One question I've struggled with for a while is the specificity of God's will for each of us. I have friends who believe God has a general will for the world, but that, because we have free will, God is not specific about many of our individual choices and life circumstances, as long as they do not fall within the realm of sin. I have a friend who feels God gives him some general parameters but (purposely) leaves many of the specifics, and often seemingly major details up to him. Another friend feels God never gives her specifics of what she should do- only a general inclination to one general place, and then what she should do follows- that is, if she gets clear convictions or direction at all. In fact, a majority of the people I know feel they don't get clear direction from God, and they crave it (although, some are happy or simply at peace with the generality). This has always thrown me off because I'm generally the opposite. I have always felt God had a specific plan for me life- that there was something very specific I was supposed to do. And we're not just talking profession. I feel called to be a teacher (and God's will is related to this), but many people who feel God's will with them is not very specific still feel called by God to a profession. The difference (I think) with me is that there is at least one thing (more likely a large scale set of things)I am supposed to accomplish with my calling- and God is not general. He has always been very specific. Not that he ever gives me clear answers on what exactly it is I'm journeying towards, but the path has always been very narrow. I've felt many inclinations that teaching in a certain place, going down a certain path within my profession, was not the journey God had planned for me. I've also felt called to very specific places and aspects of my profession (and other areas of my life as well). I find myself having to be very careful because I am often offered many opportunities to do things I would enjoy, things I would be good at, things seemingly within my calling, but that are not part of the specific path God has planned for me.
God has always been very specific in my life- in multiple areas. I think sometimes I forget this, and try to take my own way. Sometimes I hear my friends talking of all their general answers from God- the freedom they feel they have to choose where they go, what they do, who they're in a relationship with. I've never felt I had this freedom. Am I crazy? Am I wrong in thinking God is this specific about His will for me and maybe His will for me is just as general as it is for the next person? Is His will more specific than other people realize? Or, is it that His will is specific for some and more general for others based on who each person is as well as the nature of what God has planned for them? Maybe with some people, God needs to be more specific than others.
Since my mother has gotten sick in the past few years, our relationship has really evolved. I'd say healed, because it's improved and some broken things have become unbroken- but I feel like "healed" implies that it once was right, was broken, and is better again. But many parts of our relationship, I can't remember when they were ever right, ever as they are now. Especially in more recent times, we're much more open with each other. I feel like our openness and ability to talk deeply about emotions and faith with each other (which we didn't do for many years when I was younger, despite being very close)increases with each medical scare she has. This week, it was leukemia. Blood tests made it look like a very real possibility, and though a visit with her oncologist a few days later confirmed it wasn't, I think it still partially fueled one of our more serious and personal conversations.
Mom and I rarely talk faith/God. It happens more and more these days as my faith is much more developed (although, despite growing up in a church, the same one my mother is a member of, it developed very independently from my mother)and as my mother is attending church more and in a small group bible study with women from church. Although, I find my mother now often turns to me asking my opinion of things, and I'm surprised how much mine differs from hers- often in that mine might be labeled a little more "extreme." More likely, mine is founded on the scripture I've read in more recent years. Mom doesn't read scripture very often- she has a collection of views of God from her personal experience with Him that she uses as a basis for her faith. Recently it came up that some women in her bible study expressed being angry with God, even resentful. And my mother expressed how shocked she was, saying she never felt angry with God, asking if that was weird. She asked if I ever felt angry with God and was kind of surprised and interested when I told her about my "fights" with God. "Really?! You don't really mean FIGHT, though, right?" she said. "Um, yeah, I think I do. Not "FIGHT" because he'd win- but we get in tiffs," I said. She was surprised, I explained that the main issue would be my feeling resentful of God because I felt He often required specific things of me that I did not always want to ascent to. Usually involving giving up worldly things I wanted in order to conform to the specificity of His will. In a way, I occasionally look at myself as the victim of destiny, which is not at all healthy. I'm getting much better at it, but in my darkest times, when I'm resentful of God, that is likely the reason why. I talked of how specific I felt God had been with me and my mother didn't really need to hear details. "That makes sense she said. What you're saying makes sense with everything I've always known about you since you were little."
This surprised me, and yet it didn't. First of all, you have to understand my relationship with my mother. We don't talk about faith. My mother knows that I am called, but we have never spoken of the specifics of the convictions I feel I have directly from God. And while my mother has often said she felt I was called- as she had since I was in high school- I was surprised she knew when I was that young. Although, I shouldn't be- because I knew at a young age- perhaps 7- that God had something planned for me that I was supposed to do. Something specific. So if I knew, I suppose mother's always know everything, she must have known as well. I asked her why specifically and she said there was just something about how I was as well as how I came to be born and how our lives worked out. She never really was on "the mommy track," never really wanted kids until she felt kind of called to it in her mid thirties. My mother has stated before she got married in order to have a child. My parents were married a short time as my father was an emotionally abusive alcoholic and my mother struggled financially as a single parent. Things were tough for us at times, but we always had what we needed. Even though it was just the two of us for a long time, things always just seemed to "magically" work out. I've always felt all the events of my life lined up perfectly pointing in a direction- every single piece of the puzzle fits to point to exactly where God wants me next- all the little aspects blend into and lend to each other perfectly. Mom always said she felt she was "protected" because she needed to care for me. She said she worried when I moved out and became more self sufficient that she wouldn't be protected any more, and I think she thinks this sickness has come about now because circumstances are such that it wouldn't necessarily be greatly detrimental to my path. In short, my mother seemed to understand perfectly that God gave me very specific directions because she had felt it herself. I think of anyone, my mother seems to understand the nature of my being called- what it means, how it affects me, what God wants from me, more than anyone else. And it's not because she's experienced it herself- I think God has been pretty general in His will for her. But, perhaps that's the mother child bond, maybe it's something about having been part of my mother at one time, and I being a part of her- there's something innate in me that only she could comprehend. And, when I speak of my calling, I think I generally sound boastful, ridiculous, pompous, full of myself (which I'm sure I have throughout this entire post) but my mother doesn't seem to find it ridiculous or boastful at all- she thinks it makes complete sense with who I am. But, my mother has known me all my life, so she just KNOWS me.
The point of all this being, after discussing with my mother, I have definitely come to the conclusion that God's will is very specific for some and more general for others- at least, the part that he reveals differs. His will may be very specific for everyone- but he may be more specific in what he reveals to each person. I think this last idea is really dependent on how free you think your will is and how much is predestined. I'm still meditating on that.
But this idea of God's specificity for my life- in all areas, is really opening up how I look at things. While I've always known He's been specific, I haven't broken it down into this idea before- that He's particularly specific with me, and that it branches into ALL parts of my life. If you've read my more recent posts, you might recall a conversation I had with Him recently about being ready for a relationship. Well, further conversations and thoughts have made me realize how specificity applies there as well. The area of relationships is confusing for me because I was never a "mommy track" person- unlike many of my female friends, I don't believe you can plan to get married or have kids- you can't put it on your to-do list. Maybe some people can, but with the specifics God has planned for me, I can't. If God has a general plan for you- you may be able to say God's will is for you to be a wife/husband and potentially a mother/father. Some may say that God is ok with it, whatever they choose. I feel like any relationship is going to impact so many other areas of my life where God is so specific, that this is not an area where God is neutral on whatever I decide to do.
And most recently I realized something- I am not called to just teach in general somewhere- I am called to teach special needs children with the most rehabilitative practices and I'm called to do this in a certain place, in a certain capacity, with certain students. Just as I am called in that way, I am not called to be a wife or a mother- and I don't want to be a wife ore a mother. I'm called to be SOMEONE's wife, and those someone's mother. I don't want to get married to get married, I don't want a relationship for the sake of a relationship. I want there to be someone who makes me want to get married/be in a relationship, with whom I feel called to be in a relationship/ marry. And I think I have to feel this way. I settle for nothing less than being called by God into a work circumstance, so why would I settle for less than that with a potentially life long relationship?
Again, not that any of this is immediately pressing. There are no circumstances making this revelation imminent but I feel as though God is preparing me. This 70 weeks is not only a time to straighten out my relationship with God and pray about my course of action at the end of my program here, I think it's a time where God is working to get me ready for my next phase of life. He's preparing me for what I need to look for in a relationship, how to recognize it when I see it, He's preparing me for the kinds of things I'll need to do in my work with students and colleagues, he's even preparing me for losing my mother. Mom and I have talked that we don't expect her to live beyond the next ten years- and we're doubting she'll be around much longer than 5 (although who knows?). But I've faced what appeared to be her imminent death already this year- to come out of it- but yet to appreciate it and know to appreciate her while I have her. At the same time, I'm beginning to cope with and comprehend the idea of being alone as mom is my only family. Mom and I discussed how, if I ever have children, she will very likely not be alive. Knowing that, preparing for that, I think will make it a lot less hurtful when the time comes. If I ever were to marry, I may have to walk down the aisle alone (as the only person I'd have walk me would be my mother- it doesn't make sense for anyone else to do it). I may move back home alone to an empty condo full of my mother's things, I may face unexpected relationships, I may face the hardship of schools where my educational practices are not expected or understood, where doing the best for students means risking a lot of things and takes a lot of courage.
In short, I think my next phase of life is going to be a doozie and God is getting me ready. In a way, I should probably be glorying in my 70 weeks because this is probably a much simpler, much more innocent, and easier time.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Monday, January 24, 2011
Week 28: This _________is the cross that I bear, bear with me
I'm finally caught up to the actual week that I'm in within my 70 weeks. This week was a doozie. I feel dead. Maybe it's because I'm sick and physically beaten down, maybe it's stress from work which has been especially tough this time of year due to a series of circumstances with staffing, maybe I'm just tired. It's probably a combination of all of the above.
Maybe one of the main reasons is that I'm grieving. A student of mine graduated this week and it feels like a break-up or a death, probably more accurately, what it would feel like if I had a child that went off to college. I didn't expect it to feel like this. When you're a regular teacher, you cry every year because your students, that you see for 9 months, only at school for about 7 hours 5 days a week, move up to another class. Bonding with my students is different. You see them sometimes 8-12 hours a day, year round and they usually don't change classes at the end of the year. You could work with them for 2, 3, even 5 entire years. Some people even remain influential to students at our school for upwards of 10 years. You see them at their residence, you teach them, watch them progress, you tuck them in bed at night, take care of them when they're sick, tickle them when they're happy, hug them when they're sad, watch them open presents on their birthday, sometimes even on Christmas morning, you eat Thanksgiving dinner with them- and as much as we still draw lines that we are their teachers, not their parents- they seem like your family to you.
Still, I expected it to feel like the happy kind of sadness like when you graduate high school or college- the happiness of moving on, yes wistful sadness, knowing you'll miss people. I knew I'd cry. But I didn't know I'd grieve. This felt more like your kid going off to college, not YOU graduating from high school and going to college. Maybe it felt more like going off to college for her, because that's kind of what it was. I suppose it makes sense it would feel like having a child leave for college because as teachers, we're more in the parental role than the student role.
Nonetheless, things at work that remind me of her brought me to tears, sometimes I didn't even want to say her name, the whole place feels empty. I'm sure it will fill up again, especially with the coming of a new student to bring in her own brand of humor, joy, and challenges.
But until then, there's an empty space. I still maintain it's the kind you feel after a break up, you know, the one that makes your flirt with the idea of never entering into a relationship again because you don't want to feel the pain after it ends? I have a friend who was especially concerned about entering into a relationship, falling in love for that very reason. And I found myself wondering why I do this- this work with special needs children that leads to profound attachment that will always eventually lead to the feeling of loss that I will probably be doing for another 40+ years. Every student I have will move on, in almost every case to uncertain circumstances, I will always be left with the worry of what will happen to them, that they will lose ground, end up in a program, group home, or institution where they will be restricted and limited or ill treated, that they'll end up out on the streets, taken advantage of, in jail.
Now this student, I'm less concerned about than most of those that I will say goodbye too, but still concerned. And of course, there's the just plain missing a student you've worked with for so long. So the day she left, and even the day afterward, I went into work feeling empty, flirting with the idea that my career was just a series of set ups for the eventual pain of loss and concern. I wondered how I could continue with what God calls me to, especially after I leave her and go into the even more painful and unforgiving world of public school.
"What a Good Boy" by the Barenaked ladies always resonated with me- primarily for this line (I really should just blog about song lyrics instead of 70 weeks of prayer, I swear):
This name is the hairshirt I wear,
and this hairshirt is woven from your brown hair.
This song is the cross that I bear,
bear it with me, bear with me, bear with me,
be with me tonight,
I know that it isn't right, but be with me tonight.
The first section doesn't apply to what I'm talking about, but I just like it. But the idea that "this song," what he does, what he's called to, is the cross that he bears- always stuck with me.
The pain of loss and concern- that occurs everyday of teaching, not just when a student graduates- the constant concern and challenge coupled with emotional connection to students will always be the cross I bear.
Of course, this is no way to look at it. It's the millions of smiles and goofy things students do, all the moments of triumph, their successes, all the great things they say- every single precious moment- all the reasons you love your students, all the reasons that you grieve when they leave, that make it all worth it. The very fact that you grieve them tells you that you lead a worthwhile life.
I was not the only one who grieved- all the other teachers did, and still are. We've cried, we feel saddened when reminded of the same things, or the absence of her things around our residence. But this is the cross that we bear for loving, and at least we have people to bear with us, to bear it along side us. And we'll continue to love all of our students to the same degree, despite having to carry this cross again.
It occurred to me that day my student left, as the snow fell, that like the snow, she was a quiet blessing that highlighted all she touched, kept us from venturing out looking for joy and made us see it right within our own lives- the joy we had right in front of us. But like the snow, the seasons change, and it was time for her to move on. The important thing was that she, and all of our students, while we may eventually grieve them, are a blessing. And if you don't love what you're investing your life in enough to grieve it when it goes, you're not loving it enough. So all this grief, is a good sign- and our love is the cross that we bear, bear with us.
Maybe one of the main reasons is that I'm grieving. A student of mine graduated this week and it feels like a break-up or a death, probably more accurately, what it would feel like if I had a child that went off to college. I didn't expect it to feel like this. When you're a regular teacher, you cry every year because your students, that you see for 9 months, only at school for about 7 hours 5 days a week, move up to another class. Bonding with my students is different. You see them sometimes 8-12 hours a day, year round and they usually don't change classes at the end of the year. You could work with them for 2, 3, even 5 entire years. Some people even remain influential to students at our school for upwards of 10 years. You see them at their residence, you teach them, watch them progress, you tuck them in bed at night, take care of them when they're sick, tickle them when they're happy, hug them when they're sad, watch them open presents on their birthday, sometimes even on Christmas morning, you eat Thanksgiving dinner with them- and as much as we still draw lines that we are their teachers, not their parents- they seem like your family to you.
Still, I expected it to feel like the happy kind of sadness like when you graduate high school or college- the happiness of moving on, yes wistful sadness, knowing you'll miss people. I knew I'd cry. But I didn't know I'd grieve. This felt more like your kid going off to college, not YOU graduating from high school and going to college. Maybe it felt more like going off to college for her, because that's kind of what it was. I suppose it makes sense it would feel like having a child leave for college because as teachers, we're more in the parental role than the student role.
Nonetheless, things at work that remind me of her brought me to tears, sometimes I didn't even want to say her name, the whole place feels empty. I'm sure it will fill up again, especially with the coming of a new student to bring in her own brand of humor, joy, and challenges.
But until then, there's an empty space. I still maintain it's the kind you feel after a break up, you know, the one that makes your flirt with the idea of never entering into a relationship again because you don't want to feel the pain after it ends? I have a friend who was especially concerned about entering into a relationship, falling in love for that very reason. And I found myself wondering why I do this- this work with special needs children that leads to profound attachment that will always eventually lead to the feeling of loss that I will probably be doing for another 40+ years. Every student I have will move on, in almost every case to uncertain circumstances, I will always be left with the worry of what will happen to them, that they will lose ground, end up in a program, group home, or institution where they will be restricted and limited or ill treated, that they'll end up out on the streets, taken advantage of, in jail.
Now this student, I'm less concerned about than most of those that I will say goodbye too, but still concerned. And of course, there's the just plain missing a student you've worked with for so long. So the day she left, and even the day afterward, I went into work feeling empty, flirting with the idea that my career was just a series of set ups for the eventual pain of loss and concern. I wondered how I could continue with what God calls me to, especially after I leave her and go into the even more painful and unforgiving world of public school.
"What a Good Boy" by the Barenaked ladies always resonated with me- primarily for this line (I really should just blog about song lyrics instead of 70 weeks of prayer, I swear):
This name is the hairshirt I wear,
and this hairshirt is woven from your brown hair.
This song is the cross that I bear,
bear it with me, bear with me, bear with me,
be with me tonight,
I know that it isn't right, but be with me tonight.
The first section doesn't apply to what I'm talking about, but I just like it. But the idea that "this song," what he does, what he's called to, is the cross that he bears- always stuck with me.
The pain of loss and concern- that occurs everyday of teaching, not just when a student graduates- the constant concern and challenge coupled with emotional connection to students will always be the cross I bear.
Of course, this is no way to look at it. It's the millions of smiles and goofy things students do, all the moments of triumph, their successes, all the great things they say- every single precious moment- all the reasons you love your students, all the reasons that you grieve when they leave, that make it all worth it. The very fact that you grieve them tells you that you lead a worthwhile life.
I was not the only one who grieved- all the other teachers did, and still are. We've cried, we feel saddened when reminded of the same things, or the absence of her things around our residence. But this is the cross that we bear for loving, and at least we have people to bear with us, to bear it along side us. And we'll continue to love all of our students to the same degree, despite having to carry this cross again.
It occurred to me that day my student left, as the snow fell, that like the snow, she was a quiet blessing that highlighted all she touched, kept us from venturing out looking for joy and made us see it right within our own lives- the joy we had right in front of us. But like the snow, the seasons change, and it was time for her to move on. The important thing was that she, and all of our students, while we may eventually grieve them, are a blessing. And if you don't love what you're investing your life in enough to grieve it when it goes, you're not loving it enough. So all this grief, is a good sign- and our love is the cross that we bear, bear with us.
Week 27: You're ready
Bible Study on Monday nights is always tremendously good for me. It's usually exactly what I need- to straighten out theological concerns, get some quality worship time, and just get the word of God. It's a bit of a drive back home and I often use that time to talk with God, think, just let my mind open up.
This past Monday evening I was headed home on dark route 20, listening to Sugarland (not especially Christian, although thought inspiring music- for me at least) and was praying about my being ready for various kinds of relationships (friendship, romantic, marital, parental, etc) after having talked about them/talked with married friends who are parents at bible study about the different places we are in our lives. I'd been praying for a long time about what kind of relationships I should have with people in my life, how to do right by the people I was in various types of relationships with, and what other relationships I was ready to enter into throughout my 70 weeks. It's no secret that I have not really been in a relationship for a long time- over three years now. Options arose from time to time, but it was never a person I felt I could love as they deserved to be loved, or I was simply not ready. Especially recently, I've felt that I was simply not in a place with God to enter into a relationship and in a way, I've become very comfortable in that place. I have an excuse not to put myself out there, an easy (and very legitimate) reason for being single. I suppose it only becomes a bad excuse, and an illegitimate excuse when God tells me I'm ready to be in a relationship. Well, I didn't expect that coming for over a year as I'm convicted to leave where I am, so I don't see God putting me in a relationship with someone here (although who am I to judge his plans?)
So while driving, praying, and talking with God last Monday, shortly after having agonized over finally posting "week 24: holes"- explaining my work in killing an idol and basically putting it out there for everyone to see (so there's no going back- which I was very tempted to do- never admit to it, so I could easily hide in the shelter of that idol again if there were something left in it that could be revived), God, out of nowhere, seemed to tell me I was ready for a relationship. Not necessarily that the time was right, that there was a person currently in my life that I should enter into a relationship with, but that I, personally, was in a place personally/with my relationships with others, and in my walk with God, where I could enter into a relationship. I didn't really believe Him, I don't know that I'm ready (although I don't foresee any opportunities to test that out soon), perhaps I'm just very comfortable in my excuse that, apparently, is no longer valid. I suppose praying for 70 days- asking for things, asking for answers to questions, is a dangerous thing because, God will likely actually answer your prayers. And I think, a majority of the time, I'm not ready for the answers to the prayers I pray.
But this is a good, although confusing, and yet interesting thing: God telling me I was ready for a relationship a day after I finally told the world about my idolatry- in a way, a final step in it's death.
This past Monday evening I was headed home on dark route 20, listening to Sugarland (not especially Christian, although thought inspiring music- for me at least) and was praying about my being ready for various kinds of relationships (friendship, romantic, marital, parental, etc) after having talked about them/talked with married friends who are parents at bible study about the different places we are in our lives. I'd been praying for a long time about what kind of relationships I should have with people in my life, how to do right by the people I was in various types of relationships with, and what other relationships I was ready to enter into throughout my 70 weeks. It's no secret that I have not really been in a relationship for a long time- over three years now. Options arose from time to time, but it was never a person I felt I could love as they deserved to be loved, or I was simply not ready. Especially recently, I've felt that I was simply not in a place with God to enter into a relationship and in a way, I've become very comfortable in that place. I have an excuse not to put myself out there, an easy (and very legitimate) reason for being single. I suppose it only becomes a bad excuse, and an illegitimate excuse when God tells me I'm ready to be in a relationship. Well, I didn't expect that coming for over a year as I'm convicted to leave where I am, so I don't see God putting me in a relationship with someone here (although who am I to judge his plans?)
So while driving, praying, and talking with God last Monday, shortly after having agonized over finally posting "week 24: holes"- explaining my work in killing an idol and basically putting it out there for everyone to see (so there's no going back- which I was very tempted to do- never admit to it, so I could easily hide in the shelter of that idol again if there were something left in it that could be revived), God, out of nowhere, seemed to tell me I was ready for a relationship. Not necessarily that the time was right, that there was a person currently in my life that I should enter into a relationship with, but that I, personally, was in a place personally/with my relationships with others, and in my walk with God, where I could enter into a relationship. I didn't really believe Him, I don't know that I'm ready (although I don't foresee any opportunities to test that out soon), perhaps I'm just very comfortable in my excuse that, apparently, is no longer valid. I suppose praying for 70 days- asking for things, asking for answers to questions, is a dangerous thing because, God will likely actually answer your prayers. And I think, a majority of the time, I'm not ready for the answers to the prayers I pray.
But this is a good, although confusing, and yet interesting thing: God telling me I was ready for a relationship a day after I finally told the world about my idolatry- in a way, a final step in it's death.
Week 26: Unrequited
I've spent a lot of time thinking, for the past couple of years, in fact, about unrequited love and why it exists. I spent a large portion of time in unrequited love when I felt that love was yet still supported by God and wondered why He wanted this for me. I think there are a number of reasons for it that I won't explore now, but a passage of C.S. Lewis that I read from "The Problem of Pain" led me to an interesting idea that I'm toying with.
We are created in the image of God, and while God has everything, he chooses to love us, chooses to need us. And in return for the dedicated love of a being that is, was, and will be everything- all goodness and light- for the love that that being chooses to bestow on us, but does not have to, we give Him temporary promises, and turn to less fulfilling, less wild worldly loves. Most of the time, God's love for us is unrequited. It certainly always is unrequited if you required us to return the same magnitude and quality of love to him as he affords us. God, is the ultimate unrequited lover- one of his greatest (if not the greatest) qualities is that He can love those who do not love Him in return. Is it so shocking that we, made in His image, would have a small, albeit less pure, beautiful and grand, snippet of this characteristic? Unrequited love, although not culturally practical, and at least when it is not acting as an idol and taking on a sinful nature, is in reality, very Christ-like.
C.S. Lewis discusses us knowing the kind of extraordinary and divine love God provides is good for us so that we may know what love is and should be. Thus, a love that loves without requiring to be returned to persist is, therefore, good. Now, a relationship requires this kind of love from both people involved- being unrequited on one side would be detrimental. But the kind of love that possess the power to exist with a lack of reciprocation, is the kind that is required, and even more drastically, the kind we should make every effort to give to God, as it is what he so unselfishly, yet unnecessarily, gives to us.
We are created in the image of God, and while God has everything, he chooses to love us, chooses to need us. And in return for the dedicated love of a being that is, was, and will be everything- all goodness and light- for the love that that being chooses to bestow on us, but does not have to, we give Him temporary promises, and turn to less fulfilling, less wild worldly loves. Most of the time, God's love for us is unrequited. It certainly always is unrequited if you required us to return the same magnitude and quality of love to him as he affords us. God, is the ultimate unrequited lover- one of his greatest (if not the greatest) qualities is that He can love those who do not love Him in return. Is it so shocking that we, made in His image, would have a small, albeit less pure, beautiful and grand, snippet of this characteristic? Unrequited love, although not culturally practical, and at least when it is not acting as an idol and taking on a sinful nature, is in reality, very Christ-like.
C.S. Lewis discusses us knowing the kind of extraordinary and divine love God provides is good for us so that we may know what love is and should be. Thus, a love that loves without requiring to be returned to persist is, therefore, good. Now, a relationship requires this kind of love from both people involved- being unrequited on one side would be detrimental. But the kind of love that possess the power to exist with a lack of reciprocation, is the kind that is required, and even more drastically, the kind we should make every effort to give to God, as it is what he so unselfishly, yet unnecessarily, gives to us.
Week 25: Poughkeepsie
In the last post I promised to update on my more specific revelations on the other aspects aspects of my next phase in life (career, family, where I'd be going (or staying?) that I had been praying, etc.) I had developed some clearer convictions on the subject gradually throughout the fall and my trip home reaffirmed them. They continue to develop, but these are the convictions I have at least at this point in my 70 weeks.
When I moved to the East Coast, I packed up the majority of my possessions in Joni, my little red Volkswagen (named after Joni Mitchell) and drove out East alone, taking highway 90 all the way. One of the most romantic things I've ever done. The first day I made it from Chicago to Cleveland, saw the Sunset over the city and lake eerie and staying overnight in Willoughby, OH. The second day I crossed through PA, all the way through upstate NY near Niagra Falls, and slept in the Adirondacks near Schenectady. The final day was the shorter drive between NY and my new apartment in central Mass. But near Albany, 90 shuffles around and you can end up taking 87 for a ways toward New York City and then jump onto the NY thruway/Berkshires connector to get back onto 90 right when it becomes "The Pike" in Mass. If you do that, you end up on this two lane highway going over an old iron bridge that crosses over the Hudson, back when it's a smaller river, unpolluted by New York City. I remember crossing over it and seeing all this green surrounding it, even little islands of green in between it and thinking it so majestic- I then drove off the bridge into the blackstone rock walled highway between the hills that would soon lead to Massachusetts. And I remember looking over the Hudson, shocked that I was there, actually seeing the Hudson river for the first time, and just feeling so empowered, so in awe, so free, so much that this was what I was supposed to be doing. I looked over that river and knew that this was the road to my destiny, at least for now.
Less than a month later it was late summertime in Massachusetts and I was listening to the album, Good Dog Bad Dog by Over the Rhine for the first time. It was the soundtrack to my discovering my new home. I immediately fell in love with the song Poughkeepsie, obviously referring to Poughkeepsie, NY- a town on the Hudson river, a little ways south of where I crossed on my journey to Massachusetts (the song preceeding it is called Willoughby- which is so serendipitous as I stayed overnight in WIlloughby Ohio my first night- this album was so meant for my road trip). I love the lyrics to the soung- even if they are dark at first:
I thought I'd go up Poughkeepsie,
look out o'er the Hudson,
and I'd throw my body down on the river.
And I'd know no more sorrow,
I'd fly like the sparrow
and I'd ride on the backs of the angels tonight.
I'd ride on the backs of the angels tonight.
I'd take to the sky with all my might.
No more drowning in my sorrow,
no more drowning in my fright,
I'd just ride on the backs of the angels tonight.
(the song continues with more verses and eventually culminates in this realization:)
Then the skies, they fell open
and my eyes were opened
to a world of hope falling at my feet.
Now I've no more or less
than anyone else has,
what I have is a gift of life I can't repeat.
So I go up Poughkeepsie,
look out o'er the Hudson
and I cast my worries to the sky.
Now I still know sorrow,
but I can fly like the sparrow
'cause I ride on the backs of the angels tonight.
I ride on the backs of the angels tonight.
I take to the sky with all their might.
No more drowning in my sorrow,
no more drowning in my fright,
I'll just ride on the backs of the angels each night.
Ok, so the song is about suicide, not moving to another state. But it's really about trusting God to take care of you, trusting Him with your life, your salvation, your destiny, your future rather than taking your future into your own hands. It's about trusting in the strength of His divine power rather than your own.
When I felt convicted to move out East, teach at a private school with a ton of resources, and work, in a way, with children who don't especially need me (they already have teachers who are running great instructional programs, they'd be fine if I weren't here), it was because the purpose was to learn. To do good for my current students, yes, but to learn how to do good for other students with fewer resources, and eventually leave this cushier place, to go back to the public school, and make a difference for students who don't have the programs and resources my students out here have. For a while I toyed with staying out here, this job was seemingly my dream job after all. It was easy- everything I wanted, no one fighting with me when I wanted to use Applied Behavior Analysis, the exact population I wanted to work with, working with people my age in close proximity so I was easily able to form friendships and relationships. Sure, it was a bit frightening moving to a strange place when I left the Midwest, but in a way, this place was set up to be very very comfortable. I love it here. I love my students, my friends, the scenery, my job. But I'm not supposed to stay here. It's a conviction I've had for a long time that I was less sure of at times but my 70 weeks is making it clearer and clearer that after my program is over next summer, it's time to go.
I was also unsure of where to go, I could go West, but I feel the conviction to go back to the Midwest, near home. I have community there, my mom is there, some job opportunities there, and there are so few developed ABA programs that, most importantly, I feel like I'm needed there- that there is something I'm supposed to do there. But going back home after being away is hard. Moving out East to work at some school on the cutting edge of autism sounds glamorous. Trading that to go back near home and teach at a regular public school does not. Everyone who moves back home after being away says they dislike it and want to get out (although I would never actually move back in with my mother), I may end up at a school working with older married people, not being around people my age, and living alone with not a lot of a friends for a little while. I will probably be at a place where practices that I use, that I'm used to being supported here, will not be accepted. I will be faced with student behavior that I could control, but will not be allowed to due to resources and bureaucracy. Many behavior analysts go into the public schools, not knowing what they're facing. I do, and I'm going it into it willingly because I feel called to and I would not feel fulfilled or right staying here longer when God wants me somewhere else. But this future I speak of is daunting and frightening and I don't know that I have what it takes. But I suppose that if God calls us to something, he equips us with the tools. So, I suppose in a year and a half or so, I will pack all my possessions in my less romantic little red Nissan, and drive west, likely back homeward.
I'm a little sad, and a little scared, but I know it will all be for good in the end.
I know I'll cross over that river again, and I don't take to the sky, or the road with all my might- because I would be too scared to dive in. No more drowning in my sorrow, no more drowning in my fright I'll take to the road with all of His might.
When I moved to the East Coast, I packed up the majority of my possessions in Joni, my little red Volkswagen (named after Joni Mitchell) and drove out East alone, taking highway 90 all the way. One of the most romantic things I've ever done. The first day I made it from Chicago to Cleveland, saw the Sunset over the city and lake eerie and staying overnight in Willoughby, OH. The second day I crossed through PA, all the way through upstate NY near Niagra Falls, and slept in the Adirondacks near Schenectady. The final day was the shorter drive between NY and my new apartment in central Mass. But near Albany, 90 shuffles around and you can end up taking 87 for a ways toward New York City and then jump onto the NY thruway/Berkshires connector to get back onto 90 right when it becomes "The Pike" in Mass. If you do that, you end up on this two lane highway going over an old iron bridge that crosses over the Hudson, back when it's a smaller river, unpolluted by New York City. I remember crossing over it and seeing all this green surrounding it, even little islands of green in between it and thinking it so majestic- I then drove off the bridge into the blackstone rock walled highway between the hills that would soon lead to Massachusetts. And I remember looking over the Hudson, shocked that I was there, actually seeing the Hudson river for the first time, and just feeling so empowered, so in awe, so free, so much that this was what I was supposed to be doing. I looked over that river and knew that this was the road to my destiny, at least for now.
Less than a month later it was late summertime in Massachusetts and I was listening to the album, Good Dog Bad Dog by Over the Rhine for the first time. It was the soundtrack to my discovering my new home. I immediately fell in love with the song Poughkeepsie, obviously referring to Poughkeepsie, NY- a town on the Hudson river, a little ways south of where I crossed on my journey to Massachusetts (the song preceeding it is called Willoughby- which is so serendipitous as I stayed overnight in WIlloughby Ohio my first night- this album was so meant for my road trip). I love the lyrics to the soung- even if they are dark at first:
I thought I'd go up Poughkeepsie,
look out o'er the Hudson,
and I'd throw my body down on the river.
And I'd know no more sorrow,
I'd fly like the sparrow
and I'd ride on the backs of the angels tonight.
I'd ride on the backs of the angels tonight.
I'd take to the sky with all my might.
No more drowning in my sorrow,
no more drowning in my fright,
I'd just ride on the backs of the angels tonight.
(the song continues with more verses and eventually culminates in this realization:)
Then the skies, they fell open
and my eyes were opened
to a world of hope falling at my feet.
Now I've no more or less
than anyone else has,
what I have is a gift of life I can't repeat.
So I go up Poughkeepsie,
look out o'er the Hudson
and I cast my worries to the sky.
Now I still know sorrow,
but I can fly like the sparrow
'cause I ride on the backs of the angels tonight.
I ride on the backs of the angels tonight.
I take to the sky with all their might.
No more drowning in my sorrow,
no more drowning in my fright,
I'll just ride on the backs of the angels each night.
Ok, so the song is about suicide, not moving to another state. But it's really about trusting God to take care of you, trusting Him with your life, your salvation, your destiny, your future rather than taking your future into your own hands. It's about trusting in the strength of His divine power rather than your own.
When I felt convicted to move out East, teach at a private school with a ton of resources, and work, in a way, with children who don't especially need me (they already have teachers who are running great instructional programs, they'd be fine if I weren't here), it was because the purpose was to learn. To do good for my current students, yes, but to learn how to do good for other students with fewer resources, and eventually leave this cushier place, to go back to the public school, and make a difference for students who don't have the programs and resources my students out here have. For a while I toyed with staying out here, this job was seemingly my dream job after all. It was easy- everything I wanted, no one fighting with me when I wanted to use Applied Behavior Analysis, the exact population I wanted to work with, working with people my age in close proximity so I was easily able to form friendships and relationships. Sure, it was a bit frightening moving to a strange place when I left the Midwest, but in a way, this place was set up to be very very comfortable. I love it here. I love my students, my friends, the scenery, my job. But I'm not supposed to stay here. It's a conviction I've had for a long time that I was less sure of at times but my 70 weeks is making it clearer and clearer that after my program is over next summer, it's time to go.
I was also unsure of where to go, I could go West, but I feel the conviction to go back to the Midwest, near home. I have community there, my mom is there, some job opportunities there, and there are so few developed ABA programs that, most importantly, I feel like I'm needed there- that there is something I'm supposed to do there. But going back home after being away is hard. Moving out East to work at some school on the cutting edge of autism sounds glamorous. Trading that to go back near home and teach at a regular public school does not. Everyone who moves back home after being away says they dislike it and want to get out (although I would never actually move back in with my mother), I may end up at a school working with older married people, not being around people my age, and living alone with not a lot of a friends for a little while. I will probably be at a place where practices that I use, that I'm used to being supported here, will not be accepted. I will be faced with student behavior that I could control, but will not be allowed to due to resources and bureaucracy. Many behavior analysts go into the public schools, not knowing what they're facing. I do, and I'm going it into it willingly because I feel called to and I would not feel fulfilled or right staying here longer when God wants me somewhere else. But this future I speak of is daunting and frightening and I don't know that I have what it takes. But I suppose that if God calls us to something, he equips us with the tools. So, I suppose in a year and a half or so, I will pack all my possessions in my less romantic little red Nissan, and drive west, likely back homeward.
I'm a little sad, and a little scared, but I know it will all be for good in the end.
I know I'll cross over that river again, and I don't take to the sky, or the road with all my might- because I would be too scared to dive in. No more drowning in my sorrow, no more drowning in my fright I'll take to the road with all of His might.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Week 24: Holes
I'm extremely late in posting this, perhaps because I’ve been busy getting answers to some of my prayers regarding my next phase of life. This is labeled week 24 even though we're far past that, but that's because it was my thoughts around that time. I'll catch up with some more updated posts for this week soon. I think this post was just really daunting write so I kept writing pieces and putting it off.
During the time I BEGAN writing this, I had been on vacation, at home seeing family and friends which led to developments in my thought and prayer process that made those few weeks the most pivotal so far in my 70 weeks of prayer about my next steps in my calling and relationships with others. So, while many of my posts are simply evolving thoughts about my theology and philosophy and how they shape my life, these past couple of weeks there were some clear answers about my next phase of life. Although I have had a few things evolve throughout previous weeks this entire fall/winter that have given clearer direction to the path I will take once my 70 weeks is over, they were slow realizations, nothing major or poetic enough to write to you. But now, I feel as though they have culminated and combined with larger conclusions and that I can now express those along with more majorly, poetic realizations.
A wise woman once told me that when you kill an idol, it leaves a hole. An empty space in your heart that it used to fill. Your heart waves and bends around it, sometimes growing into the space. Sometimes something comes to fill its place: God or another idol. The vulnerability of a heart with a gap is that it is much easier for the latter to fill the gap than the former and then you're back where you've started, there's another idol to kill then the pain of another hole in your heart, and the cycle continues. Sometimes I wonder if it's like heart surgery- every removal develops scar tissue and so the more growths you allow, even if you eventually cut them out, the more scar tissue you develop. Maybe eventually, your heart is so full of scar tissue and patched up holes that it doesn't work right. But I suppose that's only the case if it's a human-you- that's doing the cutting out and the patching up (which, I'm not sure is possible with evil, tough, things that take over your heart. You need some divine assistance.). I think God could remove evil from your heart, fill it, and make it like new again- no scar tissue- if He willed it. Of course, you'd have to let Him in to do the work- which is the hard part.
To get into the personal specifics of how this impacts my 70 days, I had been struggling for a long while with an idol- a love- that I was unsure if it really was an idol. I read a few definitions of idolatry. One by Paul Moser that I liked said, "Idolatry is the universal human tendency to value something or someone in a way that hinders the love and trust we owe to God. It is an act of theft from God whereby we use some part of creation in a way that steals from honor due to God. Idolatry conflicts with our putting God alone first in our lives, in what we love and trust (Exodus 20:3-5; Deut. 5:7-9; Romans 1:21-23). In idolatry we put something or someone, usually a gift from God, in a place of value that detracts from the first place owed to God alone, the gift Giver." Well, this idol was a love that at I, although less consciously, held onto instead of having faith that God would take care of me, that I could act on the convictions God had given me without being afraid. I held onto this idol almost as a safety, as something I had in these unsure times when I'm not sure where I'll be in the next year and a half. The entirety of this is much more complex- as the fact that this love was an idol doesn't negate the truth of the love that was there, one that I believe was actually something from God. But the idol that it became in my heart definitely was not from God and became something dangerous, something that encourages us to act in the opposite of the way that love does. And when you realize you have an idol like that inside you, you have to kill it. Now does killing the idol mean you have to kill the root of it, in this case, the love as well? Now, that I don't know- I think it depends on the situation. And perhaps even if you don't kill the root intentionally when you kill the idol, the well intentioned root dies as well. But I couldn't tell you for certain.
I did not realize or at least admit that this had filled that hole in my heart and had grown until an idol until I laid awake at night a few weeks ago, refusing to submit to God given convictions in my heart, actively rebelling against Him, that I realized- I had placed this above God, and while not all the time, at times I desired this above God. Fortunately for me, God intervened, and got to work helping me kill that idol then and there. In fact, I think he had been working on killing it for a while and it wasn't until it was in it's death throes that I started to notice it leaving, started to notice the hole, the emptiness in my heart, and struggled in vain to hold onto it. But, like all things that are truth and are from God, there was some stillness, some peace, some goodness when I realized I had submitted to letting God kill it- I think the best description is that I felt cleansed.
This idol definitely played a role in my 70 weeks- how I viewed my next phase in life, where I'd be, how I'd interact with others. And I had prayed that God would give me clear answers about it. Well, He certainly did, and it wasn't exactly pleasant hearing them, but it wasn't as painful as I'd have expected either. I suspect God has been working on me for a long time, I just hadn't noticed. Sometimes I worry other things will take the place of an idol- in fact, the very things I pray about specifically for my next phase in life: my career, my family, my friends, relationships, etc. In fact, as I promised, I had some revelations about all of these aspects about my 70 days the past few impactual weeks but they don't really fit this post about idolatry and there have been more developments about what I should do in respect to my career, my family, and my friends since week 24 so I'll save those. I'll dedicate this post to idolatry and covering the "relationship" aspect of my 70 weeks that I'd been praying about.
So, I got some clear answers that this idol needed to be killed- that I could not base the next phase of my life on it and that changed a lot of things, took a lot of things out of the equation, and opens up my heart, my life, and what I feel my options are a lot more (in fact, the end of my 70 days is much more wide open now, which is kind of frightening). I realized so far in my prayers I was asking God what he wanted me to do at the end of my 70 weeks, but in my heart I was telling Him what I wanted to do and what I wanted Him to tell me. It doesn't quite work out like that and had I held onto the idol, I never would have been actually open to the true answers to my prayers that God provides.
So, I had an idol, it's gone, I struggle to keep it from coming back, blah blah blah. But how did this idol come to take up residence in my heart anyway? Likely, it filled a hole that was there from when I killed a previous idol. This previous idol was likely an ex-boyfriend back when I thought idols were just gold statues that people worshiped in the B.C. days- not something that I needed to be concerned about in my own life (which is why I say the idol was likely the ex-boyfriend- I wasn’t on the lookout for idols back then, so it could have been a variety of things). Thus, I didn’t even realize this was an idol and didn’t recognize the hole as one that needed to be filled with God. So, basically my heart was left unprotected and open to taking in a new idol as I didn’t even know to look out for idols, didn’t recognize an idol when it had taken over my life, and didn’t realize that the hole left in my heart was due to the death of an idol. So, this new one took over…
This brings up a whole new set of questions such as, why do we fill the holes in our hearts with idols anyway? Where did the hole come from in the first place? Was an idol always in that space or was that space left blank?
First, I personally believe we were made with this hole in our hearts- the purpose of which was to be filled by and with God. I think God put it there because He wants us to desire Him, not just to love Him because he made us that way- He designs us to desire him, but to have a choice in the matter. He makes a hole, a space for Himself, but he doesn't fill it unless we ask. He may pursue us, help us know what or rather Who to ask to fill it, even make it impossible to escape his presence at times, but he won't fill that space in our hearts without our consent- to me, that's at the heart (no pun intended) of free will.
So if there's been a hole there since we were born, why did it take us so long to notice? Why does it take some people a large portion of their life, or a whole lifetime (if ever)to realize there was a hole there meant to be filled by God, or a hole that has been filled all their life with something empty (an idol) that does not fulfill what they long for. Perhaps this is because an idol may have taken over that place early in life so the fact that it once was empty or had even been filled by God (perhaps in the way that we have that childlike faith and belief in God) may have gone unnoticed- we may have been too young to recognize it or even to remember it- or maybe it just remains an empty hole (although, I think that's rare- I think most of us find something to fill it, even if it doesn't fulfill it, because having a hole hurts).
Which answers the next question: why do we fill our hearts with idols anyway? Because having a hole in our hearts hurts. Well, that's at least why we seek to fill the hole with something, so why is that something more often than not (at least initially) the wrong things rather than God? The primary reason is is that we don't know what we long for. This hole creates a longing to fill it, a hunger. We all know it, that inexplicable desire for something more- we know we aren't full, we can feel it. In some the hunger is stronger than others, in some people it's very weak- they're close to content with life as it appears, as it is for them- but it's still there deep down somewhere. But, most of the time mistake what it is we long for. Instead of realizing that it's God we think it's another person, a relationship, a child, a career, money, the world, luxuries. We think that one of those things will be the magical cure for this hunger, only to find that even when we gain that, that our hunger is insatiable, at least when we try to satisfy it with these things (and even when we satisfy it with God we're still so separate from him on Earth that we'll never truly be satisfied until we're in His presence). So, some may look to fill the hole in the wrong places not realizing what the hole was meant for, not really noticing the hole, not realizing what they truly hunger for. In fact, I think the breath before we're "saved" is the breath in which we utter that the thing that we've hungered for all along, was God. I had been in this place- although I'd known God, and I felt quite an extreme hunger for something more (I'm definitely one of the people who has felt an extreme hunger all my life- I'm very aware of it and always have been since I was very young (which I consider a gift and only an occasional curse) but I didn't truly recognize that what I hungered for was God (perhaps I hungered for all the Godly aspects of wordly things, not realizing it was the God part of them that I longed for and not the things themselves) until towards the end of college, despite having considered myself a Christian since I was young. This was after the ex-boyfriend I mentioned previously- when that idol had been killed, my heart was open again, and God worked hard at getting in to fill it and I thought I let him, but I think I only consented with my head, not my whole heart.
That brings us to yet another question: if we do realize that God is what is meant to fill that hole but notice something else is already occupying it, why do we hold onto it? Why do we cling to idols? I think that this is because we may not have the faith or trust in God to give that space over to Him. We may not consent with our whole heart for Him to fill it. Lack of faith and trust spring from fear (and also lead to fear- it's viciously cyclical): fear that God won't provide, won't give us what we really want- only what's good for us but that will probably hurt- basically a lack of trust that what God will provide won't make us happy although the truth is that only what He can provide will make us happy and fulfill us. This fear is often in the name of "self preservation" because the world teaches us we have to look out for ourselves, not give away everything we have to others. If we want something, we have to go for it- take things into our own hands: our relationships, our livelihoods, our everything rather than place it in God's hands and soon that thing takes on a life of it's own and it grows into an idol. And this is exactly what I did, after I came to accept that what I longed for was Christ, I let an idol take over my heart unawares but refused to let go of it because I didn't trust that what God would do would be what I wanted, when I should know that all I really desire is God and all things from him. Anything not rooted in Him would be empty and useless to me (as it proved to be, which shocked me, although it shouldn't have I suppose).
There's a song by "Over the Rhine" that I listened to on repeat (along with a few others by them) those few weeks where they say that "obsessions with self preservation faded when I threw my fear away. You either lose your fear or spend your life with one foot in the grave. Is God that last romantic?" Thus, fear is the root of obsessing over self preservation which is what keeps us from acting in faith, which is what keeps us from throwing away idols and filling that space with it's rightful occupant. But if your fear away you're free- you're living in faith, you're alive. If you don't, if you live your life in fear, you're halfway dead. And finally, "is God the last romantic?" What a concept! Within the context, that means that unless we are without fear, we are not romantics. Unless we believe in Grace and salvation and trust that we can indeed be given our heart's desire if only we ask the Holy God of the universe, we are not romantics! In fact, God is perhaps the last romantic! Many would argue the opposite- many of the things in our culture that we consider "romantic" are ungodly things, or things that act, in fact, as idols. Running away from where you are to travel the world and discover all the worldly and man made passions and treasures is, "romantic." And if I were to tell my friends about many of my Christian beliefs and philosophies, the last word they would use to describe them is "romantic." But the truth is, they are the most romantic. A good friend (as well as the band "Over the Rhine") pointed out that those who choose to have faith in all that God promises in fact could be called the biggest dreamers of all- especially by common society. "You have faith in some entity that is going to save you and grant you your hearts desires? And do this despite all these supposed things you have done "against" this entity and that this all encompassing entity somehow knows you intimately, wants to know you intimately and downright LOVES you? Dream on."
Well, I've always considered myself a romantic dreamer so I'm working on keeping this idol at bay, throwing my fear away and I think I will dream on.
Easier said than done, I still stand on the edge of a big wide future that has the potential to scare me to spiritual death. Idols threaten to enter this hole in my heart all the time and I find myself having to work so hard to fill it with God. It's not something inactive that just happens. Filling the hole in your heart, especially when it has a history of idols, is an active and tough process. Especially because filling it with idols is easier, takes less thought, happens automatically as a product of our sinful nature, and is a quick "fix." But it's not a fix as much as a tumor that we'll just have to cut out later and hope it was benign or that the cancer didn't spread to other parts of our bodies. Filling our hearts with God is frightening- I don't know where He'll take me, what exactly He wants for me, or if I will receive the things I think I desire. It's agreeing to an entire future you can't forsee, but I suppose we do that with everything. In this case, it's a future that's out of my hands and into His, which, despite how we often feel, is a more secure place for it to be.
So we fill our hearts with idols not knowing our great, wide emptiness was meant for God, and we keep them there because we're afraid of what giving that space to God will entail... and besides, that future that we'd be giving over to Him is just so darn large and long- in fact, it's an eternity that we can't see.
One of the first days of freshman year of college, a bunch of girls from my floor in my dorm and I went down to the beach by Lake Michigan which almost all of our (now) Alma mater majestically overlooks. I'm not in close contact with any of them anymore, although we became good freshman friends. But I still remember us standing there in youthful wonder- at our new found freedom and possibilities, at the great literal and metaphorical expanse before us and I said, "I've never seen the ocean" to which my friend replied, "I think anything you can't see the other side of is an ocean." And to this day I think of what she said anytime I stare at an abyss- a vast body of water or distance, a fast journey- a period of time I cannot see the end of...
By that definition, we are all standing on the shore of something we cannot see the other side of- perhaps a darkness, a journey... a life?
At the very least we all stand on the shore of the ocean of eternity- wondering where the current will carry us if we have the faith to wade in.
During the time I BEGAN writing this, I had been on vacation, at home seeing family and friends which led to developments in my thought and prayer process that made those few weeks the most pivotal so far in my 70 weeks of prayer about my next steps in my calling and relationships with others. So, while many of my posts are simply evolving thoughts about my theology and philosophy and how they shape my life, these past couple of weeks there were some clear answers about my next phase of life. Although I have had a few things evolve throughout previous weeks this entire fall/winter that have given clearer direction to the path I will take once my 70 weeks is over, they were slow realizations, nothing major or poetic enough to write to you. But now, I feel as though they have culminated and combined with larger conclusions and that I can now express those along with more majorly, poetic realizations.
A wise woman once told me that when you kill an idol, it leaves a hole. An empty space in your heart that it used to fill. Your heart waves and bends around it, sometimes growing into the space. Sometimes something comes to fill its place: God or another idol. The vulnerability of a heart with a gap is that it is much easier for the latter to fill the gap than the former and then you're back where you've started, there's another idol to kill then the pain of another hole in your heart, and the cycle continues. Sometimes I wonder if it's like heart surgery- every removal develops scar tissue and so the more growths you allow, even if you eventually cut them out, the more scar tissue you develop. Maybe eventually, your heart is so full of scar tissue and patched up holes that it doesn't work right. But I suppose that's only the case if it's a human-you- that's doing the cutting out and the patching up (which, I'm not sure is possible with evil, tough, things that take over your heart. You need some divine assistance.). I think God could remove evil from your heart, fill it, and make it like new again- no scar tissue- if He willed it. Of course, you'd have to let Him in to do the work- which is the hard part.
To get into the personal specifics of how this impacts my 70 days, I had been struggling for a long while with an idol- a love- that I was unsure if it really was an idol. I read a few definitions of idolatry. One by Paul Moser that I liked said, "Idolatry is the universal human tendency to value something or someone in a way that hinders the love and trust we owe to God. It is an act of theft from God whereby we use some part of creation in a way that steals from honor due to God. Idolatry conflicts with our putting God alone first in our lives, in what we love and trust (Exodus 20:3-5; Deut. 5:7-9; Romans 1:21-23). In idolatry we put something or someone, usually a gift from God, in a place of value that detracts from the first place owed to God alone, the gift Giver." Well, this idol was a love that at I, although less consciously, held onto instead of having faith that God would take care of me, that I could act on the convictions God had given me without being afraid. I held onto this idol almost as a safety, as something I had in these unsure times when I'm not sure where I'll be in the next year and a half. The entirety of this is much more complex- as the fact that this love was an idol doesn't negate the truth of the love that was there, one that I believe was actually something from God. But the idol that it became in my heart definitely was not from God and became something dangerous, something that encourages us to act in the opposite of the way that love does. And when you realize you have an idol like that inside you, you have to kill it. Now does killing the idol mean you have to kill the root of it, in this case, the love as well? Now, that I don't know- I think it depends on the situation. And perhaps even if you don't kill the root intentionally when you kill the idol, the well intentioned root dies as well. But I couldn't tell you for certain.
I did not realize or at least admit that this had filled that hole in my heart and had grown until an idol until I laid awake at night a few weeks ago, refusing to submit to God given convictions in my heart, actively rebelling against Him, that I realized- I had placed this above God, and while not all the time, at times I desired this above God. Fortunately for me, God intervened, and got to work helping me kill that idol then and there. In fact, I think he had been working on killing it for a while and it wasn't until it was in it's death throes that I started to notice it leaving, started to notice the hole, the emptiness in my heart, and struggled in vain to hold onto it. But, like all things that are truth and are from God, there was some stillness, some peace, some goodness when I realized I had submitted to letting God kill it- I think the best description is that I felt cleansed.
This idol definitely played a role in my 70 weeks- how I viewed my next phase in life, where I'd be, how I'd interact with others. And I had prayed that God would give me clear answers about it. Well, He certainly did, and it wasn't exactly pleasant hearing them, but it wasn't as painful as I'd have expected either. I suspect God has been working on me for a long time, I just hadn't noticed. Sometimes I worry other things will take the place of an idol- in fact, the very things I pray about specifically for my next phase in life: my career, my family, my friends, relationships, etc. In fact, as I promised, I had some revelations about all of these aspects about my 70 days the past few impactual weeks but they don't really fit this post about idolatry and there have been more developments about what I should do in respect to my career, my family, and my friends since week 24 so I'll save those. I'll dedicate this post to idolatry and covering the "relationship" aspect of my 70 weeks that I'd been praying about.
So, I got some clear answers that this idol needed to be killed- that I could not base the next phase of my life on it and that changed a lot of things, took a lot of things out of the equation, and opens up my heart, my life, and what I feel my options are a lot more (in fact, the end of my 70 days is much more wide open now, which is kind of frightening). I realized so far in my prayers I was asking God what he wanted me to do at the end of my 70 weeks, but in my heart I was telling Him what I wanted to do and what I wanted Him to tell me. It doesn't quite work out like that and had I held onto the idol, I never would have been actually open to the true answers to my prayers that God provides.
So, I had an idol, it's gone, I struggle to keep it from coming back, blah blah blah. But how did this idol come to take up residence in my heart anyway? Likely, it filled a hole that was there from when I killed a previous idol. This previous idol was likely an ex-boyfriend back when I thought idols were just gold statues that people worshiped in the B.C. days- not something that I needed to be concerned about in my own life (which is why I say the idol was likely the ex-boyfriend- I wasn’t on the lookout for idols back then, so it could have been a variety of things). Thus, I didn’t even realize this was an idol and didn’t recognize the hole as one that needed to be filled with God. So, basically my heart was left unprotected and open to taking in a new idol as I didn’t even know to look out for idols, didn’t recognize an idol when it had taken over my life, and didn’t realize that the hole left in my heart was due to the death of an idol. So, this new one took over…
This brings up a whole new set of questions such as, why do we fill the holes in our hearts with idols anyway? Where did the hole come from in the first place? Was an idol always in that space or was that space left blank?
First, I personally believe we were made with this hole in our hearts- the purpose of which was to be filled by and with God. I think God put it there because He wants us to desire Him, not just to love Him because he made us that way- He designs us to desire him, but to have a choice in the matter. He makes a hole, a space for Himself, but he doesn't fill it unless we ask. He may pursue us, help us know what or rather Who to ask to fill it, even make it impossible to escape his presence at times, but he won't fill that space in our hearts without our consent- to me, that's at the heart (no pun intended) of free will.
So if there's been a hole there since we were born, why did it take us so long to notice? Why does it take some people a large portion of their life, or a whole lifetime (if ever)to realize there was a hole there meant to be filled by God, or a hole that has been filled all their life with something empty (an idol) that does not fulfill what they long for. Perhaps this is because an idol may have taken over that place early in life so the fact that it once was empty or had even been filled by God (perhaps in the way that we have that childlike faith and belief in God) may have gone unnoticed- we may have been too young to recognize it or even to remember it- or maybe it just remains an empty hole (although, I think that's rare- I think most of us find something to fill it, even if it doesn't fulfill it, because having a hole hurts).
Which answers the next question: why do we fill our hearts with idols anyway? Because having a hole in our hearts hurts. Well, that's at least why we seek to fill the hole with something, so why is that something more often than not (at least initially) the wrong things rather than God? The primary reason is is that we don't know what we long for. This hole creates a longing to fill it, a hunger. We all know it, that inexplicable desire for something more- we know we aren't full, we can feel it. In some the hunger is stronger than others, in some people it's very weak- they're close to content with life as it appears, as it is for them- but it's still there deep down somewhere. But, most of the time mistake what it is we long for. Instead of realizing that it's God we think it's another person, a relationship, a child, a career, money, the world, luxuries. We think that one of those things will be the magical cure for this hunger, only to find that even when we gain that, that our hunger is insatiable, at least when we try to satisfy it with these things (and even when we satisfy it with God we're still so separate from him on Earth that we'll never truly be satisfied until we're in His presence). So, some may look to fill the hole in the wrong places not realizing what the hole was meant for, not really noticing the hole, not realizing what they truly hunger for. In fact, I think the breath before we're "saved" is the breath in which we utter that the thing that we've hungered for all along, was God. I had been in this place- although I'd known God, and I felt quite an extreme hunger for something more (I'm definitely one of the people who has felt an extreme hunger all my life- I'm very aware of it and always have been since I was very young (which I consider a gift and only an occasional curse) but I didn't truly recognize that what I hungered for was God (perhaps I hungered for all the Godly aspects of wordly things, not realizing it was the God part of them that I longed for and not the things themselves) until towards the end of college, despite having considered myself a Christian since I was young. This was after the ex-boyfriend I mentioned previously- when that idol had been killed, my heart was open again, and God worked hard at getting in to fill it and I thought I let him, but I think I only consented with my head, not my whole heart.
That brings us to yet another question: if we do realize that God is what is meant to fill that hole but notice something else is already occupying it, why do we hold onto it? Why do we cling to idols? I think that this is because we may not have the faith or trust in God to give that space over to Him. We may not consent with our whole heart for Him to fill it. Lack of faith and trust spring from fear (and also lead to fear- it's viciously cyclical): fear that God won't provide, won't give us what we really want- only what's good for us but that will probably hurt- basically a lack of trust that what God will provide won't make us happy although the truth is that only what He can provide will make us happy and fulfill us. This fear is often in the name of "self preservation" because the world teaches us we have to look out for ourselves, not give away everything we have to others. If we want something, we have to go for it- take things into our own hands: our relationships, our livelihoods, our everything rather than place it in God's hands and soon that thing takes on a life of it's own and it grows into an idol. And this is exactly what I did, after I came to accept that what I longed for was Christ, I let an idol take over my heart unawares but refused to let go of it because I didn't trust that what God would do would be what I wanted, when I should know that all I really desire is God and all things from him. Anything not rooted in Him would be empty and useless to me (as it proved to be, which shocked me, although it shouldn't have I suppose).
There's a song by "Over the Rhine" that I listened to on repeat (along with a few others by them) those few weeks where they say that "obsessions with self preservation faded when I threw my fear away. You either lose your fear or spend your life with one foot in the grave. Is God that last romantic?" Thus, fear is the root of obsessing over self preservation which is what keeps us from acting in faith, which is what keeps us from throwing away idols and filling that space with it's rightful occupant. But if your fear away you're free- you're living in faith, you're alive. If you don't, if you live your life in fear, you're halfway dead. And finally, "is God the last romantic?" What a concept! Within the context, that means that unless we are without fear, we are not romantics. Unless we believe in Grace and salvation and trust that we can indeed be given our heart's desire if only we ask the Holy God of the universe, we are not romantics! In fact, God is perhaps the last romantic! Many would argue the opposite- many of the things in our culture that we consider "romantic" are ungodly things, or things that act, in fact, as idols. Running away from where you are to travel the world and discover all the worldly and man made passions and treasures is, "romantic." And if I were to tell my friends about many of my Christian beliefs and philosophies, the last word they would use to describe them is "romantic." But the truth is, they are the most romantic. A good friend (as well as the band "Over the Rhine") pointed out that those who choose to have faith in all that God promises in fact could be called the biggest dreamers of all- especially by common society. "You have faith in some entity that is going to save you and grant you your hearts desires? And do this despite all these supposed things you have done "against" this entity and that this all encompassing entity somehow knows you intimately, wants to know you intimately and downright LOVES you? Dream on."
Well, I've always considered myself a romantic dreamer so I'm working on keeping this idol at bay, throwing my fear away and I think I will dream on.
Easier said than done, I still stand on the edge of a big wide future that has the potential to scare me to spiritual death. Idols threaten to enter this hole in my heart all the time and I find myself having to work so hard to fill it with God. It's not something inactive that just happens. Filling the hole in your heart, especially when it has a history of idols, is an active and tough process. Especially because filling it with idols is easier, takes less thought, happens automatically as a product of our sinful nature, and is a quick "fix." But it's not a fix as much as a tumor that we'll just have to cut out later and hope it was benign or that the cancer didn't spread to other parts of our bodies. Filling our hearts with God is frightening- I don't know where He'll take me, what exactly He wants for me, or if I will receive the things I think I desire. It's agreeing to an entire future you can't forsee, but I suppose we do that with everything. In this case, it's a future that's out of my hands and into His, which, despite how we often feel, is a more secure place for it to be.
So we fill our hearts with idols not knowing our great, wide emptiness was meant for God, and we keep them there because we're afraid of what giving that space to God will entail... and besides, that future that we'd be giving over to Him is just so darn large and long- in fact, it's an eternity that we can't see.
One of the first days of freshman year of college, a bunch of girls from my floor in my dorm and I went down to the beach by Lake Michigan which almost all of our (now) Alma mater majestically overlooks. I'm not in close contact with any of them anymore, although we became good freshman friends. But I still remember us standing there in youthful wonder- at our new found freedom and possibilities, at the great literal and metaphorical expanse before us and I said, "I've never seen the ocean" to which my friend replied, "I think anything you can't see the other side of is an ocean." And to this day I think of what she said anytime I stare at an abyss- a vast body of water or distance, a fast journey- a period of time I cannot see the end of...
By that definition, we are all standing on the shore of something we cannot see the other side of- perhaps a darkness, a journey... a life?
At the very least we all stand on the shore of the ocean of eternity- wondering where the current will carry us if we have the faith to wade in.
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