Week 21: We're gonna pull through

It's the time of the year when the darkness challenges us. It seems things always get tougher in winter- for everyone. The lack of daylight adds to the depression. I have a theory that God gives us Easter, Jesus dies for our sins, we feel free and breathe in summer's whirlwind of warmth and light. God gives us all that time, all that light, but eventually, it gets darker, we don't have the fireworks, the sunlight, the warm outdoor evenings. We only have each other, huddled tightly together in artificially lit rooms, darkness surrounds us outside. The environment does not provide us with external light- all we have is each other- we have to make our own light. I think sometimes that it's half a test, to see if we can use our human selves to create light, and half a reminder that we need Jesus, we need the birth of the messiah, we need Emmanuel- God with us- to bring us light, to bring light into our hearts to make our own light. Usually, by Christmas, we've been surrounded by darkness long enough to appreciate our need for Him, we've been hit hard enough. But, in between Thanksgiving and Christmas, we often wait inside the depths of December, hoping we'll make it until we find Emmanuel, sometimes unfaithfully worrying He won't be enough when He comes, hoping we'll pull through.

Last year around this time I listened to a song by Over the Rhine, "we're gonna pull through" on repeat. I had a lot going on last winter- My mother trying to pull through cancer, a situation in which I hoped that a friendship (a few friendships, actually) could pull through without being too disfigured in the process.

On my drive home from work at night there's a part of the highway where all the fast food and store signs die out, there are no street lights or stoplights, only darkness over the black hills- you hit the top of one and you see lights of stores and houses far off in the distance- and before you, a gnarled, twisted old oak in front of Green thumb- some plant store that also sells ice cream and ski equipment. I don't really know what all they do- but I got my Christmas tree there. The point is- Green Thumb is a large wooden barn like building with a pitched roof and three small sort of steeples popping out of the top of the roof- they look like 3 warm, orange lanterns- a relief to the darkness of the night. I always look forward to seeing their welcoming beacons in the middle of the darkness- I look for them like I look for hope when my days darken. As I approached the hill on a dark frozen night in December, "We're gonna Pull Through" came onto my car stereo and Green thumb's lantern lights reminded me that there IS hope- no matter how cold and dark the winter seems, no matter how impossible it seems- that THIS time, we couldn't possibly make it- we always make it through. I thought of last December- of friendships and even a mother that seemed impossible to mend, to reconcile, that are now better than ever. And I cannot explain how or why we have pulled through all this darkness- it certainly wasn't for my own sight, I couldn't see through all that blackness, I just grabbed His hand and He pulled us through it, on into summer's light.

So another winter, some more challenges, but more joys, more questions of the future, how it could possibly make sense, how I could possibly know in less than a year what I should do next and how I should do it- It all seems impossible, so very unclear. I cannot see where I'm going, but I'm going to grab a hand in this darkness, I think you should grab a hand too, and friends, He's gonna pull us through

Week 20: Santa Claus is Comin' to Town

 Friends, I think it's time to talk about winter. I believe I have mentioned my volatile relationship with winter (or at least alluded to it when talking about my poor relationship with fall) but in case I haven't clarified, the summary is: Winter has not been good to me for a long time. I used to love winter, especially because of Christmas time, but starting 5 years ago, Winter began a trend of bringing nasty situations into my life to the point where I didn't even find Christmas time that enjoyable. Each winter, since this began 5 years ago, something happens to test me and put me through a lot of emotional turmoil. Winter especially loves to use medical issues with my mother as a way to get to me, and as I mentioned in a previous post, it's done just that this year as well.
Thus, during these winters, I was usually in the middle of an emotional crisis during Christmastime. My favorite Christmas songs used to be Bing Crosby, Rosemary Clooney, White Christmas kinds of songs, but while listening to the radio a few years back, during one of these winters, I heard Bruce Springsteen's "Santa Claus is Comin' to Town" and it quickly became my favorite. You could say it's because it's fun, you could say it's because I'm in love with the Boss (all of which are true), but I think that main reason is because I am convinced that the sound of the bells and piano at the beginning of the song is the sound of hope. Seriously, this is what hope sounds like. I sat in my friend's car in Kenosha a few years back my mind  full of worries, and tears came to my eyes when I heard the song, because I knew there was hope- God would not leave me without it.
Of course, the song places so much hope and excitement on Santa coming, because he will give us gifts, will give us what we desire, he's also a loving individual, and you should be good, because he's coming soon. Wow, Santa sure sounds like someone else I know. There's hope in Santa, there's hope in Jesus too. No wonder Santa is a symbol of Christmas, he's so Jesus like.

There are a few major differences however. One: Santa is easier to swallow than Jesus. He's a rolly polly sweet man who doesn't require much of you, just non-specifically, that you "be good" while Jesus is a a thin, table turning over, boat rocking, love demanding kind of man. That's why people are more comfortable with talking about Santa to their children and plastering him everywhere, even if they don't celebrate a Christ centered Christmas. Two: Santa won't forgive your sins. Santa is kind of like old covenant- you're supposed to "be good" and if you're not, well, that's just too bad, you get a lump of coal (fortunately, Parents are more forgiving). Jesus, while he requires more of you, will forgive you and still give you gifts even if you're "bad," you just have to ask for forgiveness. What's interesting though, is that I think more people believe in Jesus than in Santa, even though Santa is easier to swallow. Think about it, sure, almost every kid in America (and other countries) believes in Santa, but no adults do. Maybe adulthood makes you realize truth, maybe it makes you aware of sins that need to be forgiven, you just can't be "good." Maybe you realize how "bad" you were and that you got presents anyway- that forgiveness didn't come from Santa, maybe it came from mom and dad (with the help of Jesus). But I digress, the point is, no adults believe in Santa. Plenty of them don't believe in Jesus, but more adults believe in Jesus than in Santa. Also, a large portion of the children who believe in Santa also probably believe in Jesus because when you're young, you're blessed with a lot of faith in a lot of things.
The point of this, is that, despite the threats for this winter to be like the last four, Santa Claus IS coming to town. In other words, the hope that is conveyed through Santa Claus, but that really comes through Jesus is here because Emmanuel is coming to town. That hope, and the hope and peace God gave me due to his mercy, grace, and his willingness to answer prayers, have made this winter not so bad. My mother's medical issues are less life threatening and looking better, and even if they weren't, God would guide me through. I started out this winter, giving it a chance, then when it brought yet another situation, I promised to loathe it for all eternity and never to forgive it. Now, I realize, it can't touch me anymore. It took facing one of the worst possible scenarios (my mother's death- a situation more severe than any previous winter)- and when I say worst, I mean one more likely to get into the core of me being and destructively alter it or break part of me in a way that is difficult to repair- to realize the foundation upon which my being is built. In the past five years I've slowly acquired some new foundations and my core is now full of hope in God and his son, Jesus Christ, who will carry me through anything, who will only do what is best for me and those I love. This situation, that intended to bring me into a negative place, just made me step back and see all the blessings I'd been given that I didn't deserve, all the things I had from my mother that could never be taken away from me, all the gifts of friendship and love throughout my life that were never mine to keep. And because of this fact, I appreciated them so much more, and loved so much more. What winter used as a tool to shake my foundation, turned out a tool to solidify and verify my foundation. Of course, who can take evil and work it together for good like that but God? So I know He's been working away. In short, I'm actually enjoying and appreciating winter and Christmastime this year in an odd way- I've overcome this pattern, it can't touch me anymore.
I spent more time praying about my next phase, this time realizing I already have things planned in my head and have not opened the options up fully enough to God. In fact, I realized I spent so much time focusing on my own issues these past few weeks that my focus on God's will and ESPECIALLY on loving Jesus and God more than anything and anyone else was dwindling. It was like I needed to do my 70 days of loving God right all over again (which, I suppose we need to be doing throughout our lifetime). I lay in bed praying, somewhere between wakefulness and dreams and asked God to help me to see Him in the right manner, to view our relationship in the right way, to understand how God, Jesus, and I should be to each other. Something between a dream and a vision came to me- more of a vision than a dream as I was more aware that I was awake and it struck my consciousness differently that dreams usually do.

I was in some blue, brightly lit world- city and sea, some bustling marketplace, except the background was all washed out. The only clearly defined thing was the person in front of me. There was Jesus, like a beautiful boy from a romantic comedy- His features and the lighting held a surrealistic, artistic quality. The color had a washed out blue tint- the kind that highlights light- makes light obvious- white, brightness, and blue stick out of the pale palette distinctively. Jesus almost appeared as if his image had been scanned through a computer, into a "sketch" program, and printed out as a living sketch of a real photo. The lines of his hair, his eyes were so definitive, his skin light, his eyes a fierce blue, popping out of the palette of the foggy yet very clear state or place I had entered. I stood there a moment, breathing in how Jesus looked- how he looked like a beautiful boy I would fall in love with- except this vision was not my meeting someone I did not know and thinking I would love him, this was seeing someone I already knew I loved for the first time.
Jesus beckoned to me and I as I went toward him he embraced me- an embrace whose sentiments mixed with parental love, friendship love, and primarily, the intimate love of someone you're in a relationship with. He kissed the top of my head gently, lifted up his hand to show me something- and there my memory goes blank. What he held in his hand was familiar, seemingly trivial- something that seemed meaningless but was somehow significant because He was holding it. I can't remember what it was, but looking back I think that whatever the object is, I am like it- seemingly trivial- if someone saw Jesus holding me, they would ask, "why? why is he bothering with that?" without Him I seem meaningless, but because He's holding me, I am significant. Because he's holding me, making me significant, because God is with me, with us, I have hope. Hope I will come to know Him more and more the way I should and to live for him in whatever way He wills, no matter what the winter brings, the spring, the summer, next fall and next November brings (end of my 70 days). I see His face in my dreams, I watch my students' faces soften as they dream, I laugh as my friends and I share a meaningful moment, I listen to my mother's familiar voice still yapping away on the phone, I hear the E-street band's piano, bells and Sax on the radio in my cold car, and I have hope, because Emmanuel is coming to town. 

Week 19: Thanks

I sat in my car, Over the Rhine playing, while I waited to shadow the vans of students and teachers on the way to the grocery store/back to our residence. I watched all the teachers and students walk out on a blustery sunny November afternoon, the leaves tumbling around their feet, early afternoon sun hitting them. We had left school early as it was the day before Thanksgiving and there's always some novelty to leaving school early, too. But as I looked at all these young women I had grown so close to in the past year or two- people who had been strangers to me 18 months ago, and in some cases even 3 months ago, who now seem something like family. I realized how thankful I am for everything I'm given. And I mean that in a continual sense- I'm thankful for the fact that blessings are continual- I can move far away, my entire life can change, turn upside down, I can move to a place where I know no one, and somehow I always find myself with more people to love, more people who will support me, make me laugh, make me smile. Of course, in order for the continuum to exist, eventually a number of these blessings must eventually fade out and be replaced by new faces. All the more reason to be thankful for what I have, who I know today, because it may soon be gone tomorrow.
We spend so much time planning our future, we sometimes forget to be Thankful for our present. So, this week, maybe I'll take a break from praying for things, praying about the future, and pray a little more prayers of Thanks for all the things I've been given, all the transitions into new phases of my life that have come, gone, and come again, and brought me safely and happily to this place. I know everything in the weeks and years to come will be fine, no matter the outcome, no matter God's answer, because I have so much evidence of my past that God's plan for my life is good, and I have oh so much to be thankful for. 

Week 18: Let it Rain

Another week thinking about and planning my next phase in life. But life is what happens to you when you're busy making other plans and it nearly decided to plan the next phase in my life for me.  A phone call from my mother on Thursday of last week about major health issues made it seem as though this Christmas may be our last together. She had had two bouts of major issues in the past- it was as if we had gotten two free passes- two chances at more time. Given the multiple issues she possibly had going on, it seemed impossible we would get a third. And while tests and a doctor's appointment a week later revealed that the issues were less complicated and while still major and risky, it was less probable that I might be dealing with my mother's impending death especially soon. But, for about a week, my mother and I were pretty convinced that she was dying (and we're still not out of the woods by any means, but the outlook looks better).

Suddenly, the possibilities and likelihoods of my next phase in life shifted to involve burying my bother, settling an estate, selling furniture, cars, determining whether to sell, rent out, or live in my mother's condo- using money from it to buy a place of my own, moving back to IL so I can adequately take care of things. Realizing all the things I would do alone- without family. Mom is all I have and I'm all she has- there is no real other family (that I would consider "family)- who would I put for emergency contact information? If something happened to me, who would make medical decisions, who would get what I have? Where would I go for holidays? If I ever got married, who would help me pick out a wedding dress, walk me down the aisle, tell me how to be a mother? And these were all the selfish concerns- let alone what my mother was feeling, her quality of life, whether we'd ever have enough time for me to express that I actually appreciated the sacrifices she made for me- giving up her life to be a single mother- all the ways she taught me how to love and live. 

All my seventy weeks of planning and prayer- well, it mattered- but it made me realize my future phase of life is very much not in my power. Due to what I can only imagine as a lot of prayer from others and God's grace I felt more peace over the entire situation than I would realistically expect. Friends and co-workers were so supportive. I realized that I'd have to count on friends to be my people- my emergency contacts. I talked with my best friend seriously about these things- a refreshingly serious conversation. I forget sometimes how deep our bond goes until I realize she's still the one I'm immediately dialing after I find out my mother may die within the year. People at work were immediately there for me, and the prayer chain from church was ridiculously active. I got messages from them and good friends- simple things- yet exactly what I needed to hear: that I was not walking alone, that God would not have put me in a situation less than the one that was best for our overall good. First, I realized how scared I was of being alone- as it is just me and mom- I would lose all of my family. Then I realized how much God was with me- how my mother's life functioned, what our relationship was like, all my mother had been through- and I realized God really could have our best interests in mind, even in the worst case scenario. I had so much peace- as much as I did not want to lose my mother, I came to a realization that she will never really leave me- she's eternally in my head, in my heart, telling me to drive slowly as it's slick out, to be nice to custodians, to go west, to be what I'm supposed to be. Although the logistics and implications of the situation seemed huge and I was unsure what would happen in regards to my life in dealing with these things, as much as I did not want my mother to die anytime soon, I prayed, "If you can, take this cup from me, but not my will, but yours be done." And I meant it. This was astonishing to me, because my faith had never held up like this before (although, it hasn't quite been tested that severely since I really grew in it a few years ago). I felt as if evil were attempting to knock me sideways and my reaction was to counter it- with good, not allowing it to take me off my daily work in God, not allowing me to shake my faith that God is good and works all things together according to his purpose. Don't mistake, I was still scared, still selfish about the entire situation, but if God would bring something upon me, he would take care of me. I just asked His will be done.

Low and behold, I got through the week, my mother no longer looks as though death is imminent- although things are still very serious- and I can breathe for a moment and reflect. November 18th also happened this week- the date that will be the end of my 70 weeks next year. We are now less than a year away. That's somewhat scary.

This morning I listened to a Christian radio station on my drive to church- the signal doesn't come in strong in certain areas of my usual drive and when I go far enough east, it eventually garbles itself over to static. I only heard hints of this song at first,  but immediately a memory of my 19th birthday, where I belted out "Let it rain" with my gospel choir in some black baptist church in Wisconsin- probably Milwaukee.

I often thought about what the song meant- just what was it referring to when it said, "let it rain?" What were we letting rain down? Was it a desperate cry for something to rain down upon us (blessings? Forgiveness?), a desperate, urgent, sincere cry of surrender to what God will bring, be it sun or even rain? Well, it was a desperate cry for something- I think what that something is depends on the person and where their life is at the moment. As my choir sang, we were all probably crying for different things- that's the thing about the body of Christ- different needs, different cries in our hearts, different histories, different places in our walks with the Lord- yet all our different voices came together in a harmony that said something and meant something to those watching, and those of us singing. There's something much more powerful when other voices are crying with you- for different reasons, but ultimately seeking the same, greater thing in the end.
 When our loved ones fade away for one reason or another, our friends, our neighbors are all we have.

The song turned out to be just that- a version of "Let it Rain" and although the arrangement was completely different, I belted out the song in my car until it turned completely to static. I thought of the good memories I had associated with it, all the wonderful memories God had given me, the (literally) billions of small gifts I'd received, all the people I've had the pleasure to know and to love. Every moment, every relationship, no matter how small or major and longitudinal, is only a borrowed gift, something lent to us on earth but for a short time. Anything truly good can't last on earth long.

No matter what the year brings- with my mother's health, the end of my 70 weeks, the answers God gives me in regards to it, and anything else that life throws at me in that time- let it rain. Let it rain blessings or pain or forgiveness, as long as it's God- let God rain down. I cry this in both meanings- both in asking for blessing, forgiveness, or anything that comes down, as long as it's pure God. And I say it in surrender, to whatever He brings, because I know, somehow, somewhere, it is good.

Week 17: Find me Somebody to Love

I've heard a lot of songs about love these past few days that have me thinking about the love we seek, the love we think we want, the love we really want, the love we get, the love we get to give and often, if we're doing what God commands, the love we have to give.

Seventy weeks of getting my life together especially involves my getting myself in order to be in whatever meaningful relationship God has planned for me next (and even now)- be that relationship romantic, a friendship, multiple friendships, mentor/mentee, even developing existing family relationships, etc. But of course, girls my age are getting married, just starting to have babies, and the ones that aren't are mostly all focused on finding a way to end up doing those things. It's as if we feel we need to do this to find purpose and fulfillment in our lives. We find ourselves so focused on trying to find somebody to love us, and if we think about it, understand a little more about the nature of love, instead we try to find somebody to love. Queen was a band of some slightly deeper thinkers- they asked if anyone could find them somebody to love.

But even this, is somewhat misguided. We pray and pray for somebody to love- thinking we'll get a romantic partner to cuddle and love and share things with. The Beatles said they got by with a little help from their friends and when asked if they needed anybody, they said they need someone to love. Could it be anybody? They simply say they want someone to love, implying it couldn't be just anybody. But the point is, this is what they want, what they need, and without it they just "get by" with a little help from their friends.

So often, we get caught up in romantic love and think this is the only type there is- at least the only type worth seeking for a long period of time, the only kind worth dedicating a whole life to.  But sometimes I wonder if it were socially acceptable and common practice, that we could just dedicate our lives to a close friend instead of a spouse. What if we met someone with whom our relationship was completely platonic and we just agreed that because we are two people on this planet, that we would care for each other and love each other- even if we're two people who are of the same gender or different sexual orientations- we love each other regardless of physical attraction. We love each other purely for love's sake. Occasionally you see that happen, or something close to it in the form of a long term friendship, but not too often. Best friends move apart, they get married, they have kids, their love goes to more socially acceptable and naturally easier to handle/instinctive places- to their spouse and their children. Friendship love is less instinctive. There's no sexual attraction, no need to protect your young or blood bond. It's more of an agreement to love someone because they are human too- in fact, it seems to me that love is more of the kind Christ speaks of. What I'm describing is even more of a strong neighborly love rather than a love of someone you selected to be your friend. But friendship love and neighborly love are similar enough for the purposes of the ideas I'm describing.

I spent an afternoon in the city talking about life over tea with a good female friend who is also my age and single. I thought about all the beautiful young women I know struggling for companionship, a place in this world, hoping for the desires of their hearts. I thought of all the conversations I'd had in the past few months with friends- loving each other, listening to each other, lifting each other up. All the times I've come to work and felt safe with a group of women who would look out for me- we would take care of each other. We're so busy trying to meet a man to start a family that we forget all the families we have right in front of us- the odd ones that form that are the most difficult to recognize but also the most beautiful . U2 and Johnny Cash didn't just want someone to love romantically- they understood that we have one love, one life, we've got to do what we should- we have one life with each other- our sisters and our brothers. We have one life, even though we're not the same and we get to carry each other, carry each other. We've got to carry each other.

As Christ commands us to love one another, to carry each other, we find that to love is duty. We ask and ask to find someone to love when we neglect to love all the people right in front of us whom we are commissioned and commanded to love. And while it is our duty and it is difficult, it is not a chore- it comes with all the pain, beauty, growth, and strength that any love comes with. Love, in it's true form, is love- no matter who it belongs to, no matter who it's given to.

So if you're longing to love somebody, you can pray and pray that you'll find somebody to love- but be careful what you wish for because you most certainly will find hundreds of people to love, right before your eyes. And if you choose to love them for the people they are, standing right in front of you, with nothing romantic to hand you, you'll find a purpose and a fulfillment in your life and you'll find you have a family, or at least a person who will carry you, too. You'll carry each other, carry each other home.

Week 16: Tears and Fears

I've had so many thoughts these past weeks that I couldn't focus them into one post although I tried to write many times. So this post is a menagerie of ideas- maybe I can at least keep each paragraph in the line of one idea. However, as with most of my ideas, they all seem to blend together to make one larger idea- as if my life is planned to make one large point at a certain point in time. It's very cool and definitely leads me to believe that things are carefully divinely planned. That said, I have yet to determine the larger point that all these ideas make- so here is the mess as it is and where I am in my 70 weeks:

In high school, there was a period of time where tears would come to my eyes every day- tears of wonder, tears of joy- just because I was so enraptured by the beauty of the world. I always loved this part of me, that could see beauty like that. When I started dating my high school/college boyfriend I remember telling him that. I don't think he fully understood and with that relationship, I lost the ability to see beauty in the world like that for a long time. I remember when the relationship ended- it came back to me very quickly- that ability to be brought to tears over some inexplicable beauty. I think it came back with my relationship with God. As, how can you love creation fully if you don't love the creator fully? Within the past few weeks I celebrated my three year anniversary of being me (in other words, 3 year anniversary of being single) which is always a thoughtful time for me. This year, I celebrated where I am, who I am, and my stronger relationship with God that truly developed within these past 3 years. I also celebrated my ability to cry at simple beauty, which I actually haven't done in a while.

I drove home after a typical day at work, but one that just went right. I had done decently right by my students and other staff, I had passed a test,  delicious food was in the cafeteria, and my students had just been full of so many precious moments. Driving home, I recalled a few of those moments and just started laughing, then crying at the beauty of the culmination of everything in my day- my students faces, their comments, my love for them, the bond between other staff, the friends I had made out here, the way we can all communicate with just a look, how close I feel with all of them. And I cried in wonder of it, in sorrow that in not too long a time I will be losing it, and then began to laugh with joy at the fact that I could love so many things with such magnitude all in one moment. And I thanked God for being able to know that feeling, for having the privilege of knowing all of the people I have ever known and shared a close word with.I cried because I could cry at beauty again.

But, throughout the past few weeks I especially tended towards appreciating what I have now, but with bittersweetness, always involving a deep sense of sorrow that the life I have now, that I love so much, will be gone so soon. In about a year and a half, very likely. The purpose of my 70 weeks is to determine what my next phase in life is through prayer and to get myself spiritually straightened out in order to go to that place and do what I'm supposed to do there. In other words, wherever I'm going, I need to have all my spiritual strength about me because I have a feeling it will be a challenge. I talked to one of my advisers about working in the public schools eventually and said, "that's what you're supposed to do with this program anyway, right? Leave here and go where they don't have access to these kinds of programs?" and she said, "no, if you like it here, you stay, but if you have something set up somewhere else, then you can go." Well, I happen to love where I am, but I thought, just because you like being in a certain place doesn't mean you should stay there. Not everyone is me, many people select a place to live because they like the geography, the people, the places around them. They select a place to work because of good hours, good pay, good benefits. For me, work has never been about those things- it's a nice and very useful bonus that I am able to stay clothed, sheltered, fed, and cared for medically as a result, but I always selected my work because of the amount of meaning it provided. I feel as though it's not so much a choice to stay in a place because I like it- there's a sense of duty, or calling to be somewhere else. And if I were to stay where God did not want me to stay, I would be unhappy. Nonetheless, I go to tears at the thought of leaving this beautiful place, this phase in life, even if it isn't for another one and a half to two years. But then I thought, how lucky I am- I never fully leave a place totally willingly with a spirit of wanting to be rid of it. I always leave because I'm propelled forward, forced to move on by another calling, a new phase in life- so I leave every place I've been appreciating it and loving it which means I must live each phase of life pretty fully.

Despite all this, I realize just how ridiculously scared I am of the real world, of my next phase of life. I found myself realizing how I don't have enough courage to do enough for students in the public school. I don't normally think of myself as cowardly- quite the opposite, and the only thing I'm usually afraid of is fear. But I find myself realizing I'm wishy washy when I should advocate for my students- which makes me feel terrible and terrifies me at the same time. So, combine that terror with fear of hating the next place I go (which is silly since I've always loved every place I've ever been led, but I'm a creature that lacks faith, despite how many times I've been shown there is cause for it) and not doing right by all the people involved in my next phase of life, including students, family, friends, people I'm involved in relationships with, and God, you'll see I'm actually full of a lot of fear. And that is never a good thing. So, I continually pray for more guidance on my next phase, less fear, and more courage.

As it turns out, these ideas have come to a bit of a point, although I fear I've neglected incorporating a lot of my ideas and I don't really like the lame prose of this post. But I'll go with it.
Until next week or so...

Week 14: "I Know You," Golden Gifts, and an Autumn I can Accept

Obviously there's a large period of time during my seventy weeks in which I didn't write. In fact, I didn't even write around the end of my 70 days. The end of my 70 days was a little sad actually, it had been an eventful 70 days but the last couple weeks were uneventful and September 23 came and went without a bang. I blame this primarily on changes that happened at work once the new contract year began at the beginning of September. This meant people I was close with left and moved on, I took on a new role, and thus had a different schedule. I was thus a lot busier, more preoccupied at work while getting used to the changes, and my schedule has me working more nights which meant fewer trips to Chauncy Lake.

Chauncy Lake was where I'd been going in the afternoons a couple of days a week after work and just get lost in the woods. It's one of those places where meaning just seems to hang in the air, probably because it feels untamed. I'm  unclear on who owns the lake and the land around it- there are private homes on one side, a beach owned by the town and woods that appear to be controlled by some authority (the state rec/conservation department, department of health for the water supply, party the town?) as there are signs about allowed hunting areas. Other parts appear to be under the control of the huge yet half abandoned state hospital that takes up a large portion of the grounds to the point where most of the time you're wandering in an area pinned in by the lake on one side and a hospital for the mentally ill on the other. Nonetheless, there are trails that appear to be somewhat intentionally created and some that are just worn paths, some of which lead into a cornfield with lots of paths frequented by cyclists and runners although they appear to be owned by some private farm. In the woods are random remnants of buildings- a hidden brick foundation that must have once been part of a building or at least a wall, a staircase in the middle of the forest that goes down into some kind of tunnel under what appears to have once been the foundation of some kind of building. I often wonder if there are secret tunnels to old torture chambers of the mental institution. But I fear I'm portraying it incorrectly- Chauncy Lake is an incredibly peaceful place, one where I would go to to walk and talk with God, where most of my revelations during the height of my 70 days had occurred.

During that time I had gotten to a place with God I'd never been before. I found myself loving Him more and more, understanding more of what it meant to love God, who God was. But the primary difference was the peace I had. You've heard of Christ's restless peace? Well, for me, it's especially restless. I'm especially philosophically questioning, always moving- feeling as though I need to be doing something in order to do God's will. I'm more of a Martha than a Mary and that's probably not the best thing. In fact, toward the end of August that story popped up everywhere- I kept hearing it, hearing people preach or speak on it- at church, in bible study, on the radio, even in conversations with friends. I think a lot of what God was doing during my 70 days was to show me the importance of just developing a relationship with Him. Typically, I felt God's presence in the middle of some tough time emotionally, when I reached some major point in my life, or usually when I wasn't on the path I should be and God was talking to me to tell me what to do. Usually I was already in a tough place and God's presence came with a sense of urgency- because I especially needed it then. And His presence usually involved some kind of demand- to change something, to do something, to be something. This was different, it was a quieter presence, one that just was and was loving and not necessarily at some crucial or tragic time when I needed comfort. God was just there, God was just with me, just because I wanted to know Him. I think that shows something important about God's character that we all need to be aware of: that He just wants to be with us, and will be with us, even in ordinary every day life, if only we ask.

However, while I had made progress as a Mary, just listening to and appreciating God, thoughts of the eternal are frequently distracted by thoughts of the temporal. My life changed a lot with work and my new work schedule- I just had more on my mind and less time where I could go spend quality time with God anywhere, let alone Chauncy Lake. Thus, while I had still been attempting to press into God throughout my 70 days, I was less focused on it and my peace, my sense of his presence had dwindled. I spent my 70th day distracted and somewhat mournful over the loss of that restful peace and more constant presence that was back to being the fleeting thing it had been.

I made an effort to continue pressing into God, to continue learning to love him past my 70 days, into the rest of my 70 weeks especially since I felt like I hadn't gotten as close to loving him properly as I wanted during that time. While I still recognize I'll never love Him enough, never love Him right, of course I want to love Him more, love Him better, and continually grow in that throughout my life. There were a number of interesting theological and spiritual thoughts and ideas that occurred between the last bit I wrote 7 weeks in (the last "memoirs of an August in love") and now but I can't express them completely now that time has passed. Regardless, I made an effort to devote more time to God and to continue to work on making Him a constant part of my thoughts and moment to moment decisions. Finally, I made it over to Chauncy Lake yesterday and realized it had been nearly two months since I spent quality time there. I had stopped by with my mother when she had come to visit but hadn't been able to really walk far or think. This time I went, I almost had to force myself. I thought about rushing to get home and shower in order to go out that evening. It probably didn't help that I don't just go there to walk, I go for a run and like any good person, I like to come up with reasons to avoid exercising. Kind of like repentance, it can be kind of painful at first and you may reluctant to go through with it, but afterward you always feel great- cleansed, renewed, and good.  

I should also add that in the middle of this 7 week period of a lack of writing, fall had happened. I'm notorious for finding fall and winter aversive since the last 4 or so have been especially awful for me. I started to fall in love with autumn when I moved out to New England last autumn, but then another emotionally eventful fall/winter followed yet again. So when fall came this year, I dreaded it, afraid of what catastrophes could occur. But despite adjustments to change, I've fallen in love with autumn- there's just something about it in New England, it's just different. More importantly, I've been able to really appreciate the beauty of it and see a lot of philosophy behind it.

Very long story short, I finally made it to Chauncy Lake again and it was a bit of a shock (there's is where all the recapping ends and some meaningful reflections on life and more poetic prose begin).The last time I had been there was in the heat of summer, thick leafy green serenity and bright blue water, lily pads emerging, bullfrogs croaking, insects breeding in the shallow water in the steamy hot sunlight. And while I'd been watching happen all around me with great appreciation, it shocked me to get there and find everything so changed, like seeing a friend who is unexpectedly seriously ill- when they look so gaunt you almost don't recognize them.  That's also the funny thing about death, it's different when you watch it slowly happen, but shocking when the last time you saw something it was very lively, time goes by, and next time you see it, it's very much in the process of dying or already dead. And I realized this is what had happened, I had come to visit an old friend who, last I saw, was lively and in the prime of its life and found it in the process of dying and yet, it's death was one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen.

What I could have thought to be (and once would have thought to be) a sad, haunting place where grey skeletons mingled with trees still clinging to their golden and red remnants I saw as a beautiful expression as the natural cycle of life. My path was littered with leaves- bright blood red ones- I was convinced I'd never known the color red until that moment. They contrasted with the charcoal grey, nearly black stones along the lake in a way that made my visual cortex do a double take at all the color. The drifted into the sleepy grey water like boats carrying the dead that are sent out to sea, sent out down a river. There were trees that seemed so alive with color, others newly passed and still more that had been dead for years- toppled trees whose roots were exposed, others broken at the middle, snapped at their core. I wondered what did it, did they rot from the inside out until they break, just where they appear strongest? How does a tall, full grown tree topple over completely? It must have not laid its roots deep enough, perhaps it began to grow where its roots could not sink down deep. One tree lay in the shallows of the lake, jutting straight out from the bank, it's dead, crumpled leaves clung to it, they're dusty rust color soft against the smoky water that lapped over its trunk. I was astonished at how beautiful its death appeared- it was not beautiful itself but it's state, its relationship with the lake, the way the lake moved onto it, around it, the way their colors blended struck me. I stood a while to stare. As I moved on,  I saw more colorful foliage mixed with dead twisted stumps and trunks and realized I was in a  world until itself. Untouched, untended by man. What was to die, died and remained right there, amongst life in it's prime. What was to be born was born, tiny young trees pushed their way in between large ones- life and death coexisted in brilliant color and brilliant subtlety.

I thought about the brilliant colors and how, while this looked like life at it's peak, it was in fact, a short prelude to death. This was when the environment got so cold it stripped away all the green, lively parts of the leaf, all the chlorophyll, until only the subtle colors, the caretenoids, usually outweighed by the chlorophyll shine through. And I thought that this was the way to live and the way to die: to blossom in your youth, pure, clean, and bright. To shade and shelter in your prime, serene, strong, and broad. To show all your color in your old age, that when everything you have is stripped away, your most beautiful colors shine through. Then, when the time comes, you just silently fall, twirling through the air, leaving bright remnants of your life on the ground. Now, that's the way to go.

I continued walking, trying to reconnect with God, to feel His presence as I had in my August visits to the lake. I prayed, I asked for His presence, for no other reason than my great want to just be with Him. As I wandered, two thin tall bright yellow trees caught my eye. They reached high into the sky and caught the dying afternoon light so that their leaves appeared purely gold. The way they reflected the sun was something to behold, enough to stop me dead in my tracks. I stood there in wonder, like a small child, my eyes wide just looking up at the light at how beautiful it was. Then I saw one of the leaves fly loose and it twirled like a whirly-gig down from the tall tree, like a piece of goodness, a sliver of light God had let slip down to earth, I reached my hand out in vain to catch it, not expecting to hold it, not stretching myself or making any effort to attain it. It seemed so unlikely that I would catch it, it could have landed anywhere, the tree was so high, not even directly above me, the leaf could have landed anywhere within a 20 foot radius of me. Instead, it fluttered down without any effort directly into the palm of my hand. I stood there in awe, a tear came to my eyes. If I were a bystander I would have thought I was crazy- here was this twenty something girl standing beneath a tree, looking up at it like a newborn who had never seen a tree before, marveling at the fact that she caught a leaf in her hand. But I still maintain that I had asked God for His presence, I saw his light reflecting stunningly in the world around me, and at that very moment he sent a sliver of it, right down to me. Like Grace, I didn't ask for it (or even know I needed to) I didn't need to do anything to gain it except open my hand to receive it. I held onto the leaf tightly like a tiny treasure, brought it home and put it on my bookshelf with my shells, stones, and sea-glass. Of course, it seemed darker with orange tinges down here on earth. Even when I passed the entire tree a little while later on my walk back, I almost did not recognize the tree. The sun had gone down further in the mean time and the leaves no longer reflected in the light. It was now another unremarkable tree with yellow leaves, yet another sign that what I loved was not the tree, but the light. As C.S. Lewis said, "ah, you're forgetting, light itself was your first love, you loved __________, as only a means of telling about the light"

I continued back to my car, holding my treasure, spending time with God. At one point, with the dying light shining behind me I caught my shadow before me on the ground, laying there amidst the acorns and dirt that seemed so familiar, my mind suddenly flashed with images of the field I would bike to when I was  young near my grandmother's house, fallen leaves and acorns in our yard, the sign at the church I would ride past just to catch a phrase about who God was, I looked back at my silhouette and God simply said, for no apparently urgent reason, "I know you." And he was right, he did, he does. Sometimes I think of how far I've come spiritually and think of my past self as someone who did not know God, but then I recall moments of me grasping for shreds of Him desperately, even as a young kid on a bike. Not only did God know me, he had made himself known to me early on- we had spent so many quality years together.  But, don't get me wrong this revelation (that I had of course known before, but had never had said to me by God) still hit me like a ton of bricks. It's a startlingly simultaneous feeling of comfort and terror at the same time when the God of the universe tells you he knows you. He knows everywhere I've been, who I am, but he also knows everything I've done, every terrible thing I've ever thought or desired,  but yet, still chooses to know and love me anyway.

Today in church we sang what used to be the end of the doxology at my home church growing up. It was always my favorite part of the service when I was little and struggling to feel any presence of existence of a God. I would stand there, look at the large cross on the wall and sing "Glory be to the father and to the son and to the holy ghost, as it was in the beginning is now and ever shall be, world without end, ah-ah men, ah-ah, men." for a long while, we stopped singing it at my home church. Then I moved out here, started at a new church and while we sang another, similar song for the doxology, we had never sung the part that I had so loved until today. When I saw the words on the screen I thought of who I was, who I'd been, and who I was to  be: all the seasons he'd seen me through, all the places he'd allowed me to see him, all the golden gifts of light he'd given me- and I sang the words with a sense of wonder because, wow, God just knows me.

Week 7: Memoirs of an August in Love- Look Me in the Eyes

Memoirs of an August in Love: Look me in the eyes

A friend told me about one of the best weddings he ever went to- where his best friend, the groom, read his 2 page long, hand-written vows to his Wife-to-be. My friend said it was one of the most romantic moments he had ever seen when his friend, the groom, took a step toward his wife-to be so he was standing close to her and held his handwritten vows practically under her chin so he could do his best to look her in the eyes as he spoke his vows to her.

I realized that, as a girl, if I were to tell this story to one of my female friends we would both go "awww, I want a guy to do that for me!" But here's the thing, we spend so much time wanting love less radical and less wild than the love we already have. Not that there's anything wrong from desiring human love, but there is something wrong in desiring it above divine love or ignoring divine love in seeking human love. I of course, have done and frequently do both, probably at the same time.

When I think about it, it's kind of ridiculous that we desire less than we already have. Where I would want a human to look me in the eyes and declare his love/commitment to me, I have a God who would not only stare me in the face with His love, but completely surround me with it. I have a divine being who would deign to come into the earthly realm and call my name, speak to me, call me His. I have a Savior who would not only look me in the eyes to show me His love, but would hang on a cross to show His love for me. How can I look for anything "more?" Understandably, human love is at times more tangible and easier to understand than God's love, but its limitations, necessity to be connected to God's love to be of any relevance, and it's temporal boundaries compared to God's endless, undying, and stand-alone true love make the choice obvious.
Not that it's necessarily choosing one negates the other, but one must be chosen above and placed higher than the other in order for them to properly coexist

Week 6: Memoirs of an August in Love- Take my hand

Memoirs of an August in Love: Take My Hand

On an unremarkable night, after an unremarkable rainy day in a strange house in Cape Cod, I read a passage in Genesis ("I will watch over you wherever you go... I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you") in "Angry Conversations with God"- it was a passage passed to the author when she needed an answer about her life. It struck me like a ton of bricks- and I all the ideas that swirled in my head all month wound into one truth that shocked and knocked the wind out of me: I was refusing to give up a love of human things, to give up the few shards I had of God-like love that I could not hold onto (although I could try, and fixate on it for years- they were something I could see, could almost count on, almost...) when I could have the real thing- true real love, all of it, from God- the best and only kind of true love. I "just" had to give up everything that made me feel (falsely) secure and be willing to truly do everything God called me to do.
More shocking, I realized that 2 and a half years ago, God forcefully pulled me out of the spiritual pit, took me in His arms, and has been working to bring me to him- and until now, I thought I had been in a good place spiritually. And I suppose I had, comparatively, but it was not enough. What I ultimately realized, was that I never became Jesus' bride, I never married Jesus! I was never quite there, we were only engaged- I had asked him to come into my heart, but hadn't quite let him completely move in. Here I was, feeling I had really come into a good place with God, and I hadn't really let him in at all.

I was listening to a song that reflected on events in my life a year ago, but also moved with an urgent rhythm that pushed at now. I felt the urgency sink into my chest, as if, now that I realized the missing piece, I must, at this moment, give up everything and run flat out to God. I knew at that moment that I'd been running from God for a long time- always holding something back, always afraid to go the distance, like the "guy who won't commit."

And although this seems strange even to me, I felt there was an outstretched hand above me, waiting for me to grasp it. The song went on, threatening to run out and I wondered if God's offer could expire, not a comforting thought. But the moment I thought it, I knew it wasn't true, but the more I waited, the further I would drift away from His hand, and if I really loved Him, I would take His hand, urgently, this minute.

I kept trying to raise my hand from my side, but I balked. I thought of all I'd give up, I couldn't fathom it. I thought of all I'd have to do- I couldn't fathom doing it. I thought of who I'd have to be- I couldn't fathom being that strong. But the song went on with urgency, as if to say not to think of those things- to realize them- but not to think of them. I tried to move my hand, it felt dead at my side.
I thought of the man in "The Great Divorce" with Sin on his shoulder- knowing it would hurt to remove it, he couldn't fathom what it would mean to take it, he knew it would be hard, it would hurt, and he knew the more he thought about how difficult it would be, the more he would shy away. And the bright spirit pushed with urgency- how important it was that He kill it- the Sin- right there that minute. I felt wrong, not thinking out all of the consequences of my decision. But this man, he did not think, he knew in his heart the heavenly consequences, and knew earthly consequences meant nothing, so he let go.
And so, I grabbed on. I reached my hand above my head and grasped at heaven- I took a hand, pulling myself up, pulling Him into my heart, I told myself I could not look back,
and I was not afraid.

More Week 5: Memoirs of an August in Love: Be My Child

Memoirs of an August in Love: Be my Child

It was another season that threatened to distort my temporarily settled, yet peaceful lifestyle. When opportunities and decisions force me to question the direction of my journey, the next few destinations on the itinerary. I could be so many people, do so many things, I could risk being all that I was meant for and it would be oh so tempting. All harsh realities, decisions, responsibilities.
I walked a while with God, I looked out over the water, I looked up through the shading branches, up to the endless sky, and pleaded, "just tell me who you want me to be."
A soft breath of wind of an answer without harsh realities or demands came back- "my child" was all it said. A comforting thought, until I realized all that entailed- the same difficult responsibilities, decisions. This is exactly why this is so difficult, I protested, because I'm yours.
"Be my child" the wind said again, in the way your mother would soothe you to sleep at night- and my worries went to sleep as the logistics no longer mattered, and the simplicity of the notion sunk into my being.

Week 5: Memoirs of an August in Love- Reflecting Light

Memoirs of an August in Love: Reflecting Light

I stood in the afternoon light on the edge of a lake, conversing with God. I turned my glance to the western side- the poplar and oak leaves shone the sinking sunlight, which I could not directly see, off of their waxy surfaces- they almost glittered. Realizing I felt His pull from that direction, I questioned myself: "But God is everywhere."
Testing my senses, I turned my glance to the East, God was not radiating from that direction, the trees there were lit by the sun, but I did not see the sunlight in them, it merely alighted them so they were visible.
God was everywhere- all around, he reveals all the world through High light. But he calls to us through those that reflect His light back for others to see- through them we see His likeness, even when He is out of sight.

Week 4: Memoirs of an August in Love- Fill my Cup

During the early part of my 70 weeks was my 70 days of falling in love. I took a lot of walks in the woods near a nearby lake and would get lost for hours on sunny afternoons, just walking with and thinking about God. I began writing "Memoirs of an August in Love" which  I will post as records of what I was thinking on certain weeks of my 70 days.

Memoirs of an August in Love- Fill my Cup:
I left work with an empty plastic cup, I'd drank all the water it once held throughout my long day. I carried my heavy bags and my tired eyes home at nine in the night rain, pulling the cup out of my car. I don't like to leave trash around. I could have run inside to attempt to avoid getting wet, but these days I'm working on not running from forgiveness. The cool sweet summer rain came down, baptizing my forehead, caressing my cheeks, and I stood still for a moment and let my cup fill up with grace.

Prologue

On Friday, July 16th I had a conversation with my good friend Jen about figuring out the path God has planned for us and finding where we're supposed to be. She had been in a transition period, reading the book of Daniel and was inspired by Daniel's 70 weeks of prayer so she decided to change that into days- 70 days of pressing into God in hopes of getting a better sense of where she was supposed to be, who she was supposed to be. Our mutual friend was jumping in on this as well. "It's not like a deadline," she said, "more of a way to keep track of things, just see what God does in my life in the next 70 days."

This visit with Jen was on one of my few trips home, was in the middle of my reading "The Great Divorce" and having a philosophical revelation on my relationship with God and how it had grown or decreased in proportion to my relationship with others. Going home always makes me think a lot, revisit where I've been, and re-evaluate where I'm going. When Jen mentioned the idea I did not decide right away to do the 70 days myself but while driving up to my alma mater one summer day I passed some familiar landmarks that reminded me of landmarks on my spiritual journey- 2 years ago I had begun to re-vamp and, in a lot of ways, really establish (in a way, for the first time, truly) my relationship with God. I saw where I was then and what God had done for me, where He had pulled me out of a relationship from which I could not have extricated myself, made me myself again, gave me true joy again, and primarily led me to understand what true joy was- what truth was, to know who Jesus was and so many things that can't be put into words.
I also realized how much more work I had to do.  While reading "The Great Divorce" I realized I was like the woman who would not give up her son, who used God only as a route to reach him- I used God only to get what I want. I never loved God the way I always said I wanted to love another person: "love him for him"-I never loved God more than friends, family, students- and that that was a terrible, sad, and detrimental thing. I had known this before, had known I needed to put God first but never quite got there. Maybe I just thought it would come, maybe I was just putting it off and thought the love I had for Him was good enough. But that weekend I was home, I knew it wasn't and knew I couldn't do anything right until I loved God right. Thus, began my 70 days of pressing into God but with a specific purpose- to press into Him in order to know Him, to love Him for Him. Like Jen said, it wasn't a deadline. Who can love God correctly in 70 days? Who can love God correctly and wholly in this lifetime? I'll continue working on it until I see His face, but I needed to make a lot more progress, to get a whole lot closer to loving him wholly than I was. Thus began the 70 days, ending September 23, 2010

And, while Jen was in a transition period, I realized I found myself in a kind of three year transition period- a period of working and growing, transitioning between college and a place where God eventually wants me to be. While I had already begun the journey of being a teacher, I was signed up to spend at least 3 years in a place to grow as a teacher, as a person, as a child of God- to become who God needs me to be to embark on the more pivotal part of the journey He has planned. The problem was (and is) that I did not (and do not) know where the pivotal part of my journey lies, what it is, and what I need to do to get there. This was a very serious question, one that could take a lot of prayer. 70 days was great for the first part of this process, loving God, but after I get that more under control, I should go further. 70 WEEKS seems daunting, but for someone about halfway through her 3 year transition period, it's perfect. It put me at November 18th, 2011- about 1/3 of the way through the last year of my graduate program. I decided I would pray, press into God, get to know God, love God for 70 weeks and that by that time, I had to have an idea of where the next part of the journey was and where I was going to start the pivotal part of it, more importantly, where GOD wanted me to go to begin the pivotal part of it.

Thus begins  this blog, although I'm a little late in posting it as I'm already 14 weeks in. Although, I'm only 4 and a half weeks past my 70 days at this point. I did some writing during that period so I'll post that although it's not the current status of my 70 weeks. Eventually I'll catch up and what you read will be where I am.
So, here begins the chronicle of my 70 weeks of prayer, the content of which should be a meaningful conversation with the Almighty, the end of which should be the beginning of an important life decision.

Here goes nothing...