What happens to a dream deferred?
Langston Hughes asked me in my high school English class. I knew that I could perhaps not truly feel his pain of being prevented from his dream by prejudice for I was born into very fortunate circumstances. But, his question still hit home for me, being a dreamer myself. I could only imagine how painful it would be if the dream I had held for so long- the calling I had felt since childhood to teach and make a difference in the lives of special needs children- had been deferred.
But hasn't it? In a way? I have been questioning more and more lately where I should go from here- if really teaching in a typical setting is how I should proceed next. It was what I always visualized, perhaps really what I dreamed of- teaching special needs children in a classroom in a public school (or something modeled like it). Now I wonder if I shouldn't consult, work in a therapeutic setting, teach teachers, teach in another special school, or go into ministry. Maybe I should quit the whole thing and apply for some fellowship, travel the world, write, volunteer in Guatemala. People always tell me I can do "more" than teach. I think they mean something more prestigious, more adventurous, more interesting by societal standards- but really, there is nothing more you can do than make a difference in a child's life- then teach someone the key skills to a satisfying and successful life. But in my weaker moments, I sometimes think I might agree with society and this week was one of them. This week I found myself in an existential crisis questioning what to do when I've always felt the call to teach. And then I thought of Langston's words.
Has not my dream been deferred? First I, like everyone waited through college, working toward my dream, but never quite there. Then, unlike everyone, I felt unready to pursue teaching in a regular setting where I was behaviorally and educationally responsible for all my students- their only line of defense, if you will, in circumstances with few resources (very unlike where I teach now). So, I deferred my dream for the sake of it itself- to learn more to be a better teacher to be more prepared to serve my students. And while I'm teaching now, it's a different kind of teaching- I'm not a classroom teacher. I miss legitimately teaching children a concept, presenting it, and working with the same student on the same objective day after day and seeing them make progress- not just on paper like I do now- but right before my eyes. I miss the personal contact of direct, continuous instruction and the joy that comes when you teach a child to do something. I have not truly taught in the way that I dreamed of teaching for sometime- and not really as I truly dreamed of teaching (more effectively- I was not as effective as I would have liked as a student teacher in college).
My dream has been deferred.
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Does it just go away? No, not this one- other things came in perhaps to try to replace it, but it remains
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Perhaps this is more the case. I festers, it eventually grows into something inside me that begins to yearn to break free. It festered when I first came to this job- wanting to do more education/curricular work- I was prideful and angry at times. And then pushes to break free and run- making me ache sometimes.
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
But often I forget, forget the ache and the yearning. It crusts over syrupy sweet- the raw truth of my calling has been sugared over so I get caught up in all the work I do and can gently, unconsciously, forget it.
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
No maybe about this one
Or does it explode?
Explodes into questions- and eventually a beast uncontainable that you must live out no matter the cost or explodes into unrecognizable pieces of its original form and leaves you to make something, perhaps a new dream, out of what's left. I hope for the former before the latter because honestly, I don't want a new dream, I don't want pieces of a dream- I want this dream.
This week, as I watched my student giggle happily, free from limitations allowing her to attend an event like typical students I realized there is nothing "more" that I could want than this- nothing "more" I could do than to live out the dream of doing the kind of work that allows students to live lives with moments like that one.
And honestly, we're nearing the end- it won't be long now before, if God continues to lead me in the way I've been led this week, this dream is no longer deferred
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Week 61: Ten Years
I'm not going to say much about the tragic events of September 11th because enough has been said today and in far better words than I could say it. I will say that I did appreciate the Ground Zero ceremony's choice of words because they included two of my favorite writers: God (via some awesome messengers) and Paul Simon (can we talk about that version of sound of silence? Well, not here, I will get way too far off track, but let's talk sometime, ok?). The best part was that they did not spin the words in a way that made our country some kind of an idol, either, as I half expected. In fact, their word choice even made America and all that we know seem fleeting and that God is really all there is. Which I completely agree with, I just didn't expect to hear it on a nationally televised broadcast that incorporated a lot of politicians.
But that's enough about that. What I am going to say is how September 11th, like all major events in history that make you remember where you were at the moment they occurred/you found out, made me think about my growth through time and what that means to my "next phase in life." Basically, this post is a pretty self-centered take on 9/11.
10 years ago around 8:30 in the morning I awoke for the first ever "late arrival day" at my high school in one of my first weeks at that very high-school as I was a freshman. I was so young that I was at the stage where I woke up, got some cereal, turned on the TV, heard "a plane has been hijacked" and thought, "boring" so I changed the channel to my usual pokemon. That's right. I ate cereal and watched Pokemon when I was a little freshmen. Heck, I'd probably do that now if I weren't addicted to facebook and spent all my cereal time on that every day. Also, I'd have to find a channel with classic pokemon which could prove difficult. Again, I'm off track.
10 years ago I sat outside on a beautiful and clear Tuesday morning in size 1 incredibly faded jeans with a belt covered in silver glitter and an extra small juniors baby blue tank top (after watching pokemon, too. I was a freshman, don't judge me) waiting for the bus, thinking about life. At that point, my concerns revolved around getting into the latest play and getting good grades for some far off dream of college and eventually teaching special ed. I knew naught the details. I probably meditated on the latest note my best friend, Brittany had written me, thinking only of my small circle of friends I had known since elementary/middle school. I lived a world with fewer restrictions. A world that didn't require me to know what anthrax or bio-terrorism was. I lived in an America without the Patriot Act, without a department of homeland security. I went to a high school where, when people considered joining the military, they didn't have to consider that they could be immediately entering into an ongoing and active war.
Imagine if that me had awoken in my body this morning. It would have found itself in a strange apartment in Millbury, Massachusetts. In fact, it would have found itself on the floor of said apartment on an air mattress sleeping next to three people who would have been strangers (rather than close friends who I was incredibly glad to finally get together with). That version of myself would find itself wearing a sweatshirt from a college I had not heard of or considered, but had since graduated from. It would have found itself on eastern time instead of central, revisiting the events of 9/11 on TV right in time with when they occurred. It would have considered New York City a strange and frightening place and would be shocked to learn it had already been there... thrice, and was expecting to travel there again tomorrow. That me would have no idea what Applied Behavior Analysis was, let alone believe that, in only ten years had not only graduated from highschool, chosen a college and graduated from it, but would have also nearly achieved a master's degree in a field it had never heard of.
That me would be shocked to see all the scars on my body and wonder where they came from, as well wonder how I was wearing pants 4 sizes bigger and bras with a cup size 5 sizes bigger. That me had never really been interested in a boy aside from socially "crushing" to be cool. That me would know nothing of the kind of work I do. That me couldn't have told you really Jesus was, why I needed Him, or really explain why He was my savior. That me couldn't name a favorite bible passage. And, get ready for this: that me would wonder why in the hell there are 20 Bob Dylan albums in my car. That's right, 10 years ago, I thought Bob Dylan was lame. And THAT, my friends, is how much changes in 10 years. Especially 10 years of adolescence. Granted, the next ten will probably be a bit calmer but I think I will still find that when I wake up for the 20th reunion of September 11th, I will be waking up in a completely different place- professionally, personally, spiritually, geographically.
I worry so much about my next phase in life- worry that I have to get somewhere, become something. And of course, I must pray and focus my efforts but I shouldn't worry so much because time changes things to a ridiculous degree. I have no doubt that 10 years from now, I will wake up with just as many blessings as these ten years have brought me, if not more, and wonder (no matter how much I focus and pray and write and however many weeks I dedicate) how I got there.
But that's enough about that. What I am going to say is how September 11th, like all major events in history that make you remember where you were at the moment they occurred/you found out, made me think about my growth through time and what that means to my "next phase in life." Basically, this post is a pretty self-centered take on 9/11.
10 years ago around 8:30 in the morning I awoke for the first ever "late arrival day" at my high school in one of my first weeks at that very high-school as I was a freshman. I was so young that I was at the stage where I woke up, got some cereal, turned on the TV, heard "a plane has been hijacked" and thought, "boring" so I changed the channel to my usual pokemon. That's right. I ate cereal and watched Pokemon when I was a little freshmen. Heck, I'd probably do that now if I weren't addicted to facebook and spent all my cereal time on that every day. Also, I'd have to find a channel with classic pokemon which could prove difficult. Again, I'm off track.
10 years ago I sat outside on a beautiful and clear Tuesday morning in size 1 incredibly faded jeans with a belt covered in silver glitter and an extra small juniors baby blue tank top (after watching pokemon, too. I was a freshman, don't judge me) waiting for the bus, thinking about life. At that point, my concerns revolved around getting into the latest play and getting good grades for some far off dream of college and eventually teaching special ed. I knew naught the details. I probably meditated on the latest note my best friend, Brittany had written me, thinking only of my small circle of friends I had known since elementary/middle school. I lived a world with fewer restrictions. A world that didn't require me to know what anthrax or bio-terrorism was. I lived in an America without the Patriot Act, without a department of homeland security. I went to a high school where, when people considered joining the military, they didn't have to consider that they could be immediately entering into an ongoing and active war.
Imagine if that me had awoken in my body this morning. It would have found itself in a strange apartment in Millbury, Massachusetts. In fact, it would have found itself on the floor of said apartment on an air mattress sleeping next to three people who would have been strangers (rather than close friends who I was incredibly glad to finally get together with). That version of myself would find itself wearing a sweatshirt from a college I had not heard of or considered, but had since graduated from. It would have found itself on eastern time instead of central, revisiting the events of 9/11 on TV right in time with when they occurred. It would have considered New York City a strange and frightening place and would be shocked to learn it had already been there... thrice, and was expecting to travel there again tomorrow. That me would have no idea what Applied Behavior Analysis was, let alone believe that, in only ten years had not only graduated from highschool, chosen a college and graduated from it, but would have also nearly achieved a master's degree in a field it had never heard of.
That me would be shocked to see all the scars on my body and wonder where they came from, as well wonder how I was wearing pants 4 sizes bigger and bras with a cup size 5 sizes bigger. That me had never really been interested in a boy aside from socially "crushing" to be cool. That me would know nothing of the kind of work I do. That me couldn't have told you really Jesus was, why I needed Him, or really explain why He was my savior. That me couldn't name a favorite bible passage. And, get ready for this: that me would wonder why in the hell there are 20 Bob Dylan albums in my car. That's right, 10 years ago, I thought Bob Dylan was lame. And THAT, my friends, is how much changes in 10 years. Especially 10 years of adolescence. Granted, the next ten will probably be a bit calmer but I think I will still find that when I wake up for the 20th reunion of September 11th, I will be waking up in a completely different place- professionally, personally, spiritually, geographically.
I worry so much about my next phase in life- worry that I have to get somewhere, become something. And of course, I must pray and focus my efforts but I shouldn't worry so much because time changes things to a ridiculous degree. I have no doubt that 10 years from now, I will wake up with just as many blessings as these ten years have brought me, if not more, and wonder (no matter how much I focus and pray and write and however many weeks I dedicate) how I got there.
Weeks 53-55: You're really not done yet
Hey, remember this post? Well, you don't really have to because I posted it a while ago and the events of it occurred oh, 4+ months ago. But, I'm catching up because what I'm about to tell you happened only 2 months ago. I also posted some happenings from more recent weeks already so apologies for going out of order.
Well, in case you don't remember (and since I don't expect you to) here is a re-cap: I was mentally and professionally ready to leave the team where I work at my current job and hoping to transfer to work with younger students in a different setting at my same school. I expected this transfer but was anticipating it too much and not appreciating the time I had left. I came to realize that I was "not done yet" and that I had more to do with my students with the time I had left. Little did I know. Due to staffing, it was revealed to me about 2 months ago that I would stay with my same students for this next year. This was a bit unexpected. Now, not only was I "not done yet," I was really not done yet- not for another year.
I had expected this coming year, my final year, to be another learning year. My three years out on the East Coast have not been so much about giving in terms of education. They have been more about learning so I will be better equipped to give back when I leave. But because I work in such a rich setting with so many resources my presence is not especially vital. Students would be getting relatively the same quality of education whether I am there or not. Whereas, kids in a public school back in the midwest might go through their entire school career without being taught any form of communication would they could be completely capable of using some kind of picture communication system if they didn't have teachers with ABA experience.
Between this distinction and prayer, I have always felt that this was more of a learning time. But, when I found out my third year would be the same as the last two I thought that perhaps this would be more of a giving year- what else could I learn?
Well, working in the program I work in is something that people have difficulty making it through a year of (let alone 3) especially as a teacher on the floor with students. It's a little different if you move up to different positions/have better hours (although that is still an incredibly hard an thankless job that you couldn't pay me to do and I respect all my supervisors for doing it). So one year is hard enough for some, two years in my placement is tough- people almost never make it through three full years in the placement where I work as a direct care teacher, let alone sign up for it.
Don't get me wrong, I have the best job in the world but that saying you've heard of for teaching jobs applies more than ever at my job: "it's the toughest job you'll ever love." The sad part is that because of the tough aspect, you can only do what you love for so long. And I do need to realize that my time doing this amazing work is fleeting and given the ministry call I keep feeling, my time working with the best kind of people on the planet (special needs children) may be limited, even if I don't really want it to be (I'm still not sure on this, so don't hold me to it, but let me tell you- these 70 weeks of prayer have seen some Ca-razy changes). Given all that, I need to appreciate this while I have it.
But I digress. Let's get back to the story: when I had thought I might leave my placement for a new one I felt like a quitter. I had grown exhausted of trying to love people and persevere in love and tolerance and to fight to improve the things that frustrated me without being hurtful or harmful. So to just leave (even if it also was for professional reasons) felt like I was letting the darkness win. I couldn't love properly, I couldn't work for what was right, I couldn't be the person I wanted to be at work, so I should just leave? And besides, my students are the world to me- one random year working in a different area would feel like a fluke. So, in some ways, when I heard the news that I was staying, it felt right. Still incredibly daunting, but right. And then I realized, while this was a giving year, it was most definitely a learning year. Maybe less growing professionally and more spiritually. This year would be a lesson in endurance and perseverance in love and all the actions that it entails. When I had prayed about what to do this year professionally and when it came down to asking God about my next placement I had asked him to put me where I would grow most into the person I needed to be to do His work, especially when I left here. I had thought that meant doing early intervention work with younger students but God obviously has other plans. And I can only believe that my staying in this placement was an answer to my prayer, especially considering what I will be returning to when I go back home. Leaving here I will face trying to love my mother in her rough medical state, trying to love people who will hate the kind of work I will do, and will be trying to persevere to be effective for my students in an environment with limited resources. Did I think God was just going to toss me into that unprepared?
Well, I must have thought that if I thought He was going to let me get away with running away from trying to persevere and endure in love and just drop things when they got hard. But, He didn't. And as I begin to work into this year, with some added changes to make my life a little more sane and to allow myself to actually have time to teach and spend quality time with my students again, I begin to fall in step. I remember again why I do this and I begin to feel the beginning of love for people I could not have loved before. But, I am gaining the wisdom to recognize none of that is because of me- it is simply by Grace that I can even begin to endure in love. Although, I must work every day to accept it and to live it out.
So now, months after grappling with this news, I get up and go to work daily and feel like a new woman. My co-workers say it's because my schedule changed and because I have less responsibility. Well, that accounts for the lightness I feel, but the feeling like a "new woman?" There's only One who can do something as dynamic and amazing as that.
Well, in case you don't remember (and since I don't expect you to) here is a re-cap: I was mentally and professionally ready to leave the team where I work at my current job and hoping to transfer to work with younger students in a different setting at my same school. I expected this transfer but was anticipating it too much and not appreciating the time I had left. I came to realize that I was "not done yet" and that I had more to do with my students with the time I had left. Little did I know. Due to staffing, it was revealed to me about 2 months ago that I would stay with my same students for this next year. This was a bit unexpected. Now, not only was I "not done yet," I was really not done yet- not for another year.
I had expected this coming year, my final year, to be another learning year. My three years out on the East Coast have not been so much about giving in terms of education. They have been more about learning so I will be better equipped to give back when I leave. But because I work in such a rich setting with so many resources my presence is not especially vital. Students would be getting relatively the same quality of education whether I am there or not. Whereas, kids in a public school back in the midwest might go through their entire school career without being taught any form of communication would they could be completely capable of using some kind of picture communication system if they didn't have teachers with ABA experience.
Between this distinction and prayer, I have always felt that this was more of a learning time. But, when I found out my third year would be the same as the last two I thought that perhaps this would be more of a giving year- what else could I learn?
Well, working in the program I work in is something that people have difficulty making it through a year of (let alone 3) especially as a teacher on the floor with students. It's a little different if you move up to different positions/have better hours (although that is still an incredibly hard an thankless job that you couldn't pay me to do and I respect all my supervisors for doing it). So one year is hard enough for some, two years in my placement is tough- people almost never make it through three full years in the placement where I work as a direct care teacher, let alone sign up for it.
Don't get me wrong, I have the best job in the world but that saying you've heard of for teaching jobs applies more than ever at my job: "it's the toughest job you'll ever love." The sad part is that because of the tough aspect, you can only do what you love for so long. And I do need to realize that my time doing this amazing work is fleeting and given the ministry call I keep feeling, my time working with the best kind of people on the planet (special needs children) may be limited, even if I don't really want it to be (I'm still not sure on this, so don't hold me to it, but let me tell you- these 70 weeks of prayer have seen some Ca-razy changes). Given all that, I need to appreciate this while I have it.
But I digress. Let's get back to the story: when I had thought I might leave my placement for a new one I felt like a quitter. I had grown exhausted of trying to love people and persevere in love and tolerance and to fight to improve the things that frustrated me without being hurtful or harmful. So to just leave (even if it also was for professional reasons) felt like I was letting the darkness win. I couldn't love properly, I couldn't work for what was right, I couldn't be the person I wanted to be at work, so I should just leave? And besides, my students are the world to me- one random year working in a different area would feel like a fluke. So, in some ways, when I heard the news that I was staying, it felt right. Still incredibly daunting, but right. And then I realized, while this was a giving year, it was most definitely a learning year. Maybe less growing professionally and more spiritually. This year would be a lesson in endurance and perseverance in love and all the actions that it entails. When I had prayed about what to do this year professionally and when it came down to asking God about my next placement I had asked him to put me where I would grow most into the person I needed to be to do His work, especially when I left here. I had thought that meant doing early intervention work with younger students but God obviously has other plans. And I can only believe that my staying in this placement was an answer to my prayer, especially considering what I will be returning to when I go back home. Leaving here I will face trying to love my mother in her rough medical state, trying to love people who will hate the kind of work I will do, and will be trying to persevere to be effective for my students in an environment with limited resources. Did I think God was just going to toss me into that unprepared?
Well, I must have thought that if I thought He was going to let me get away with running away from trying to persevere and endure in love and just drop things when they got hard. But, He didn't. And as I begin to work into this year, with some added changes to make my life a little more sane and to allow myself to actually have time to teach and spend quality time with my students again, I begin to fall in step. I remember again why I do this and I begin to feel the beginning of love for people I could not have loved before. But, I am gaining the wisdom to recognize none of that is because of me- it is simply by Grace that I can even begin to endure in love. Although, I must work every day to accept it and to live it out.
So now, months after grappling with this news, I get up and go to work daily and feel like a new woman. My co-workers say it's because my schedule changed and because I have less responsibility. Well, that accounts for the lightness I feel, but the feeling like a "new woman?" There's only One who can do something as dynamic and amazing as that.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Weeks 59-60: The demons of exercise
The beginning of a new contract/school year, a new schedule, a lack of actual classes, and the beginning of the end of my time here. I felt like I needed to re-vamp my life in some ways so I could be refreshed and ready to do a third year of very rewarding but intense and stressful work. I want to get the most out of this year and become who God really wants me to be. Of course, when seeking these things, the answer is to turn to God and seek the spirit in order to renew and prepare your spirit. And while I am doing those things, I also turned to other things- lifestyle changes like exercising regularly. So I joined a gym and began taking fitness classes about 4 times per week so I actually work out. Sounds pretty good in theory, right? Nothing wrong with exercise.
Well, if you're thinking that, you're forgetting who you're dealing with here. If there's anyone who can turn something like taking fitness classes and turn it into the catalyst for an existential crisis, it's this girl. Who else goes to a fitness class and thinks about the theology behind what the instructor is saying?
Nonetheless, let's explore this. Let's take a theological trip through the many fitness classes of my gym. First, I went to Zumba, one of my favorites and something I had done before. It's a really fun workout that you don't realize is a work-out. Lots of modified salsa/latin (and a touch of hip hop) dance. And while I love it, a lot of the moves are pretty sexual and in a way, it's not exactly biblical as if you did these moves in front of anyone (and didn't suck at it, like I do) you might be "leading your brother to sin." A large focus of the moves is looking sexy and cool. Zumba's motives are fun and fitness with a hint of lust and vanity.
Next you have spin which is really not that terrible except that you spend an hour spinning in circles not going anywhere, listening to angry music to push through the pain with no forward movement. And besides, you get just as much of a work out from riding a horse for an hour and it's much more fun (albeit more expensive). If there's anything good about spin it's that there are old ladies in those classes who can kick your butt. At least it humbles your pride.
I have gone to a number of yoga classes at my gym- some very different from what I'm used to. I have been going to yoga on and off for years and found myself enjoying a class that was less of a boot-camp/pushy work out and more of the spiritual side of yoga. But then it hit me, and after talking to my friend, really began to bother me that yoga in many ways was idolatry. First off, it is used as a religious practice in some ways and yoga in hinduism is not comparable to communion in Christianity, imagine how Christians would feel if some new age-y craze swept India and people began having communion but altering it to suit their needs- maybe turning it into some kind of party (pass the wine!) or simply partaking in all the traditions without truly believing it. In Yoga in America we use the same phrases, we bow, we speak of things like the "third eye," but we practice them without believing them. Aside from all this, as it is religious practice, in a way there is idolatry in that aspect if you are going along with really any of the spiritual aspects of yoga. Additionally, simply the phrases and beginning/ending of yoga practices have a self-focus. Yoga asks us to turn into the self, give ourselves gratitude, bow to ourselves and one another- in a way, it is self worship. In many ways in yoga, you make yourself an idol. Then there are the salutations to God's creation- but in many ways, if we are not careful, we find ourselves worshiping the created and not the creator. Of course, the creator is given much credit in Yoga- but there is too much credit ALSO given to the created (including ourselves).
All of these thoughts really bothered me. I love yoga and loved attending but found myself torn at a few yoga classes. There is nothing wrong with yoga as simply an exercise but the problem comes when it is misused- primarily when people do not see the danger. Typical yoga classes simply include phrases (like, "give yourselves gratitude," "bow to yourself")that are not scriptural and are bad theology so when we here them or think it is ok to adopt them, things can get very sticky. I found that I was ok with yoga as long as I turned my thoughts out to God and skipped the bowing to myself/using phrases that implied theological statements I would not agree with. But for a while, I began to have a yoga crisis. Ridiculous, I know.
So, there you have it- Yoga bring idolatry in the form of self and nature/creation worship.
Finally, I tried a Body Combat (Les Mills) class. Body Combat was incredibly fun and a great workout but I could not get over the ideas behind it. Part of my issues go with my job related instincts to defend, hold, and contain rather than attack, punch, and knock down. But at the same time, these instincts are healthier and of he spirit, I think. In Body Combat the instructor would yell things like, "take that person down! These are not aerobics knees, these are cracking-someone's-head-on-your-knee knees!" Or, "I don't know what this person did but they deserve it- elbow them in the face!" "Look at that person and punch them! Knock them out!" The aggression, the anger behind the movements was bothersome. Most of all, the concept of retribution and justice that we take it upon ourselves to enact rather than forgiveness or rehabilitation. So, here you have not doing unto others as you would have them do unto you, aggression and rage.
I punched and kicked through Body Combat class, enacting some twisted justice on an invisible opponent and wondering if all the theology behind so many forms of exercise was rooted in some sin/some terrible theology. But here's the thing about group fitness rooms: They have mirrors. The instructor then said, "take a look in front of you at your opponent," and there I saw myself. All this sin that I pointed fingers at in all of these exercise classes was just a product of the self- and in my case, MYself. My only opponent in exercise, in life- the only opponent I am taking down in body combat is my (intentional space) self. Hopefully this year I can do a little bit better with killing my self off and replacing it with the Spirit.
Well, if you're thinking that, you're forgetting who you're dealing with here. If there's anyone who can turn something like taking fitness classes and turn it into the catalyst for an existential crisis, it's this girl. Who else goes to a fitness class and thinks about the theology behind what the instructor is saying?
Nonetheless, let's explore this. Let's take a theological trip through the many fitness classes of my gym. First, I went to Zumba, one of my favorites and something I had done before. It's a really fun workout that you don't realize is a work-out. Lots of modified salsa/latin (and a touch of hip hop) dance. And while I love it, a lot of the moves are pretty sexual and in a way, it's not exactly biblical as if you did these moves in front of anyone (and didn't suck at it, like I do) you might be "leading your brother to sin." A large focus of the moves is looking sexy and cool. Zumba's motives are fun and fitness with a hint of lust and vanity.
Next you have spin which is really not that terrible except that you spend an hour spinning in circles not going anywhere, listening to angry music to push through the pain with no forward movement. And besides, you get just as much of a work out from riding a horse for an hour and it's much more fun (albeit more expensive). If there's anything good about spin it's that there are old ladies in those classes who can kick your butt. At least it humbles your pride.
I have gone to a number of yoga classes at my gym- some very different from what I'm used to. I have been going to yoga on and off for years and found myself enjoying a class that was less of a boot-camp/pushy work out and more of the spiritual side of yoga. But then it hit me, and after talking to my friend, really began to bother me that yoga in many ways was idolatry. First off, it is used as a religious practice in some ways and yoga in hinduism is not comparable to communion in Christianity, imagine how Christians would feel if some new age-y craze swept India and people began having communion but altering it to suit their needs- maybe turning it into some kind of party (pass the wine!) or simply partaking in all the traditions without truly believing it. In Yoga in America we use the same phrases, we bow, we speak of things like the "third eye," but we practice them without believing them. Aside from all this, as it is religious practice, in a way there is idolatry in that aspect if you are going along with really any of the spiritual aspects of yoga. Additionally, simply the phrases and beginning/ending of yoga practices have a self-focus. Yoga asks us to turn into the self, give ourselves gratitude, bow to ourselves and one another- in a way, it is self worship. In many ways in yoga, you make yourself an idol. Then there are the salutations to God's creation- but in many ways, if we are not careful, we find ourselves worshiping the created and not the creator. Of course, the creator is given much credit in Yoga- but there is too much credit ALSO given to the created (including ourselves).
All of these thoughts really bothered me. I love yoga and loved attending but found myself torn at a few yoga classes. There is nothing wrong with yoga as simply an exercise but the problem comes when it is misused- primarily when people do not see the danger. Typical yoga classes simply include phrases (like, "give yourselves gratitude," "bow to yourself")that are not scriptural and are bad theology so when we here them or think it is ok to adopt them, things can get very sticky. I found that I was ok with yoga as long as I turned my thoughts out to God and skipped the bowing to myself/using phrases that implied theological statements I would not agree with. But for a while, I began to have a yoga crisis. Ridiculous, I know.
So, there you have it- Yoga bring idolatry in the form of self and nature/creation worship.
Finally, I tried a Body Combat (Les Mills) class. Body Combat was incredibly fun and a great workout but I could not get over the ideas behind it. Part of my issues go with my job related instincts to defend, hold, and contain rather than attack, punch, and knock down. But at the same time, these instincts are healthier and of he spirit, I think. In Body Combat the instructor would yell things like, "take that person down! These are not aerobics knees, these are cracking-someone's-head-on-your-knee knees!" Or, "I don't know what this person did but they deserve it- elbow them in the face!" "Look at that person and punch them! Knock them out!" The aggression, the anger behind the movements was bothersome. Most of all, the concept of retribution and justice that we take it upon ourselves to enact rather than forgiveness or rehabilitation. So, here you have not doing unto others as you would have them do unto you, aggression and rage.
I punched and kicked through Body Combat class, enacting some twisted justice on an invisible opponent and wondering if all the theology behind so many forms of exercise was rooted in some sin/some terrible theology. But here's the thing about group fitness rooms: They have mirrors. The instructor then said, "take a look in front of you at your opponent," and there I saw myself. All this sin that I pointed fingers at in all of these exercise classes was just a product of the self- and in my case, MYself. My only opponent in exercise, in life- the only opponent I am taking down in body combat is my (intentional space) self. Hopefully this year I can do a little bit better with killing my self off and replacing it with the Spirit.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Weeks 45-52: Here I am, Lord
I don’t know if I’ve ever told you, but this is my favorite hymn ever and it brings me to tears every time.
You’ll notice I’m summing up 7 weeks- over a month and a half- in one post. Part of this is because I have been so busy but the other part is that I just didn’t want to face any of this, especially by recording it, let alone publishing it publicly because I didn’t even want to be held accountable to God in these past few weeks, let alone any of my friends who happen to be crazy enough to read this blog.
But, these past few weeks led to the beginnings of some conclusions that were the exact purpose of this project of 70 weeks of prayer. I just didn’t expect them. Or want them. Be careful what you pray for- I asked for guidance in my future- and I got it… or at least the beginnings.
Ever feel like something is constantly tugging at you, nagging at you, almost eating you up until you do it or at least agree to comply? Well, this is what God had been doing to me these weeks with a number of things.
First, there was a sudden, off the wall call to ministry different from the usual call I feel to serve children as a teacher and even through youth ministry at my church. It was not a call related to the one I have felt to help children- the one I have felt since I was very young. This was a call to explicit ministry of God's people in general, although I can give you no other details than that. Various events all lined up leading me in this direction: a spiritual gifts inventory (that indicated faith, pastoring, and shepherding as my greatest gifts), suddenly being in a position to mentor older youth in much more serious capacities regarding their faith (through confirmation class and suddenly leading a youth group), conversations with my pastor/experiences at church nearly every week that left me feeling with some aching that there was some purpose I needed to fulfill, talk of seminary (which sounds crazy- I am not at all where I would need to be in a lot of places for that), and last but not least, episodes of feeling a "pull" to strangers- feeling sudden compassion and feelings that were not my own- feelings about their relationship with God/things God wanted for them and the urgent need to explain this to them.
This aching began in Colorado in May as I drove through the mountains on a bus, listening to the band Waterdeep, feeling an urgent call from God that was completely new to me. This pull continued- I felt as if I was not doing something God wanted me to do but yet He had yet to tell me what I should be doing. All I knew is I felt a call to ministry- but I didn't know what kind of ministry or what I was supposed to do. I felt I was supposed to take action without really knowing what action I was to take.
The aching continued as God suddenly gave me feelings toward strangers- the guy making my burrito bowl at chipotle, the girl bagging my groceries, a random woman in a parking lot. I can't even describe the feeling to you- but it is one of urgency, almost agony- like there is a message inside me ready to burst out only I have to force myself to open my mouth. I was so afraid- perhaps of what these strangers would think (which normally, is not an issue for me) that I could not bring myself to talk to these people when called to do it. But the feeling kept coming and I began to feel terrible for being so disobedient to God. These flashes of feeling/calls became burdensome to the point that when one would come upon me, I would find myself saying to God, "not now, please, not now" and would seek forgiveness for disobeying him- but I simply could not bring myself to do what he asked. I began to pray for courage- for him to build me up to doing the task he asked of me.
The sudden flashes of feeling towards strangers let up a bit for a while but the urgent feeling that God wanted me to do something persisted- harassed me, confused me, left me leaving church every Sunday so frustrated with His nagging that I would find myself yelling at God, "WHAT do you WANT from me?!"
In the middle of this my mother fell while at home (where she lives alone although she probably should not due to her deteriorated medical condition) and was in the hospital and then rehabilitation facility to get more physical therapist. After living in the rehabilitation facility for under a week (this place also doubles as a senior home that we looked into for my grandmother years ago when she was still alive) my mother called me and very uncharacteristically asked that I never put her in a place like that, saying she thought she would die there due to how they handled her medicine and expressing frustration at the poor quality of life (and this is one of the nicer senior facilities). She began talking seriously about me coming home, moving in with her to help her pay the mortgage due to financial issues w/ medical bills and figuring out a way for her to live with me later on. Normally my mother would never ask anything of me for herself- she would tell me to put her in a senior citizen home and live my own life. Her medical condition and this experience had definitely gotten to her.
But, of course, leaving my seemingly ideal life out here to come home, teach where what I do is less acceptable, where resources of few, and then moving back in with my mother and caring for her sounded terrible. Basically, it would be giving up my life to take care of her and serve students back home. Talking to strangers about Jesus, answering whatever God was calling me to do instead of what I am comfortable with would be giving up my life in a social manner, sacrificing what people thought of me.
It all came together: God was asking me to give up my life. And I refused. I whined that I couldn't- because of my weakness, my pride, my fear, my lack of trust in God, my selfishness.
I prayed for 50+ weeks for God to tell me what he wants of me in my next phase of life- He gave me a ministry related call that I feel is aimed more at the future (I think He's preparing me so I am less shocked- although some of what I am to do is more eminent) and He began to shape where I should live/what I should do in terms of my situation with my mother. God answered my prayer, and I wanted nothing to do with it.
During this time I had been reading Samuel 1 and 2 and we began doing a bible study on David at church. My pastor began talking about Samuel when he responded to God' call, saying, "here I am, Lord." I marveled at this. God, had in fact, been calling my name. I would hear him simply saying my name and I would plug my internal ears to him and sing "lalalalala" because I did not want to hear what other things he would ask me to do. It was too much.
One day, I ran across that verse in Matthew (and a few other places): "those who wish to save their life will loose it and those who wish to loose it for my sake will save it" and as I mentally rebelled God said to me, "Audrey, stop trying to save your own life, because you can't"
A short while later, I was at the open mic I go to every Friday and a girl who did not know me, but who I had heard of for some time now (from her mother, who regularly attends and has been worried about her daughter's spiritual/life decisions) showed up and performed with her boyfriend. As I listened to her sing I realized everything had come together. Never had she come to open mic before, I had not been to it for many months due to class, I had just been thinking about her on my way to open mic, and God had opened my heart to the idea of talking to strangers about him through the encouragement of my friends and his recent words to me about not saving my own life. The feeling came over me but not with the painful urgency that I could not handle. This was right- this was not a complete stranger, this was a situation I could handle. This was God meeting me where I was. I felt His call, and this time I said, "Here I am, Lord," walked over, and said, "excuse me, this is going to sound strange and I never do this but I just feel called to tell you that God loves you.."
And just like that, I gave up trying to save my life and gave it to Jesus to take care of, because, well, He's the only one who can
You’ll notice I’m summing up 7 weeks- over a month and a half- in one post. Part of this is because I have been so busy but the other part is that I just didn’t want to face any of this, especially by recording it, let alone publishing it publicly because I didn’t even want to be held accountable to God in these past few weeks, let alone any of my friends who happen to be crazy enough to read this blog.
But, these past few weeks led to the beginnings of some conclusions that were the exact purpose of this project of 70 weeks of prayer. I just didn’t expect them. Or want them. Be careful what you pray for- I asked for guidance in my future- and I got it… or at least the beginnings.
Ever feel like something is constantly tugging at you, nagging at you, almost eating you up until you do it or at least agree to comply? Well, this is what God had been doing to me these weeks with a number of things.
First, there was a sudden, off the wall call to ministry different from the usual call I feel to serve children as a teacher and even through youth ministry at my church. It was not a call related to the one I have felt to help children- the one I have felt since I was very young. This was a call to explicit ministry of God's people in general, although I can give you no other details than that. Various events all lined up leading me in this direction: a spiritual gifts inventory (that indicated faith, pastoring, and shepherding as my greatest gifts), suddenly being in a position to mentor older youth in much more serious capacities regarding their faith (through confirmation class and suddenly leading a youth group), conversations with my pastor/experiences at church nearly every week that left me feeling with some aching that there was some purpose I needed to fulfill, talk of seminary (which sounds crazy- I am not at all where I would need to be in a lot of places for that), and last but not least, episodes of feeling a "pull" to strangers- feeling sudden compassion and feelings that were not my own- feelings about their relationship with God/things God wanted for them and the urgent need to explain this to them.
This aching began in Colorado in May as I drove through the mountains on a bus, listening to the band Waterdeep, feeling an urgent call from God that was completely new to me. This pull continued- I felt as if I was not doing something God wanted me to do but yet He had yet to tell me what I should be doing. All I knew is I felt a call to ministry- but I didn't know what kind of ministry or what I was supposed to do. I felt I was supposed to take action without really knowing what action I was to take.
The aching continued as God suddenly gave me feelings toward strangers- the guy making my burrito bowl at chipotle, the girl bagging my groceries, a random woman in a parking lot. I can't even describe the feeling to you- but it is one of urgency, almost agony- like there is a message inside me ready to burst out only I have to force myself to open my mouth. I was so afraid- perhaps of what these strangers would think (which normally, is not an issue for me) that I could not bring myself to talk to these people when called to do it. But the feeling kept coming and I began to feel terrible for being so disobedient to God. These flashes of feeling/calls became burdensome to the point that when one would come upon me, I would find myself saying to God, "not now, please, not now" and would seek forgiveness for disobeying him- but I simply could not bring myself to do what he asked. I began to pray for courage- for him to build me up to doing the task he asked of me.
The sudden flashes of feeling towards strangers let up a bit for a while but the urgent feeling that God wanted me to do something persisted- harassed me, confused me, left me leaving church every Sunday so frustrated with His nagging that I would find myself yelling at God, "WHAT do you WANT from me?!"
In the middle of this my mother fell while at home (where she lives alone although she probably should not due to her deteriorated medical condition) and was in the hospital and then rehabilitation facility to get more physical therapist. After living in the rehabilitation facility for under a week (this place also doubles as a senior home that we looked into for my grandmother years ago when she was still alive) my mother called me and very uncharacteristically asked that I never put her in a place like that, saying she thought she would die there due to how they handled her medicine and expressing frustration at the poor quality of life (and this is one of the nicer senior facilities). She began talking seriously about me coming home, moving in with her to help her pay the mortgage due to financial issues w/ medical bills and figuring out a way for her to live with me later on. Normally my mother would never ask anything of me for herself- she would tell me to put her in a senior citizen home and live my own life. Her medical condition and this experience had definitely gotten to her.
But, of course, leaving my seemingly ideal life out here to come home, teach where what I do is less acceptable, where resources of few, and then moving back in with my mother and caring for her sounded terrible. Basically, it would be giving up my life to take care of her and serve students back home. Talking to strangers about Jesus, answering whatever God was calling me to do instead of what I am comfortable with would be giving up my life in a social manner, sacrificing what people thought of me.
It all came together: God was asking me to give up my life. And I refused. I whined that I couldn't- because of my weakness, my pride, my fear, my lack of trust in God, my selfishness.
I prayed for 50+ weeks for God to tell me what he wants of me in my next phase of life- He gave me a ministry related call that I feel is aimed more at the future (I think He's preparing me so I am less shocked- although some of what I am to do is more eminent) and He began to shape where I should live/what I should do in terms of my situation with my mother. God answered my prayer, and I wanted nothing to do with it.
During this time I had been reading Samuel 1 and 2 and we began doing a bible study on David at church. My pastor began talking about Samuel when he responded to God' call, saying, "here I am, Lord." I marveled at this. God, had in fact, been calling my name. I would hear him simply saying my name and I would plug my internal ears to him and sing "lalalalala" because I did not want to hear what other things he would ask me to do. It was too much.
One day, I ran across that verse in Matthew (and a few other places): "those who wish to save their life will loose it and those who wish to loose it for my sake will save it" and as I mentally rebelled God said to me, "Audrey, stop trying to save your own life, because you can't"
A short while later, I was at the open mic I go to every Friday and a girl who did not know me, but who I had heard of for some time now (from her mother, who regularly attends and has been worried about her daughter's spiritual/life decisions) showed up and performed with her boyfriend. As I listened to her sing I realized everything had come together. Never had she come to open mic before, I had not been to it for many months due to class, I had just been thinking about her on my way to open mic, and God had opened my heart to the idea of talking to strangers about him through the encouragement of my friends and his recent words to me about not saving my own life. The feeling came over me but not with the painful urgency that I could not handle. This was right- this was not a complete stranger, this was a situation I could handle. This was God meeting me where I was. I felt His call, and this time I said, "Here I am, Lord," walked over, and said, "excuse me, this is going to sound strange and I never do this but I just feel called to tell you that God loves you.."
And just like that, I gave up trying to save my life and gave it to Jesus to take care of, because, well, He's the only one who can
Monday, August 15, 2011
Weeks 43 and 44: You're not done yet
When I began writing this post over 3 months ago I had felt I the logistics related to the end of my 70 weeks had been worked out a bit more. I had applied for a switch to another area of work at my school, moving me (hopefully) to a younger team with different students and experiences. I wanted this because I felt I needed more experience teaching different kinds of skills and with different types of behavioral programming to build me up for where I will go next year after I am done working where I am now. I felt this would prepare me more for public school and make me a better teacher for the students I would be working with. In addition, at this point I was burnt out from the bureaucracy and even some of the stressful situations of my position with my students. I found myself counting down the months until I could leave, thinking often about what life would be like next year, how it would be different, and honestly thinking about how, when I saw things that needed to be done that someone else would have to deal with them.
My negativity related to my burn out I supposed focused me on leaving my team rather than on appreciating my time with them.
Then one night I stood outside with a student, watching her paint the May twilight with bubbles. They floated up into the light, catching all the colors of the dying sunset. She would ask me to pop them but the lucky ones escaped my reach, floating up, up, showing the sun that from down below, appeared to have already gone down.
Appreciating the beauty of my situation for what it was, my students for who they are and for what they teach me about life every day I realized this time was precious and not something to throw away or count down the days until it ended. A voice said to me, "you're not done yet." Little did I know then how very much "not done" I was. But more on that later.
My negativity related to my burn out I supposed focused me on leaving my team rather than on appreciating my time with them.
Then one night I stood outside with a student, watching her paint the May twilight with bubbles. They floated up into the light, catching all the colors of the dying sunset. She would ask me to pop them but the lucky ones escaped my reach, floating up, up, showing the sun that from down below, appeared to have already gone down.
Appreciating the beauty of my situation for what it was, my students for who they are and for what they teach me about life every day I realized this time was precious and not something to throw away or count down the days until it ended. A voice said to me, "you're not done yet." Little did I know then how very much "not done" I was. But more on that later.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Weeks 41 and 42: "Hello Hurricane, You're not enough"
Over two and a half months ago (I am very very behind on this blog and thus am having to sum up multiple weeks within a few posts. A lot has been happening that I did not want to relive by retelling it to you and I apologize. But now I will catch up and will be better about posting), I lay in bed, cuddled up in my covers crying, holding onto a stone that said "pray" between my clasped hands- desperately needing to feel God.
A number of things had occurred and weighed on my spirit to bring me to this point, some of which I had already chronicled: being fragile in spirit after a period of exhaustion and burn out and some questioning about major spiritual matters.
Additionally, I was continually undergoing the stress and sadness of my mother's continuing illness and it just seemed as though the storms just kept coming, waves just kept surging, pounding over me before I could get my head above water and gasp for breath.
I had also been in a theoretical foundations (the foundations of behavior analysis) class for grad school that for some reason, shook me up. We spent the first few classes discussing Christianity vs. science as behavior analysis' basic principles are often in conflict with major christian ideas (phenomenology, assumption of first-cause theory, evolution, etc). While many of the arguments brought up by my atheist professor were ones I could easily counter, the general ideas brought up threw me off. I began trying to view the world in an atheistic, phenomenological way, just to see if I could do it- trying to understand how my professor, my colleagues view it. I'd try to look at the trees moving in the wind just as they were, seeing no driving force behind any of it but a series of cause and effects.
Here's the thing about being an atheist:I'm bad at it. Trying to view the world this way depressed me terribly. I felt like I was grieving a loss of a loved one- and in a way, I was. For more on this see Week 39
All of this nudged me to question things and on top of that, I just went through a period of a questioning nature- doubting the legitimacy of some scripture, and more than the legitimacy, doubting what it was truly intended for. I began to question so many basic assumptions Christians base so much off of as potential culturally influenced phenomena. The idea of taking so much scripture literally (in addition to figuratively) for example became an issue. I began to look at the potential sources of texts and wondered how we could see Genesis as some kind of actual account. To me, it seemed to be some written account of a folk tale, and oral tradition (of course this ignores God's power over what goes into His Holy, living, word, but I ignored a lot of things during this period). Perhaps the most dangerous and frightening thing I questioned was God's love for me. I wanted proof. So much of faith and religion is skewed by our cultural view of things. We reiterate over and over that "God is Love" as a mantra. Why not just echo, "God is a Jealous God?" Because it's not as suitable for us? It doesn't comfort us as much even if it's equally as true. I found we focused so much on Love in our society that perhaps we had skewed God's personality more in one direction to suit our needs (and I still think I'm onto something there, although now I do believe He loves me). On top of this, I wanted scriptural proof. "WHERE DOES GOD SAY HE LOVES ME, TELL ME WHERE?!" I demanded of my friend, so angry that I was swearing like a truck driver, throwing the F-word in between most of the words in caps above. I don't think I've ever sworn that much at God or in reference to God in my life (perhaps the proof to my doubt that he loves me was in that lightning didn't strike me then and there).
I was dismayed that I even found myself asking this question, and even more to my dismay, my friend did not have an answer for me. Well, she did- she could mention lots of scripture that alluded to actions that showed God loved me or that he loved people. But God never said right out that he loved me and when he came out and expressed love for a people, it was his Chosen people of Israel, etc. It was never for someone like me.
At least in my mind at this point, it wasn't. I didn't want action, I didn't want some (seemingly) round-about way of showing His love. I wanted the very human, earth-bound, potentially meaningless, word love. As if that stood as proof of His love for me far more than Jesus' dying for my sins.
Nonetheless, I found that I had questions buzzing around my head that I could not turn off. I'm too philosophical to just stop thinking things because they're unpleasant. I have to reason and think my way out of them. Thus, I found myself lying in bed crying one night, realizing I was at some kind of potential "final precipice." I was questioning the foundations of my faith- whether God loves me, the legitimacy of the scripture that I relied on as truth, and so many other fundamental issues relating to those two primary ones. I could not manage to think my way out of some of these issues- at least at some level- at least at the level I want to think my way out of them (on a human, selfish, very naive mortal level).
So there I lay, realizing how dangerous this was and feeling as if I was losing God. It was the kind of feeling you have when you're in the process of/on the verge of breaking up with someone and you feel as though you're desperately clinging to something that you can't figure out how to work out. The feeling that this thing you are trying to save is, despite your attempts, still slipping from your grip.
And really, in my mind, this is what I was doing. I had fought with and sworn at God and now I was breaking up with him. Only, I didn't want to. I just didn't see how I couldn't. I felt as though my mind were divorcing (perhaps this is the better word than breaking up given the nature of our relationship) God, my spirit did not want to. And of course, God was not at all divorcing me- it was as if my human self was working against my will to pull me away from Him. And yet, there was a part of me that could not fully- that knew something my brain didn't. So there I lay, in some hellish limbo that threatened the loss of everything.
In desperation that night I bought some Christian music I had not listened to since I listened to KLOVE, a radio station that plays all over- but that I cannot get in MA. I used to listen to it to and from student teaching in WI and it was a big part of my spiritual growth during that time. So, I found some familiar tunes and bought the Switchfoot Album, "Hello, Hurricane." A song I had never heard, "yet" began to play, a song that seemed to have been custom-written for this exact moment in my life. It discussed losing ground, heading toward the final precipice, losing sight of God, on the verge of moving far from him, and then it says, "but you haven't lost me yet."
I curled up in my blankets and let the truth of this song wash over me, let it be my sad anthem. Let myself wallow in it. I felt my heart breaking, I was losing the love of my Life.
And then came the line- wrenched out of the lead singer's gut, "If it doesn't break, if it doesn't break, if it doesn't break your heart then it's not love, naww, if it doesn't break your heart it's not enough. It's when it's really breakin' down with your insides coming out that you really know what your heart is made of"
It was then that it occurred to me- that whatever this was between me and God, it must be love because otherwise it wouldn't have broken my heart.
Not only that, but for such a long time, there had been two primary issues in my spiritual growth. One being that I hadn't been loving God enough- here I was feeling rightfully distraught and more upset that I had been in a very long time about the idea of some kind of a loss of God. This was good- I had never loved God like this before. This was, in fact, the entire point of my 70 DAYS- to love God better. Lo and behold- prayers are answered. It's amazing, when faced with difficult circumstances, the reassuring and comforting things you find- the part of yourself you come to find.
The second issue being that I often said, when discussing major Christian concepts/principals, that I knew things in my head, not in my heart and thus could not "walk the walk" or truly understand them. This time my head did not know what to think and no matter how confused it became, no matter how all the darkness that had filled my life all winter/spring tried to use my thoughts, my mind to break down my spirit- it could only go so far. As much as I like to think thought/reason/logic are such powerful things, they hit a wall that they could not push beyond. They hit some kind of fortress in my spirit that had been building up without my realizing it.
What I found was that I knew all of these things- I knew God loved me- in my heart, even if I didn't know it in my head at the time. And that is much better than the opposite alternative.
Later that week I ran at Chauncy Lake on a stormy day, Switchfoot blasting in my ears- this time it was the song, "Hello Hurricane." The clouds hung menacingly (although what could they do? Pour reviving, forgiving water on me?) My feet pounded angrily to the beat- a righteous anger at evil- and yet, a triumphant anger.
Darkness had taken so many forms, trying to pull me away from God those past few months and it found a wall it could not penetrate- It found the walls of my heart- a heart that has deep roots now, that knows God loves me- by His billions of actions, by what He's written on my heart, not just a certain string of words.
"Hello Hurricane," I sang to all the darkness in the woods that could hear me, to the stones, the rocky trail I trampled under my feet,
"You're not enough.
Hello hurricane, you can't silence my love.
I've got doors and windows boarded up
All your dead end fury is not enough
You can't silence my love, my love."
A number of things had occurred and weighed on my spirit to bring me to this point, some of which I had already chronicled: being fragile in spirit after a period of exhaustion and burn out and some questioning about major spiritual matters.
Additionally, I was continually undergoing the stress and sadness of my mother's continuing illness and it just seemed as though the storms just kept coming, waves just kept surging, pounding over me before I could get my head above water and gasp for breath.
I had also been in a theoretical foundations (the foundations of behavior analysis) class for grad school that for some reason, shook me up. We spent the first few classes discussing Christianity vs. science as behavior analysis' basic principles are often in conflict with major christian ideas (phenomenology, assumption of first-cause theory, evolution, etc). While many of the arguments brought up by my atheist professor were ones I could easily counter, the general ideas brought up threw me off. I began trying to view the world in an atheistic, phenomenological way, just to see if I could do it- trying to understand how my professor, my colleagues view it. I'd try to look at the trees moving in the wind just as they were, seeing no driving force behind any of it but a series of cause and effects.
Here's the thing about being an atheist:I'm bad at it. Trying to view the world this way depressed me terribly. I felt like I was grieving a loss of a loved one- and in a way, I was. For more on this see Week 39
All of this nudged me to question things and on top of that, I just went through a period of a questioning nature- doubting the legitimacy of some scripture, and more than the legitimacy, doubting what it was truly intended for. I began to question so many basic assumptions Christians base so much off of as potential culturally influenced phenomena. The idea of taking so much scripture literally (in addition to figuratively) for example became an issue. I began to look at the potential sources of texts and wondered how we could see Genesis as some kind of actual account. To me, it seemed to be some written account of a folk tale, and oral tradition (of course this ignores God's power over what goes into His Holy, living, word, but I ignored a lot of things during this period). Perhaps the most dangerous and frightening thing I questioned was God's love for me. I wanted proof. So much of faith and religion is skewed by our cultural view of things. We reiterate over and over that "God is Love" as a mantra. Why not just echo, "God is a Jealous God?" Because it's not as suitable for us? It doesn't comfort us as much even if it's equally as true. I found we focused so much on Love in our society that perhaps we had skewed God's personality more in one direction to suit our needs (and I still think I'm onto something there, although now I do believe He loves me). On top of this, I wanted scriptural proof. "WHERE DOES GOD SAY HE LOVES ME, TELL ME WHERE?!" I demanded of my friend, so angry that I was swearing like a truck driver, throwing the F-word in between most of the words in caps above. I don't think I've ever sworn that much at God or in reference to God in my life (perhaps the proof to my doubt that he loves me was in that lightning didn't strike me then and there).
I was dismayed that I even found myself asking this question, and even more to my dismay, my friend did not have an answer for me. Well, she did- she could mention lots of scripture that alluded to actions that showed God loved me or that he loved people. But God never said right out that he loved me and when he came out and expressed love for a people, it was his Chosen people of Israel, etc. It was never for someone like me.
At least in my mind at this point, it wasn't. I didn't want action, I didn't want some (seemingly) round-about way of showing His love. I wanted the very human, earth-bound, potentially meaningless, word love. As if that stood as proof of His love for me far more than Jesus' dying for my sins.
Nonetheless, I found that I had questions buzzing around my head that I could not turn off. I'm too philosophical to just stop thinking things because they're unpleasant. I have to reason and think my way out of them. Thus, I found myself lying in bed crying one night, realizing I was at some kind of potential "final precipice." I was questioning the foundations of my faith- whether God loves me, the legitimacy of the scripture that I relied on as truth, and so many other fundamental issues relating to those two primary ones. I could not manage to think my way out of some of these issues- at least at some level- at least at the level I want to think my way out of them (on a human, selfish, very naive mortal level).
So there I lay, realizing how dangerous this was and feeling as if I was losing God. It was the kind of feeling you have when you're in the process of/on the verge of breaking up with someone and you feel as though you're desperately clinging to something that you can't figure out how to work out. The feeling that this thing you are trying to save is, despite your attempts, still slipping from your grip.
And really, in my mind, this is what I was doing. I had fought with and sworn at God and now I was breaking up with him. Only, I didn't want to. I just didn't see how I couldn't. I felt as though my mind were divorcing (perhaps this is the better word than breaking up given the nature of our relationship) God, my spirit did not want to. And of course, God was not at all divorcing me- it was as if my human self was working against my will to pull me away from Him. And yet, there was a part of me that could not fully- that knew something my brain didn't. So there I lay, in some hellish limbo that threatened the loss of everything.
In desperation that night I bought some Christian music I had not listened to since I listened to KLOVE, a radio station that plays all over- but that I cannot get in MA. I used to listen to it to and from student teaching in WI and it was a big part of my spiritual growth during that time. So, I found some familiar tunes and bought the Switchfoot Album, "Hello, Hurricane." A song I had never heard, "yet" began to play, a song that seemed to have been custom-written for this exact moment in my life. It discussed losing ground, heading toward the final precipice, losing sight of God, on the verge of moving far from him, and then it says, "but you haven't lost me yet."
I curled up in my blankets and let the truth of this song wash over me, let it be my sad anthem. Let myself wallow in it. I felt my heart breaking, I was losing the love of my Life.
And then came the line- wrenched out of the lead singer's gut, "If it doesn't break, if it doesn't break, if it doesn't break your heart then it's not love, naww, if it doesn't break your heart it's not enough. It's when it's really breakin' down with your insides coming out that you really know what your heart is made of"
It was then that it occurred to me- that whatever this was between me and God, it must be love because otherwise it wouldn't have broken my heart.
Not only that, but for such a long time, there had been two primary issues in my spiritual growth. One being that I hadn't been loving God enough- here I was feeling rightfully distraught and more upset that I had been in a very long time about the idea of some kind of a loss of God. This was good- I had never loved God like this before. This was, in fact, the entire point of my 70 DAYS- to love God better. Lo and behold- prayers are answered. It's amazing, when faced with difficult circumstances, the reassuring and comforting things you find- the part of yourself you come to find.
The second issue being that I often said, when discussing major Christian concepts/principals, that I knew things in my head, not in my heart and thus could not "walk the walk" or truly understand them. This time my head did not know what to think and no matter how confused it became, no matter how all the darkness that had filled my life all winter/spring tried to use my thoughts, my mind to break down my spirit- it could only go so far. As much as I like to think thought/reason/logic are such powerful things, they hit a wall that they could not push beyond. They hit some kind of fortress in my spirit that had been building up without my realizing it.
What I found was that I knew all of these things- I knew God loved me- in my heart, even if I didn't know it in my head at the time. And that is much better than the opposite alternative.
Later that week I ran at Chauncy Lake on a stormy day, Switchfoot blasting in my ears- this time it was the song, "Hello Hurricane." The clouds hung menacingly (although what could they do? Pour reviving, forgiving water on me?) My feet pounded angrily to the beat- a righteous anger at evil- and yet, a triumphant anger.
Darkness had taken so many forms, trying to pull me away from God those past few months and it found a wall it could not penetrate- It found the walls of my heart- a heart that has deep roots now, that knows God loves me- by His billions of actions, by what He's written on my heart, not just a certain string of words.
"Hello Hurricane," I sang to all the darkness in the woods that could hear me, to the stones, the rocky trail I trampled under my feet,
"You're not enough.
Hello hurricane, you can't silence my love.
I've got doors and windows boarded up
All your dead end fury is not enough
You can't silence my love, my love."
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