudden, I had a flash of perspective; I realized that getting frustrated with God wasn’t getting me anywhere, least of all closer to being done with waiting. I began to recall my 8-day silent retreat last year—one of the questions Br. John challenged me to ask was, “Lord, how do you want me to wait?” (yes…I was waiting then as well. Seems to be a theme…).
So I started praying that instead—“Lord, how do you want me to wait?”—which is quite a different question from “How long, Lord?” Because really, this life with Christ is FULL of waiting. Pick up the Bible! Open it up to any book, and you will find people waiting: Adam waiting for Eve, Sarah (and a whole host of other women) waiting for a long-promised and hoped-for child, the Israelites waiting to enter the Promised Land, David waiting to hear the voice of the Lord, the Jewish people waiting for the Messiah, the Apostles waiting for the Resurrection, all of humanity waiting for the new Heaven and earth of Jesus’ second coming. We are a people who WAIT—and don’t like it! But God keeps asking us to do it! So really, the HOW is the key.
God is proving to me time and time again that He really does answer prayers—I just have to learn how to ask the right things! Once I stopped asking “how long?” and started asking “how?” He was ready and willing to clarify; specifically through today’s Gospel story of the Syrophoenician woman’s faith (Mark 7:24-30). To summarize: a non-Jewish woman makes a request of Jesus, and He answers, for all intents and purposes, “no” (or, really, “not yet”). Then, this incredibly bold woman renews her request (with that famous line, “even the dogs under the table eat the children’s scraps”). She knows and believes Jesus can do anything—and she’s probably heard that He’s already broken all sorts of conventional rules at this point. So she boldly and trustingly approaches Him again after His initial response, with a simply astonishing amount of humility (I mean, a dog.)…and it’s at this point that Jesus grants her request.
This is not the first—or the only—time in the Gospel when Jesus reacts like this. In fact, Fr. Jean C.J. d’Elbee points out, in I Believe in Love, that Jesus responds to professions and acts of faith, above all else: “That is the great question, the condition for the miracle. ‘Do you believe that I can do it? Do you believe that I am going to do it? [...] Because God loves you, He wants to see how far you will push your confidence. He wants to be able to say to you, as He did to the Canaanite woman, ‘How great is your faith!’” (50).
That’s the point, really. God is asking me to choose Him—that act of choosing that is at the heart of faith. To believe in Love even when (especially) He says “no” or “not yet” or “wait.” To be able to always say (even though it might be through gritted teeth sometimes), “Lord, I trust in you. I know that your plans for my life are greater than anything I could imagine. I believe and hope in your desire to bless my life. Today, I choose to wait on you, and I trust that you will answer.”
How will I wait? With a bold trust in a God who I believe can work all sorts of miracles and blessings in my life—and who wants to.
I wait for you, O Lord;
I lift up my soul to my God.
In you I trust; do not let me be disgraced;
[...]No one is disgraced who waits for you,
but only those who lightly break faith.
[...] For you I wait all the long day,
because of your goodness, Lord.
[...] My eyes are ever upon the Lord
[...] I wait for you, O Lord.
(Psalm 25)
“Do not be afraid; just have faith…” (Luke 8: 50).
“Trust God and he will help you; make straight your ways and hope in him. [...] has anyone hoped in the Lord and been disappointed?” (Sirach 2:6, 10).
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