Ruthless Trust?
The other day I picked up a book from
JonMark's desk and read the whole thing. Ruthless Trust by Brennan Manning. I really think it was what I needed to read this week, despite the ridiculousness of reading for "pleasure" in the midst of finishing up grad school. And I think that it affirmed lots of stuff that has already been swimming around in my brain. But, I often wonder how to get from reading something to living something with any sort of grace. Today, I think that I lived ruthless trust and then I lost all hope and then I went back to trusting again. So it likely wasn't really ruthless trust from the start.
I feel like much of my day was defined by external motivators. I was nervous about my exams. I was ecstatic about finishing my exams with hours to spare. I was happy with the email that Matt sent. I was sad when talking with Rob about leaving my apartment. I was really sad when I talked to my mom about not being home for Christmas--I've never been away from my family for Christmas, not ever. I was happy again when I thought about seeing Drew soon. I was excited to talk to Robert, and honored that he would suggest my moving down there and blessed by the fact that he knows my heart. It was a sort of roller-coaster day. And for awhile I thought that how I was feeling was tied to whether or not I was trusting. But I think that may not be the case, after all.
In fact, I am sure it is not the case. Because I sit here now feeling fine--peaceful, happy, content--and I know that none of the things that bothered me or blessed me today have changed. Even though the same stuff that brought on various emotions is still present in my life, I find that I am not worried about any of those things. The good things are still good and the bad things are still bad, but I am simply here being present in this moment with no hint of worry or doubt. Life is crazy and uncertain and challenging, but I am feeling calm and secure. And I think that means that I am trusting more fully than I sometimes think I am.
Girls do very little
Girls can do anything. But, lately, it occurs to me that they do very little of consequence because they are too busy being petty and jealous and silly. And it also occurs to me how easy it is for those games to be played by even the strong, wise women of the world--okay, I really mean me. It was funny, but today someone was sooo very jealous of me, and I kinda liked that idea. I kinda liked being the one who had gotten what someone else wanted. I kinda liked feeling like the world belonged to me, I was on top, things were going my way. I don't feel that way very often.
But, I don't want to waste my time playing the games and doing nothing. I want to do more than just "anything"--I want to realize great dreams and change the world. That is far more important than being the girl who has the prize for half a day. So, I relinquish my claim on the coveted prize, and I move on to do some work which will gain me no glory.
SexGod and strange insights
For months now conversations surrounding Rob Bell's
SexGod and relationships have been a part of life. And there always seems to be another conversation to have about the subject. And today the thing that runs through my mind is how sick to death I am of people being all wrapped up in relationships. Because relationships are complex, I know, but I don't think they need to be nearly so complicated as people make them. People are always
over thinking thngs and placing way too much importance on things and getting all crazy about relationships.I'm tired of boys who think they are so important that any interest I show in their life must be expressing I am in love with them. I am tired of girls who are so pathetically insecure that they make their issues into my issues--isolating, ignoring, or spreading lies about me because they don't love themselves. I am tired of guys who are too weak to stand up to pathetically insecure girlfriends, or too scared to find out why I have an interest in their life rather than making assumptions. Most of all, I am tired of people who have no better understanding of relationship than I do criticizing my supposed failures in the area of relationship. I actually know a lot about relationship, because I've had enough bad experiences to figure out what good relationship is really about in many ways.
Sure, there is a lot I still don't understand about the ways that people relate to one another, and I certainly don't get any awards for past romantic encounters gone right, but I don't think that the way I approach relationship should be looked down upon. People should love one another. People should take interest in one
another's lives. People should need one another and help one another and accept one another. And that isn't complicated--no matter how complex it may be. Because if we were really thinking about relating, connecting with the life of another, and not thinking about what benefits us, all the
over thinking and craziness goes away. And so does most of the hurt and confusion and insecurity and assumption that makes relationship seem like it may not be worth the effort. Loving people is hard work, but when you take out all of those negative things that arise out of our selfishness and extreme self-preservation, it is always worth the effort.
Right now, I am tired of other people making it hard for me to love people. Because their selfishness and their extreme self-preservation is bringing hurt and confusion and insecurity and assumption into my life and my relationships. They are creating struggle where none existed. And they are causing me to call into question whether being related with them is worth the effort. I hate that they have been able to do that--to cause me to question whether loving people is worth it.
It is worth it. Loving people is worth it. If I am worth dying for, like Bell says, then everyone else is worth dying for as well. So, love is worth it, even when loving others brings ugly stuff into my life. But it is hard to keep telling yourself that after so much ugliness has passed before your eyes. So I guess I need to remind myself of the good.
A couple weeks ago, Maxie spoke about the things that people are willing to die for--nobody dies for
Walmart, he said. And when I need to be reminded of what is worth dying for, I don't look to my supposed friends or assumed love interests or the insecure girls around me. I drive through the poorest, most crime-ridden parts of my city and I look at the crack addicts and the homeless and the gangsters to remind me of what love is and what is worth dying for. Ugliness reminds me of love, while people who once claimed to, appeared to, or pretended to love me bring ugliness into my life. Kinda funny, really.
So...relationships. I'm just gonna love people, and maybe I'll even figure out how to love them enough that I don't let them bring ugliness. Or maybe learn how to love them in spite of the ugliness. And I think the way to do that is to focus on not letting any selfishness or self-preservation invade my own heart.
For some reason show tunes are running through my head
Last night Scott reminded me that I am a poet and an artist. It seems funny I would have forgotten that. But I did forget that.
He said something about drawing things instead of using all of our words to try and explain them, and I thought about my sketches of self-portraits that I do every five or six months. Drawing myself says way more about who I am and who I was and where I've traveled than a journal does--and I can flip through six or eight pages and relive that journey, rather than reading page after page of daily thoughts in a journal. He also said something about poetry, and I went home and dug out a disk of poems I've written and I was amazed at the volumes those pages speak.
It is funny, but I think better when I am creating. I suppose that makes some sense--sort of like how I learn better when I am teaching--but it is still sorta strange. Strange, but true. Something deeper, more thoughtful, more raw and more challenging comes from me when I draw and write poems or songs. Something more true and more free seems to happen in my soul when artistic form is tied to my thoughts and emotions.
So, I wrote poems last night. And someday soon I will climb my favorite peak and sit in the brisk air drawing yet another self-portrait. And somehow I will be more true and more free and will gain greater clarity about where I fit in this crazy messed up world.
Piano lessons saved my life
I'm sure my mom would be happy to know that piano lessons saved my life. It is true. I've just finished pounding out every song I've written (at least the ones I can remember) and banging out some chords that threaten to become a song someday, and I feel 10,000 times better than I did just an hour before. Piano lessons saved my life.
When life really overwhelms me and everything seems worthless, I play the piano. Since I don't own a piano, that can be a challenge, but I always seem to access one when I need it. This morning's piano resides in the 3rd floor youth rally room behind a bunch of stuff, so I had to crawl over stage lights and music stands and candles to get to it, but it was worth the challenge. Somehow playing lets me empty all the crud from my soul and I feel lighter and more free than I did before.
I'm really not a very negative person. I'm usually pretty hopeful. But lately there has been so much negative stuff, and the stuff that isn't negative is simply unresolved (which can feel negative) and that it is getting me down. And it seems I am not the only one plagued by negative stuff. Several of my friends seem to be falling apart in the same moment that I am. But creative release is good for the soul and I feel somehow stronger and better and more hopeful again after only an hour of piano. That feels good. And it feels good to know that there is always a way through the negative--I just have to press on until I find that way. Today the path leads over candles and lights to the piano. And tomorrow maybe it will lead to gainful employment and new relationships and time with loved ones and trips across the country. I hope that it might--and I am glad to feel hopeful once more.
For months now
Well...it seems that keeping up with my blog is not a priority the last while. I haven't written anything for months now. But, there is plenty I could have written. I could have written about my many classes that challenged and angered me this summer. I could have written about the relationships that have come and those that have gone--the many gains and losses of transition--or the job search, or the way that I cannot seem to leave what I love, even when it doesn't want me to stay. Actually, I think I will write about the thing I love and cannot leave, even when it doesn't want me to stay.
I sit in a poor excuse for an office at a church where I do not work. My internship was complete a couple of months ago and I wasn't hired by JonMark and Rob--mostly because I am overqualified and therefore have no true longevity to promise them. I keep showing up here. I volunteer where I can, I sit on Karyn or JonMark's sofas and read, or I just work on school stuff and emails in my poor excuse for an office. It is strange that I cannot leave. In so many ways I belong here. In so many ways this community needs my vision and my voice, but it doesn't seem to want that vision and that voice. At least not the whole community.
I have five ministers who support the idea of me being paid by the church to intern with Neighborhood Ministries while helping the church connect with the surrounding community. JonMark has even said that I am the missing link--one who can live in this context and live in the context of the poverty of the city and move from one world to the other. I am the bridge between middle class white society and the darkest corners of our city. But the church as a whole, while it needs the bridge, doesn't seem to want to cross it. So I remain here, hoping to be honored as the bridge, but never seeing that hope realized. And I dread the moment when I am forced to leave. I dread the moment when they finally say, not just with actions but with words, "We don't want this." I dread the moment when they verbalize that they don't want to be Christ--when they prove that Christ's call to love and feed and clothe and bring freedom is not a part of their agenda. I dread that moment because putting me out is not only hurting me, but it is denying the support of those amazing ministers who believe that I am what this community needs--that the vision God has placed in my mind, and the compassion and love God placed in my heart are what the people of God need. The gap between the visionaries and the "old boys" threatens to widen. And I hate to leave the people that I love divided and frustrated. But I feel powerless to connect them.
I will stay. Even after they clear out my desk and send me on my way, I will stay. Perhaps I cannot be of help to them in any official capacity. Perhaps I must find support for my ministry in another place. But I will remain a part of this community, and I will give the ministers who choose to accept it the opportunity to reach into the city and to work for change. I will build a bridge, regardless of how many people choose to cross it. I AM a bridge. That is my purpose. That is my call. And no amount of "old boys" can keep me from living out my calling.
I really love this crazy messed-up place. I belong here--at least one foot belongs here. The other belongs in the barrios and dark alleys of this city. And maybe my poor excuse for an office will remain for a longer time than I anticipate. Maybe my young minister friends have more influence than I know, or maybe God will grant my prayers and change hearts and budgets in favor of my support. I have a feeling that changing the world happens one heart at a time. I'm praying that enough hearts change that we don't need a bridge. Someday, we will all live on the same side.
Time for Writing
So...I haven't written all summer. I suppose 22 units of seminary classes will do that to a girl, but I can tell that not writing has taken its toll. I can tell because I've been unloading on Andrew for at least a month, and finally starting to feel guilty about it. It is partly his fault, though. He puts up with me time and again and even encourages me sometimes.
Anyway... it is time. Time to let out all of the ugly and get back to a more positive, hopeful place. I got rid of a ton of emotion already today. Karyn asked me at one point how I was and I said "I don't know" and kinda bounced around her office like I'd been smokin' crack and then went back to my office to get some work done. Work did not get done. I've not been so agitated in a very long time, and I found it somewhat disturbing. So, I did what any self-respecting girl would do and went up to the third floor youth room and played the piano for an hour. At one point Rob discovered me up there pounding my heart out, but he left me be. And after I didn't feel so crazy, but I still didn't get much done. So, I wrote Drew. And, now that I think of it, I think that worked wonders.
I still feel a little off, and I am sure there is more that I could write/say about the way I've been feeling lately, but something about knowing that one of my dearest most loving friends knows the way I've been feeling is comforting. Maybe today just writing it isn't good enough. Maybe today--and all month apparently--I need to write my friend. Maybe my friend even needs to hear what I have to say. After all, our recent journeys seem to be aligning in interesting ways. The struggle with denominations, with inclusivist thinking, with relationships, with finding out just how far we can sink before we decide it is time to figure out how to be healthier--the past year it seems we are on the same page more often than not (a complete shock given the history of our relationship) and I think that maybe the dear friend who is on my page is the best one to read the words that presently pour from my heart.
So... yea for writing Andrew. And now what? None of the challenge or question or frustration goes away at the speaking/writing of the words. So what is to be done with them after they are expressed? I'm not certain. What I am certain of is that the road I am now on is the road that my friend will soon follow me down. What I do know is that I will begin to pray now that he handles this particular pass with more grace than I.
It was not long ago, it seems, that I started my journey and answered this call. It doesn't seem that years have passed in arriving at this moment. In this moment, it seems that no person could possibly feel ready for this moment. How can one propose to be ready to change lives, change society, and change the world? How can one be ready to bring heaven to earth and to save lives and to heal bodies and souls? How can one possibly be ready for this task? I don't feel ready. I AM ready. I don't feel ready. And I'm not sure how to justify the person that I am with the things that I feel. I'm not quite sure how I can be a pastor and feel so unprepared for such a vocation. I guess that this vocation is unique in that sense--you never know enough, see enough, understand enough or be enough. There is always some way that you are not enough, no matter how much you study and practice and learn. I guess that is because people's lives are never what you think they might be--they are always more dynamic, more chaotic, and more messy than can be controlled through knowledge or will. So...I am ready. I can't feel the readiness, but I have faith that I am truly ready to face this task.
