Psalm 66

I will come to Your temple with burnt offerings and fulfill my vows to you - vows my lips promised and my mouth spoke when I was in trouble.
Psalm 66.13-14

We're no stranger to both the desire and the guilt that comes with crying out to God in times of distress.  Things happen.  We lose control.  We don't know what to do.  And we come before God in both our need and want, feeling the weight that we cannot do this on our own, and also a heavy "sorry I only come when I need You."  And sometimes, we build these promises and commitments "I'll be better at prayer, better at daily devotions, better at setting a Godly example in my lifestyle."  We add worship music to our rotation.  We clean up our language.  We are present at church - physically for some, mentally for us all.

And when the peace finally comes, however long it takes, and when the peace becomes familiar, we stand back up, we walk forward, we gain back our confidence.  And we gain back out belief that we are strong enough and have the clarity to take control again.

The cycle continues.  We're no stranger to it.

God in His mercy cannot abandon us, He comes to our rescue, He comforts us.  But He never does it because we've made these promises.  In His love, He would have exemplified His fatherly compassion without precedent.  But it's those promises.  The ones that WE make.  The ones that prove how finicky we are in our commitment, how fleeting is our trust in the one who is unseen.

If only we could hold up our bargain! If only we understood the relationship dynamic of being in communion with God.  If only we realized the weight of our vows, and knew how unfaithful we are, making promises we only intended to keep, and never set out to do.  If only we saw the immeasurable forgiveness God has for souls like ours, the way His love is so relentless to our casual hearts.

Come and listen, all you who fear God; let me tell you what He has done for me.
I cried out to Him with my mouth; His praise was on my tongue.
If I had cherished sin in my heart, the Lord would not have listened;
but God has surely listened and heard my voice in prayer.
Praise be to God, who has not rejected my prayer
or withheld His love from me!
Psalm 66.16-20

xo


currently reading: Scary Close by Donald Miller
currently listening: Laura Mvula with Metropole Orkest by Laura Mvula

Lessons of 2015

On my way home from work yesterday, I listened to Bernie Roth on Tech Nation and he said:

It's ok to fail.  It's not ok not to learn.

Like many of us, I am looking back at 2015, and have one outstanding descriptor: it was hard.  And a hard year doesn't mean it was a bad year, it just means I've faced difficulties and chose to brave the struggle.  And in many ways, I have both failed and learned a lot, and there are still countless things I am still learning.

I have a hard time writing down resolutions for this new year, because achieving a list of things that I could not do previously can somewhat be.. well.. disappointing.  I think that's why we give up so easily come mid-February.  Instead, what I like to do is celebrate the things that I have learned, and allow myself to look at this list and say: yes, I DID accomplish this, and it IS possible to still bring this into the new year.  So without further preface, here are my lessons from 2015 that I'll still be learning for a while:

1. I learned that in order to embrace a new life, you need to leave what you know.  I learned that we need to grieve good things.  And sometimes, we treat these transitions as horrendous divorces, when we can really treat them as graduations.  They are moments to celebrate, and to keep the "souvenirs" of what was good, learn from what was bad, and to move on.  And the thing about graduations is that everything is new - the surroundings, the circumstances, and you.  You learn to adapt. You grow.  You move on.







2. I realized how much my life decisions were based off of accommodating people and making them happy with me.  I learned (will still be learning) that I cannot please everyone.  There is a point when I need to make decisions for myself and my future.  Not out of selfish ambition, but out of obedience to a bigger calling.







3. I understand rest.  God did not rest after 6 days of creating because He was tired, but because He said it was good.  I understand that true rest comes from contentment and being satisfied.  I am a workaholic- sometime it is for the love of the work, and sometimes because I am dissatisfied.  And in the times I am dissatisfied, I need to ask myself - why am I working so hard?  What am I trying to prove, and to who?  I am learning to work from a place of peace, and allow for the moments of rest.







4. "Love what you do." There's the millennial mindset to "Do what you love," but for a hustling (near-broke) artist, I'd say "love what you do." Your paying job may not be your dream job, but if you are content, not spilling your thoughts and energy on what should have been your "now," you've reserved your strength to do the things that you love the most.







5. I learned that God is more present in the places that I have excluded Him.  "I'm not entitled to judge the worship of others, I have no right to declare that my way of connecting with God is better, more efficient, more loved - the Abel sacrifice. I've come to terms that God has a way of working in my life, and I can celebrate that. He has a way of working in other churches, and I can celebrate that (Musings on the Modern Church, 3)"






6. This probably is the biggest mind-blower for me: After some really difficult struggles, I learned from my pastor's wife, who is also a marriage therapist, that the 1.5-2 year mark in any kind of relationship (romantic, friendship, work, ministry, etc) is always the hardest.  That's when guards start coming down, people are more vulnerable, a lot of flaws are revealed.  Grace starts to run out a little, and the confrontations can either make or break you.  But the beautiful part is that THIS IS NORMAL.  You don't realize what a weight was lifted!  I thought I was just crazy.  I thought I was cursed.  I wondered why all jobs maxed around 2 years.  I wondered why some relationships felt strained.  But it isn't just me.  We all change. We grow.  We become more honest with ourselves and those around us.  And we either choose to let it shape us or separate us.






7. Speaking of honesty, I've learned the true healing powers of being honest, and being in an honest community.  Perfection basically raised me, and I've hid many things in junk drawers and in closets.  I've learned to embrace my story, not run away from it.  I can say "That's who I was, I don't like who I was then, but I am not that person now."  






8. I confronted this of myself - there was a mistake I made eight years ago that I regret to this day.  No matter how I want to make things how they used to be, the garment is torn, and the patchwork will never look the same.  Because of this, I've lived vicariously through other relationships/friendships with the fear that I have the capability to destroy this; I've both held myself back from connection, and also sought reconciliation.  But I have learned to forgive myself.  If someone I loved has hurt me, what would I say to them? I should say that to myself.  I should be kind to myself.  Gracious to myself.  It's painful having a bully with you everyday.






9. Compassion is so difficult on social media. If you say "Pray for Paris," someone will say "What about Beirut?" And if you say "I welcome refugees," someone will say "What about the homeless in your city?" And if you change your profile picture, what does that really mean? If "All Lives Matter," then our love is never enough, and it feels easier to say nothing at all - and even when we say nothing, it's as if "No Lives Matter." Everyone's a critic about the things that move us, but at least we are moved, and that in itself makes us human. So I say, express whatever makes you feel humane.






10. Lastly, I learned to make marshmallows from scratch.  And it was delightful.

Truly, a lot of these lessons were heavily influenced by my church, Imagine.  I'm happy to be a part of a community that doesn't force me to hide what the average church doesn't want to see.  I'm happy that they allow me to be honest and open, that they don't welcome just the marginalized in society, but they welcome the pharisees too.  I journey beside others who are now friends, and am reminded that I am not alone- our freedoms are never just for ourselves, but for others too.

If I do make a resolution this year, it is to be bold and brave- in my honesty, in my creativity, in loving.  And may the lessons I have learned last year be my companions.



xo

On Anxiety, Part Three: Gratitude

Part One: Doubt

Part Two: Getting It Wrong

Having addressed some of the sources of anxiety, it is only fitting to (finally, three months later) close these thoughts On Anxiety with the route to overcome. We are all too strangely familiar with the unknown, than we are with the One we know.  We are familiar with the loneliness and stress of "what ifs," and impossibilities, and denial, and worry.  It starts taxing on our minds and we can't even concentrate on the now, because all possible scenarios (and only the worst ones) play in our minds.  Even our spirit sinks a little, and physically, we want to crawl into a storm shelter and Netflix with a tub of ice cream.

And in our vulnerability, we open up to someone, who says with such cute naivety:

Do not be anxious about anything...

Philippians 4:6

Many of us have heard this verse countless times, shoved in our face like sidewalk flyers.  "Don't be anxious!" and it's laced with "Just pray!" or "Just believe!"  Real talk: instead of it cheering you up, doesn't it aggravate you a little more, doesn't it provoke you even more, doesn't it make you feel misunderstood and cheap, like your feelings aren't valid...? It's never that simple to "just" pray or "just" get better.  It's never that simple to, instantaneously, "not" have anxiety. The notion is summed up by this meme that a friend recently texted me:

But even if it isn't simple to rid ourselves of anxiety, it is still a command.  It is a hard command.  It is hard especially when everything else it your life persuades you that failure, abandonment, rejection, etc- that these things are inevitable.  The unknown is like a black hole that, often times, every happy/secure thought falls into and gets lost.  Why would we want to fall into a black hole.  Who would ask to be lost.

So I too have brushed off that verse.  It's exhausting and a little more lonely when you feel patronized by overused Scripture, cheapened by kitschy stationery and mugs and plaques.  Nonetheless, by the power of the Spirit, the remainder passage came back to life:

...but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.  And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

Philippians 4:6-7

My friends, He has shown us the most excellent way.

There's something about gratitude that keeps us humble.  And the place of humility denotes someone greater than us; it recognizes someone else's strength.  Surely, to be humble before God denotes that He is greater and stronger, and in the case of anxiety, in control.

When our minds are flooded with anxiety and worry and worst-possible scenarios, gratitude reminds us that we are indebted to One who has been consistently faithful to our hearts.  Remembering His presence and provision calms our thoughts, brings rest to our bodies, and surrounds us with peace.  He has been in control.  He still is in control.

Do not be anxious, about anything.  And in gratitude, tell your requests to God.  This too is key - we aren't ignoring the situation, we aren't denying the unknown.  But we're bringing our concerns, our needs, our humanity before Him.  We confess our fears and recognize our doubts, we are honest with our inability to be satisfied apart from Him.  We point out the holes that still feel empty, the ache in our hearts to have something tangible, or some word of hope to hang onto.  And with that, we are grateful for what He has done, and confident in what He can do.  We remember His faithfulness, if not just to us, but to those we know, and those we've heard of.  We recount His goodness and His relentless love and His forgiving mercies.  We are grateful, and we are humbled, and we lean on His strength.  And He is faithful to bring peace to our hearts.

A pocket of gratitude is enough to keep us buoyant.  Maybe we won't be near the shore or even at arms reach to a vessel. We may still feel lost in a vast ocean. But at least we will be afloat.  At least we are where we can breathe.



-----

And so this was the case for me, with that large decision I wrote about.  I was leaving everything I knew for 2.5 years, cutting ties, and severing a commitment- and the thoughts plagued my waking life.  I was afraid to leave, and a part of me would be tamped if I stayed.  And I had little courage to stand up for myself and walk away.  I questioned if I had to do this - did God really tell me to leave?  And what if I leave, and what if I'm wrong?

But it was the moment when I expressed my gratitude for this season (and there are many blessings still to count), that I was filled with an unexplainable joy: "Thank You, God, for this season, and what it was.  Thank You for the relationships I've gained, and the skills I've learned, and the unknown impacts I've made.  Thank You for choosing me and trusting me to carry out Your will, and thank You for those who will grow in my place.  Thank You for all the greater things You have planned, and for creating a space in my heart to trust You more..."

Remembering His goodness restored my hope.  He has never once left my heart alone.  And I am still walking into the unknown, but gratitude has kept be buoyant.  It's allowed me to breathe again.



xo



currently reading: Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close
currently listening: Rules of Civility