Once upon a time there was a little boy who loved climbing. He climbed everything, the counters, the tables, the dressers, the bookshelves, even the parents! Then one day, his parents decided to let him find other things to climb and sent him outside to the back yard, and there, the little boy discovered trees. There wasn't a day when he was begging to go outside and climb his trees, even in the rain and freezing cold winter snow. And because his parents loved him so, they bundled him up dryly and tightly and let him climb (if only for a little while, so he wouldn't catch cold).
Then one day, the little boy had a play date with the little girl next door. He decided to show her his favorite climbing tree. He led her to the backyard and started climbing up the tall maple tree. When he looked down, the little girl was still standing at the bottom. "Why aren't you climbing?" the little boy asked. "I'm afraid I'm going to fall!" said she. Falling? The little boy was puzzled. "It's ok, come on up!" So the little girl climbed. But she was not as tall as the little boy and could not reach the branches he could. She gave a little jump...and fell. The little boy was stunned. He had never fallen before, and had never seen his dad or even his mom fall when they climbed with him. But there was the little girl on the ground crying fiercely from her scrapes and bruises.
The next day, the little boy's mom went outside to call the little boy in for lunch. But he wasn't in his favorite tree. He wasn't in any tree. After a few minutes, his mom figured out he wasn't even outside. So she went back inside and found him sitting on the floor next to his bed. "Little One," she said, "why aren't you upside?" (this is what they called playing outside in the trees). The little boy was quiet for a few moments, and then whispered, "because I don't want to fall down."
--------------
From when I was born to roughly 8 years old, my family went to a teeny tiny baptist church just down the street in our teeny tiny town in upstate New York. I loved the pews, and the hymns, and the centuries-old gravestones in the back yard. It was all I knew about church and about God. But my parents grew restless. They didn't feel...alive. It was just the same old routine week after week, no change, no growing, no challenge to it any more. So we moved to another church, farther away, in a bigger "city" (which meant it had traffic lights and the speed limit was over 35).
This church was so completely the opposite of our little baptist church! ("Daddy, what's that?" "It's an electric guitar, Sweet Heart." "Oh...What's that?") We found ourselves in the middle of a charismatic church in the early '90's, which for those of you who are familiar with it was the beginning of the "Toronto Blessing" as some people called it. People would raise their hands, talk in funny baby talk, dance with banners, and stranger yet, fall down on the floor shaking.
Eventually, my younger brother and sister started "giving in" to the weirdness of the church, but being the oldest with the most memories of how things used to be, I didn't like it at all. I wanted to go back to the pews and ole Mrs. Forrey pounding out the hymns on the organ. Eventually, both my siblings got baptized, but I wouldn't even raise my hands in church during worship. I would stand up, because Mom and Dad made me, but I wasn't about to let them see me give in to everything else.
One night, we were having children's church down in the basement while the parents had church upstairs. I'm not sure what went on upstairs, if it was mirroring everything that happened to us or not, but the Holy Spirit came and visited the kids. I don't remember much of what led up to it, but what I vividly remember was sitting next to my brother, who was shaking on the ground with his eyes half closed and muttering under his breath. I was terrified! I thought he was having a seizure or something. Then one of the teachers came over and said, "He's being slain in the Spirit. Isn't it wonderful!" It wasn't wonderful. I was seriously frightened. Not necessarily about Adam's well-being (kids can sense when grown-ups are and aren't concerned), but I was suddenly really, really scared of the Holy Spirit. If He makes your body do all those things in public, I was definitely not going to get close to Him!
Looking back, I have to give my teachers some grace. Hearing other people's accounts of those several years of "revival" that happened all over the U.S., I've come to realize that the adults weren't really sure what was going on either. Everything was new to them too. So they couldn't explain it to us children who saw and were frightened. But the result of that is now a generation of young adults who are still hesitant when it comes to the Holy Spirit. I've been baptized now (although it was several years after we moved from that church and New York out to Kansas City to be a part of Metro Vineyard Fellowship), I've walked on purpose with God for over 15 years, and can not imagine existing in a world where He isn't part of my life. But any time I think about the Spirit aspect of His Person, and I still partially close off my heart and tell Him with trepidation: "Please, no."
The problem is, most of the time - if I'm not thinking about it - I am open to Him and tell Him "Yes!" Because I cannot be myself without Him. He is my genius, my voice, my smile, my joy, my compassion, my "don't you mess with my friends" fierce loyalty and protection, my hope, my heart, my life. Without the Holy Spirit, I am like the little child whose sole purpose and design in life is to climb...sitting in fear on the floor next to her bed.
So, Spirit, how do we do this? How can I climb again?
Friday, May 3, 2013
Thursday, May 2, 2013
"Jesus loves me, this I know - for it's May and there is snow!"
I love snow. Always have. Always will. There's something simply beautiful about the way it falls slowly to the ground, like it wants to take its time and dance on the wind before settling graciously to the ground with its brothers and sisters. I could watch the snow fall for hours, inside or outside (ok, maybe outside for only an hour, there is a limit to what a normal human body can take).
I love the stillness and the quiet it brings. Have you ever noticed how quiet everything gets when it's snowed? Maybe that's just because everybody stays indoors huddled under blankets and no one dares to venture out into the slush, but it seems like more than that sometimes. Like the whole world has hushed itself in awe of the beauty falling from the sky.
My favorite memory of snow is from when I was 10 or 11. It was the year before we moved out to Kansas City, where people freak out and close school for one inch of snow. Back in the Hudson Valley area of New York, they merely put chains on the school bus tires, maybe causing an hour or two delay. Actually canceling school was a rarity. Everyone else on my bus route knew to simply bundle up and make their way down to our house, the nearest bus stop on the main road (even with chains, there was no way our bus was making it up Mount Reservoir Rd). Most of the time, though, it only snowed a foot or two; hardly anything, really.
But 1993/4 was different. That was the year it snowed 4 feet. And when you're a young girl who's 4 ft and a few inches, that's pretty spectacular! Dad had someone come out to plow our tiny little driveway so that us kids could wait for the bus (yes, there was still school). The drifts from the plow were taller than even my dad! My brother and I instantly set out creating caves in which to use as forts and reading nooks (I was a book-a-holic even back then). I remember being wrapped up in my snow suit and multiple layers of hats, gloves, socks, and scarves; curled up in a tiny, surprisingly warm yet bum-soaking snow cavern reading what may have been a Little House on the Prairie book, suddenly finding myself at eye level with the roof of my grandparent's truck as they came for a surprise visit. Then running inside to hang the layers of sopping wet snow clothes on the roaring wood stove to dry, with a cup of the most amazing hot cocoa you'll ever drink waiting for me at the table while Mom chatted with her parents. Perfection.
Now, I'm not a kid anymore, and though we got REALLY lucky with snow this year in Kansas City (over a foot!), I usually have to settle for brief flurries with accumulation of maybe 2 centimeters. So when it randomly snows like this in the beginning of May, it still makes me smile and turn all giddy with a childhood desire for snow caverns and hot chocolate by the wood stove. And then I come home, curl up on the couch to watch the snow dance and swirl and spin, and close my eyes to enjoy the blanket of stillness that has covered the world in a contented comforting embrace.
I love the stillness and the quiet it brings. Have you ever noticed how quiet everything gets when it's snowed? Maybe that's just because everybody stays indoors huddled under blankets and no one dares to venture out into the slush, but it seems like more than that sometimes. Like the whole world has hushed itself in awe of the beauty falling from the sky.
My favorite memory of snow is from when I was 10 or 11. It was the year before we moved out to Kansas City, where people freak out and close school for one inch of snow. Back in the Hudson Valley area of New York, they merely put chains on the school bus tires, maybe causing an hour or two delay. Actually canceling school was a rarity. Everyone else on my bus route knew to simply bundle up and make their way down to our house, the nearest bus stop on the main road (even with chains, there was no way our bus was making it up Mount Reservoir Rd). Most of the time, though, it only snowed a foot or two; hardly anything, really.
But 1993/4 was different. That was the year it snowed 4 feet. And when you're a young girl who's 4 ft and a few inches, that's pretty spectacular! Dad had someone come out to plow our tiny little driveway so that us kids could wait for the bus (yes, there was still school). The drifts from the plow were taller than even my dad! My brother and I instantly set out creating caves in which to use as forts and reading nooks (I was a book-a-holic even back then). I remember being wrapped up in my snow suit and multiple layers of hats, gloves, socks, and scarves; curled up in a tiny, surprisingly warm yet bum-soaking snow cavern reading what may have been a Little House on the Prairie book, suddenly finding myself at eye level with the roof of my grandparent's truck as they came for a surprise visit. Then running inside to hang the layers of sopping wet snow clothes on the roaring wood stove to dry, with a cup of the most amazing hot cocoa you'll ever drink waiting for me at the table while Mom chatted with her parents. Perfection.
Now, I'm not a kid anymore, and though we got REALLY lucky with snow this year in Kansas City (over a foot!), I usually have to settle for brief flurries with accumulation of maybe 2 centimeters. So when it randomly snows like this in the beginning of May, it still makes me smile and turn all giddy with a childhood desire for snow caverns and hot chocolate by the wood stove. And then I come home, curl up on the couch to watch the snow dance and swirl and spin, and close my eyes to enjoy the blanket of stillness that has covered the world in a contented comforting embrace.
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
the Silence
I know, it's a bit crazy. But I'm taking the month of May to cut out the three most important things in my life: books, movies, and music. Why in the world would I do that, you ask? It's simple: because they've become the most important things in my life, and quite honestly they shouldn't be.
Have you ever just sat for hours alone with your own thoughts? I used to love it. For most people, it's terrifying. There's a reason the imagination industry (Hollywood, Barnes and Noble, Amazon, Words with Friends) makes billions of dollars each year: people do not want to be alone with themselves with nothing but their thoughts running through their heads. They would rather have someone else's thoughts instead of their own. I'm sadly have been one of these people.
Currently I have 15 library books sitting on my shelf, waiting to be read. Sadly, I will have to bring them all back to work tomorrow, because I'm not going to read any of them for a month, and I don't want to get overdue fines. But right now they're just sitting there, taunting me. "Come, Sara, read me! You don't want to just sit there and think about how you feel like your life is just the same-ole-same-old, or how you're turning 30 this year and have never had a boyfriend, or how lonely you get when you sit at home by yourself. Come, we'll be your friends, we'll do the hard work of relationships and give you a happy ending, we'll take you on an adventure and give you the excitement you long for. Just read me." And I've happily complied for the last four months. But it's not enough.
So I'm going to turn off the noise for one month, and simply sit still in silence. I'm going to let my brain run through its gazillion thoughts a minute until I've thought myself out and there is nothing left but a quiet that is so still and peaceful. Because maybe, just maybe in that still silence I can be myself again. And maybe, just possibly I can hear God speaking again. Because when I sit alone in silence, I'm not really alone. Technically I'm never really alone, but I only realize it when I'm truly silent and still. So this next month I will be (hopefully) blogging more than my usual once-a-year, because my gazillion thoughts a minute need somewhere to go, and writing is my favorite method of detox.
Have you ever just sat for hours alone with your own thoughts? I used to love it. For most people, it's terrifying. There's a reason the imagination industry (Hollywood, Barnes and Noble, Amazon, Words with Friends) makes billions of dollars each year: people do not want to be alone with themselves with nothing but their thoughts running through their heads. They would rather have someone else's thoughts instead of their own. I'm sadly have been one of these people.
Currently I have 15 library books sitting on my shelf, waiting to be read. Sadly, I will have to bring them all back to work tomorrow, because I'm not going to read any of them for a month, and I don't want to get overdue fines. But right now they're just sitting there, taunting me. "Come, Sara, read me! You don't want to just sit there and think about how you feel like your life is just the same-ole-same-old, or how you're turning 30 this year and have never had a boyfriend, or how lonely you get when you sit at home by yourself. Come, we'll be your friends, we'll do the hard work of relationships and give you a happy ending, we'll take you on an adventure and give you the excitement you long for. Just read me." And I've happily complied for the last four months. But it's not enough.
So I'm going to turn off the noise for one month, and simply sit still in silence. I'm going to let my brain run through its gazillion thoughts a minute until I've thought myself out and there is nothing left but a quiet that is so still and peaceful. Because maybe, just maybe in that still silence I can be myself again. And maybe, just possibly I can hear God speaking again. Because when I sit alone in silence, I'm not really alone. Technically I'm never really alone, but I only realize it when I'm truly silent and still. So this next month I will be (hopefully) blogging more than my usual once-a-year, because my gazillion thoughts a minute need somewhere to go, and writing is my favorite method of detox.
Monday, May 21, 2012
Confessions of a Selfish(less?) Beauty
Have you ever seen the movie "I, Robot?" You know that part where the cop is talking to the holograph of the dead doc, asking him questions? Sometimes the holograph answered, sometimes it didn't understand the question. But a few times it would respond, "That is the right question," and shut down, leaving the cop to try to figure out the answer himself.
God's like that sometimes. Oh, not the "leaving us to figure it out ourselves" part. He listens to our questions and answers them, sometimes right away, sometimes not for a while, and sometimes not with the answer we were looking for. But every once in a while, we finally ask the question that He was hoping we'd ask all along, and He says with a glint in His eye, "That is the right question!" and blows you away with the life changing answer.
That happened to me yesterday. I decided to skip church (gasp! heathen!) and just go out to the woods to be alone with Jesus. I had some questions that I've been almost asking, but honestly wanted to be away from any living soul when I did so, cause they were really personal on a deep heart level. It's the same question all women ask, but are afraid to ask out loud, even to God sometimes.
"Am I Beautiful?"
Us good Christian girls know that God's answer is "Yes." But sometimes, it just doesn't feel like enough. It's hard to admit that; it goes against every ounce of my religious training to think that God's answer isn't enough for my heart. It should be, I mean, He's God! He's the one that created me, so I'm pretty sure it's really only up to Him to tell me if I'm beautiful or not.
But truthfully, I want a flesh-and-blood man to tell me so. To date, I've yet to run out of fingers and toes counting the times a single man has told me I'm beautiful, and I've never been asked out by a man my age (sixty year old creepers at the library don't count). There really is power in the spoken word; but the unspoken word also holds a lot of weight, especially to a woman's mind and heart. When no one speaks out the truth, we are slowly led to believe that the opposite is true. It's just simple logic: if no one calls me beautiful, I must not be. (Lord, protect Your daughters from false truths!!)
I'm tired of feeling like this. I'm tired of fighting supposed truths that make me feel less than my spirit says I am. So I went to the woods yesterday to ask God all the ugly questions. I started off asking the usual: Am I beautiful, will a man ever call me beautiful, when will a man call me beautiful and pursue me? And then, I found myself asking: "Why do I feel so desperate to be called beautiful by others?"
That was the right question.
God answered: "Because I do, too."
Last week at the women's Bible study at my church, my friend Amy reminded us that a woman's heart reflects a part of who God is that men just can't express. Men are really great at expressing God's strength and protection and provision; women were created to show God's passion, mercy, gentleness, and yes-beauty. And in this season of my life, my woman's heart is also reflecting the desire of God to be wanted, acknowledged, honored and adored.
I sometimes have a hard time understanding that God wants to be praised. It seems...well, it seems selfish. If I ever admitted that I wanted to be praised, people would call me selfish, self-centered, egotistical. So of course, if I would be called selfish for doing these things, then wouldn't that make God selfish too? (This is where I realize the irony that me thinking that I should compare God to myself, and not the other way 'round, is in itself self-centered and egotistical...). God SHOULD be praised, because out of everything and anything that has ever existed, He is the only one who legitimately deserves it. He is the perfect, uncreated Creator who loves me even though I'm human. The fact that He is good and holy and merciful and righteous and just and true does not change if we don't tell Him; God is not human that He would be insecure about who He Is if no one compliments Him. But that doesn't mean that He doesn't like it when we do praise and honor Him.
Think of the last time you praised someone, for their accomplishment, their beauty, their strength. Did it make them feel honored and loved? Probably. Did it make you feel good to see the person you love feel loved? Also probably. It really benefits both parties involved; and God knows this. He knows how important it is to voice Truth, and how important it is to have Truth spoken over you. But for some reason we have a hard time asking for someone to tell us the Truth. We'll give it out in droves, but the instant someone starts to praise us, we get bashful and embarrassed and try to make ourselves out to be less than we are. I am the worst at this!
I wonder if this is really what false humility is. It's not just pretending to be humble when everyone can tell that you're pompously thinking "well, of course I am!" But it's also when even I think I'm being humble because I'm truly embarrassed to be called out for something great I did. True humility would say, "Thank you. I AM really good at this, but only because God made me so, and it brings both me and Him pleasure when I do it." Who first put it into our modern-day religion that we can't accept praise? Where did I learn it from? No one ever explicitly said, "Sara, if anyone says to you, 'hey, great job with that,' it is a sin if you don't instantly find some way to discredit yourself." But we all think it. And it's just a big ugly lie.
I am beautiful. I also want to be told that I am beautiful. But the difference between me wanting to be told I was beautiful on Saturday to me wanting to be told I am beautiful today is in the heart behind the question. Saturday I wanted a young man to tell me I was beautiful because I truly thought that I wasn't beautiful unless he told me so. I didn't realize how much importance I was giving to this fact (fact, not Truth). I've asked God many, many a time why I'm in my late 20's and have never gone on a date, and His response usually was because He is jealous for me. I thought that meant that He wanted to keep my heart safe from many unnecessary break-ups, or from the heartache of finding out that men really do think I'm unattractive. But Sunday I realized that He was really jealous that I discover my true worth in just knowing that He made me to be me, and that I can't be any more beautiful than the person He truly made when He created Sara Beth Wagner.
Today, I'm still struggling to believe that I'm beautiful without someone telling me so. I'll probably still struggle with it for a long time. But I now have better ammunition to fight against the lies, and believe me, this woman is going to fight! Because I am not just fighting to believe that I am beautiful. I am fighting to represent God's heart in the way that I was created to. I am fighting not just for my honor, but for God's. Because the most beautiful thing I can think of is the twinkle in His eyes when I tell Him, "I love You."
God's like that sometimes. Oh, not the "leaving us to figure it out ourselves" part. He listens to our questions and answers them, sometimes right away, sometimes not for a while, and sometimes not with the answer we were looking for. But every once in a while, we finally ask the question that He was hoping we'd ask all along, and He says with a glint in His eye, "That is the right question!" and blows you away with the life changing answer.
That happened to me yesterday. I decided to skip church (gasp! heathen!) and just go out to the woods to be alone with Jesus. I had some questions that I've been almost asking, but honestly wanted to be away from any living soul when I did so, cause they were really personal on a deep heart level. It's the same question all women ask, but are afraid to ask out loud, even to God sometimes.
"Am I Beautiful?"
Us good Christian girls know that God's answer is "Yes." But sometimes, it just doesn't feel like enough. It's hard to admit that; it goes against every ounce of my religious training to think that God's answer isn't enough for my heart. It should be, I mean, He's God! He's the one that created me, so I'm pretty sure it's really only up to Him to tell me if I'm beautiful or not.
But truthfully, I want a flesh-and-blood man to tell me so. To date, I've yet to run out of fingers and toes counting the times a single man has told me I'm beautiful, and I've never been asked out by a man my age (sixty year old creepers at the library don't count). There really is power in the spoken word; but the unspoken word also holds a lot of weight, especially to a woman's mind and heart. When no one speaks out the truth, we are slowly led to believe that the opposite is true. It's just simple logic: if no one calls me beautiful, I must not be. (Lord, protect Your daughters from false truths!!)
I'm tired of feeling like this. I'm tired of fighting supposed truths that make me feel less than my spirit says I am. So I went to the woods yesterday to ask God all the ugly questions. I started off asking the usual: Am I beautiful, will a man ever call me beautiful, when will a man call me beautiful and pursue me? And then, I found myself asking: "Why do I feel so desperate to be called beautiful by others?"
That was the right question.
God answered: "Because I do, too."
Last week at the women's Bible study at my church, my friend Amy reminded us that a woman's heart reflects a part of who God is that men just can't express. Men are really great at expressing God's strength and protection and provision; women were created to show God's passion, mercy, gentleness, and yes-beauty. And in this season of my life, my woman's heart is also reflecting the desire of God to be wanted, acknowledged, honored and adored.
I sometimes have a hard time understanding that God wants to be praised. It seems...well, it seems selfish. If I ever admitted that I wanted to be praised, people would call me selfish, self-centered, egotistical. So of course, if I would be called selfish for doing these things, then wouldn't that make God selfish too? (This is where I realize the irony that me thinking that I should compare God to myself, and not the other way 'round, is in itself self-centered and egotistical...). God SHOULD be praised, because out of everything and anything that has ever existed, He is the only one who legitimately deserves it. He is the perfect, uncreated Creator who loves me even though I'm human. The fact that He is good and holy and merciful and righteous and just and true does not change if we don't tell Him; God is not human that He would be insecure about who He Is if no one compliments Him. But that doesn't mean that He doesn't like it when we do praise and honor Him.
Think of the last time you praised someone, for their accomplishment, their beauty, their strength. Did it make them feel honored and loved? Probably. Did it make you feel good to see the person you love feel loved? Also probably. It really benefits both parties involved; and God knows this. He knows how important it is to voice Truth, and how important it is to have Truth spoken over you. But for some reason we have a hard time asking for someone to tell us the Truth. We'll give it out in droves, but the instant someone starts to praise us, we get bashful and embarrassed and try to make ourselves out to be less than we are. I am the worst at this!
I wonder if this is really what false humility is. It's not just pretending to be humble when everyone can tell that you're pompously thinking "well, of course I am!" But it's also when even I think I'm being humble because I'm truly embarrassed to be called out for something great I did. True humility would say, "Thank you. I AM really good at this, but only because God made me so, and it brings both me and Him pleasure when I do it." Who first put it into our modern-day religion that we can't accept praise? Where did I learn it from? No one ever explicitly said, "Sara, if anyone says to you, 'hey, great job with that,' it is a sin if you don't instantly find some way to discredit yourself." But we all think it. And it's just a big ugly lie.
I am beautiful. I also want to be told that I am beautiful. But the difference between me wanting to be told I was beautiful on Saturday to me wanting to be told I am beautiful today is in the heart behind the question. Saturday I wanted a young man to tell me I was beautiful because I truly thought that I wasn't beautiful unless he told me so. I didn't realize how much importance I was giving to this fact (fact, not Truth). I've asked God many, many a time why I'm in my late 20's and have never gone on a date, and His response usually was because He is jealous for me. I thought that meant that He wanted to keep my heart safe from many unnecessary break-ups, or from the heartache of finding out that men really do think I'm unattractive. But Sunday I realized that He was really jealous that I discover my true worth in just knowing that He made me to be me, and that I can't be any more beautiful than the person He truly made when He created Sara Beth Wagner.
Today, I'm still struggling to believe that I'm beautiful without someone telling me so. I'll probably still struggle with it for a long time. But I now have better ammunition to fight against the lies, and believe me, this woman is going to fight! Because I am not just fighting to believe that I am beautiful. I am fighting to represent God's heart in the way that I was created to. I am fighting not just for my honor, but for God's. Because the most beautiful thing I can think of is the twinkle in His eyes when I tell Him, "I love You."
Thursday, September 1, 2011
"Because I Am Loved"
G G/F# em C D4 D
Because I am loved, there's no need to explain myself to You.
Because I am loved, there's no need to excuse myself to You.
You know all about me, yet call me Your friend, Your delight, Beloved;
C em D4 D G G/F# em7 C D4 D
All I have to do is be still.
Because I am loved, there's no need to hide my face in shame.
Because I am loved, I'm free to run into Your waiting arms
And be held safely, strong and secure, near to Your heart
All I have to do is be still.
C G
It's so easy to struggle when all I can see
Are the dark broken places that make up me em
But I'm finding in stillness, You're drawing me close to say
C em D D4 D
"Just let Me lo-ve you."
Because I am loved and I love in return I'll try to be still
Because I am still I'm letting You love my heart into wholeness
I'm waiting, accepting, and wanting You near, and closer than I've ever been.
All I have to do is be still.
(c) Sara Beth Wagner, July 2010
adapted from Sue Garmon, qtd in Souvenirs of Solitude by Brennan Manning (c) 2009 Brennan Manning
Because I am loved, there's no need to explain myself to You.
Because I am loved, there's no need to excuse myself to You.
You know all about me, yet call me Your friend, Your delight, Beloved;
C em D4 D G G/F# em7 C D4 D
All I have to do is be still.
Because I am loved, there's no need to hide my face in shame.
Because I am loved, I'm free to run into Your waiting arms
And be held safely, strong and secure, near to Your heart
All I have to do is be still.
C G
It's so easy to struggle when all I can see
Are the dark broken places that make up me em
But I'm finding in stillness, You're drawing me close to say
C em D D4 D
"Just let Me lo-ve you."
Because I am loved and I love in return I'll try to be still
Because I am still I'm letting You love my heart into wholeness
I'm waiting, accepting, and wanting You near, and closer than I've ever been.
All I have to do is be still.
(c) Sara Beth Wagner, July 2010
adapted from Sue Garmon, qtd in Souvenirs of Solitude by Brennan Manning (c) 2009 Brennan Manning
Monday, August 31, 2009
Nail it to the Cross
The other week, I was asked to teach Senior High Sunday school a few days before I was actually to do it. No problem, I can usually pull any number of things out of my overcrowded brain to discuss from the Bible. Had a few ideas, but none of them really seemed quite right. My brain knew what I would discuss was Biblically sound, mostly acurate (it's not like I have a degree in Biblical studies or anything, just years of sermons, lessons, and an almost photographic mind), but there was one crucial part missing: the ok from the Holy Spirit. Usually, I trust my gut on these kinds of things, waiting for the uncomfortable feeling to tell me, 'no, something's not quite right' or the excitment that stems from my heart that is the H.S.'s thumbs up signal. Randomly, I was getting neither; so I decided to keep on going with what I had planned out.
Back/side track (sorry for the slight bunny trail, this will make sense, I promise):
I grew up in a Christian family. The way I tell it, I was a Christian since the womb practically. So I know a lot about the Bible, Christianity, and Jesus. But for the first 14 years of my life, it was just pure memorization: I couldn't tell you what it all really meant, let alone if it meant anything to me. But somewhere in my teenage years I realized that I was just saying out of duty that God was my friend, but wasn't actually meaning it. I didn't like that, so I asked Him to show me who He really was, and that I could actually call Him my friend. That went on quite well for many years (is still a growing friendship and always will be).
But my first year of college, things advanced a little more. I started realizing that a lot of the things I 'believed', all these wonderful doctrines of the Christian faith, I didn't actually understand. It began with hope, because I suddenly realized I didn't have any (oh, the drama of becoming an adult!), and didn't actually know what it meant. So, I go to my Friend and say, "hey, what the heck is this anyway?!" And again, we go on a journey of learning what I really believe for myself, and making my faith my own.
All this has led up to the last year or so, when my wonderings has led me to the cross. We sing about the cross. We take communion once a month, if not more. We have a cross hanging up at church, on the wall, all over the place. But I started to realize that I didn't actually understand what it meant, what Jesus' death and resurrection meant for me. So, like before, I just asked Him so show me. Now, I was expecting some intense "ah-ha!" moment to just hit me, maybe during a communion time, or a ministry time after a sermon-you know, one of those 'slain-in-the-Spirit' moments where God uploads new data into your heart between the end of the sermon and lunch. But I shoulda known that my Friend hasn't taught me in that way before, so why should I expect it now.
The Friday night before I was to teach Sunday school (see, I told you I'd get back to it), I blessedly had the whole apartment to myself. And boy, did I need it! I'm an introvert, which means to recharge my "batteries" I need time by myself to internally process all that's been going on in my life. This alone time had come at the end of a really stressful week, and I was so overloaded with stuff mentally that I wasn't even sure where to start processing. I was sitting on the floor, talking with Jesus about it, and He says, "I'll take some of that for you. Why don't we nail it to the cross?" I've always had a hard time asking for forgiveness from Jesus, or asking Him to take away my burdens. I've always pictured myself holding a heavy bundle in my hands and looking up at Jesus on the cross, not wanting to give Him my burdens and sins because it would be put on His shoulders; He's my friend, and I don't want to hurt Him. But that night I was so done with the stress I said, "Sure!" and gave it to Him.
I then pictured Him taking the bundle of stress from my hands, carrying it over to the cross, nailing it there, and then coming back to sit with me. We looked at each other for a moment; I looked at the cross, back at Jesus, back at the cross, back again to Jesus. "You're not there," I said, pointing to the cross. He smiled. "No, I'm not. I rose again, remember?" I looked back at the cross, empty except for my burden, then back at my Jesus again. And then, "Oh, I get it," and smiled.
And that was it. No flashing heavenly lights, no choir of angels, no falling on the floor and shaking at the practicaly manifest presence of God. Just me and Jesus sitting and having a conversation; and me finally getting that He died on the cross, taking our sins and burdens with Him, but then got off of the cross, LEAVING THE SINS THERE, and rose again three days later, defeating death and making a way for us to have life with Him. No biggie....only probably the most amazing revelation I've had thus far in my 25 years of life!
I realized that I could give my burdens and sins to Jesus, and while He would have to carry them for a while, it was only the length of time it took for Him to nail it to the cross and then leave it there. Now, especially with the sins that keep trying to come back and take control over me, I can point to the cross and say, "Nope, you don't have hold over me anymore. Jesus left it nailed to the cross, and that's where it's gonna stay!" And it's such a freedom to be able to give Him my burdens, almost like a literal weight is taken off my back sometimes. Like in the book Pilgrim's Progress, before Christian was renamed, he had that huge burden on his back, and when he got up the hill to the cross, the burden fell off and down into the grave, never to trouble him again. (I think I saw in some book where it looked like Christian had a literal lump on his back, like he was hunchback or something; makes for the 'falling off his back' part a little grotesque-I think the image of a backpack full of rocks is better). The idea is that I no longer try to carry the burden on my own terms, under my own power, trying to be independent and do it myself. God wants me to trust Him with my burdens, and to come to Him for forgiveness for my sins. At the cross is grace and mercy and freedom! so much freedom!
So, it's Saturday night, and my roommate and I are talking before we fall asleep, and I tell her about the conversation Jesus and I had. In my half-asleep state, I say before thinking: "Maybe I'm supposed to talk about that in Sunday school tomorrow." And then realized what I just said, and the H.S. said, "Bingo!" I was like, "Huh? But, I haven't preped anything about that, and I won't have time to do it tomorrow morning before church." H.S.....said nothing, cause He'd said what He needed to. Fell asleep. Next morning, got to church, still prepped for what I had planned to do earlier (might still do it in the future, who knows), but during worship, finally admitted..."Ok, I'll talk about it." Frantically looked up worship songs on my iPod to have as background music, got into class, and spoke. Afterwards, had the kids all write down something they wanted to leave at the hastily sketched cross on the pushpin board, put on the music, and sat there, hoping I did alright. I needn't have worried, cause it was the Holy Spirit's talk, not mine. The kids pounced on it! I had several come up to me afterwards saying that it was really good, one of them saying he'd never thought of it that way before-that he'd had the same problem of picturing Jesus on the cross and actually nailing his sins and burdens onto Jesus, but now had that same revelation as I had that Jesus wasn't there anymore!
Isn't it amazing how something you've always known can suddenly be so profound as to change your whole life?
Back/side track (sorry for the slight bunny trail, this will make sense, I promise):
I grew up in a Christian family. The way I tell it, I was a Christian since the womb practically. So I know a lot about the Bible, Christianity, and Jesus. But for the first 14 years of my life, it was just pure memorization: I couldn't tell you what it all really meant, let alone if it meant anything to me. But somewhere in my teenage years I realized that I was just saying out of duty that God was my friend, but wasn't actually meaning it. I didn't like that, so I asked Him to show me who He really was, and that I could actually call Him my friend. That went on quite well for many years (is still a growing friendship and always will be).
But my first year of college, things advanced a little more. I started realizing that a lot of the things I 'believed', all these wonderful doctrines of the Christian faith, I didn't actually understand. It began with hope, because I suddenly realized I didn't have any (oh, the drama of becoming an adult!), and didn't actually know what it meant. So, I go to my Friend and say, "hey, what the heck is this anyway?!" And again, we go on a journey of learning what I really believe for myself, and making my faith my own.
All this has led up to the last year or so, when my wonderings has led me to the cross. We sing about the cross. We take communion once a month, if not more. We have a cross hanging up at church, on the wall, all over the place. But I started to realize that I didn't actually understand what it meant, what Jesus' death and resurrection meant for me. So, like before, I just asked Him so show me. Now, I was expecting some intense "ah-ha!" moment to just hit me, maybe during a communion time, or a ministry time after a sermon-you know, one of those 'slain-in-the-Spirit' moments where God uploads new data into your heart between the end of the sermon and lunch. But I shoulda known that my Friend hasn't taught me in that way before, so why should I expect it now.
The Friday night before I was to teach Sunday school (see, I told you I'd get back to it), I blessedly had the whole apartment to myself. And boy, did I need it! I'm an introvert, which means to recharge my "batteries" I need time by myself to internally process all that's been going on in my life. This alone time had come at the end of a really stressful week, and I was so overloaded with stuff mentally that I wasn't even sure where to start processing. I was sitting on the floor, talking with Jesus about it, and He says, "I'll take some of that for you. Why don't we nail it to the cross?" I've always had a hard time asking for forgiveness from Jesus, or asking Him to take away my burdens. I've always pictured myself holding a heavy bundle in my hands and looking up at Jesus on the cross, not wanting to give Him my burdens and sins because it would be put on His shoulders; He's my friend, and I don't want to hurt Him. But that night I was so done with the stress I said, "Sure!" and gave it to Him.
I then pictured Him taking the bundle of stress from my hands, carrying it over to the cross, nailing it there, and then coming back to sit with me. We looked at each other for a moment; I looked at the cross, back at Jesus, back at the cross, back again to Jesus. "You're not there," I said, pointing to the cross. He smiled. "No, I'm not. I rose again, remember?" I looked back at the cross, empty except for my burden, then back at my Jesus again. And then, "Oh, I get it," and smiled.
And that was it. No flashing heavenly lights, no choir of angels, no falling on the floor and shaking at the practicaly manifest presence of God. Just me and Jesus sitting and having a conversation; and me finally getting that He died on the cross, taking our sins and burdens with Him, but then got off of the cross, LEAVING THE SINS THERE, and rose again three days later, defeating death and making a way for us to have life with Him. No biggie....only probably the most amazing revelation I've had thus far in my 25 years of life!
I realized that I could give my burdens and sins to Jesus, and while He would have to carry them for a while, it was only the length of time it took for Him to nail it to the cross and then leave it there. Now, especially with the sins that keep trying to come back and take control over me, I can point to the cross and say, "Nope, you don't have hold over me anymore. Jesus left it nailed to the cross, and that's where it's gonna stay!" And it's such a freedom to be able to give Him my burdens, almost like a literal weight is taken off my back sometimes. Like in the book Pilgrim's Progress, before Christian was renamed, he had that huge burden on his back, and when he got up the hill to the cross, the burden fell off and down into the grave, never to trouble him again. (I think I saw in some book where it looked like Christian had a literal lump on his back, like he was hunchback or something; makes for the 'falling off his back' part a little grotesque-I think the image of a backpack full of rocks is better). The idea is that I no longer try to carry the burden on my own terms, under my own power, trying to be independent and do it myself. God wants me to trust Him with my burdens, and to come to Him for forgiveness for my sins. At the cross is grace and mercy and freedom! so much freedom!
So, it's Saturday night, and my roommate and I are talking before we fall asleep, and I tell her about the conversation Jesus and I had. In my half-asleep state, I say before thinking: "Maybe I'm supposed to talk about that in Sunday school tomorrow." And then realized what I just said, and the H.S. said, "Bingo!" I was like, "Huh? But, I haven't preped anything about that, and I won't have time to do it tomorrow morning before church." H.S.....said nothing, cause He'd said what He needed to. Fell asleep. Next morning, got to church, still prepped for what I had planned to do earlier (might still do it in the future, who knows), but during worship, finally admitted..."Ok, I'll talk about it." Frantically looked up worship songs on my iPod to have as background music, got into class, and spoke. Afterwards, had the kids all write down something they wanted to leave at the hastily sketched cross on the pushpin board, put on the music, and sat there, hoping I did alright. I needn't have worried, cause it was the Holy Spirit's talk, not mine. The kids pounced on it! I had several come up to me afterwards saying that it was really good, one of them saying he'd never thought of it that way before-that he'd had the same problem of picturing Jesus on the cross and actually nailing his sins and burdens onto Jesus, but now had that same revelation as I had that Jesus wasn't there anymore!
Isn't it amazing how something you've always known can suddenly be so profound as to change your whole life?
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
What Grace is Given Me
I've had a paradigm shift. You know when you know you should know something, but understanding is just out of your grasp and you put every mental effort towards understanding it, but all you get is a headache? Yeah, it's been kinda like that for me in regards to viewing God as the One in charge. Oh, don't get me wrong: I know that He's in charge, but in a Sunday school answer sorta way. For a while now I've been realizing that I probably don't view God the way I should. I mean, the concept of "God" is pretty huge. I've known Him as my Friend for so many years, and can easily talk with Him as such. But something's always been missing in the area of treating Him with reverence and awe. The way I've viewed Him before was mostly just, yeah, You're there, and I talk with You pretty regularly, but I never really felt direct influence from Him. His love has been working subtly in my life these past 12 years, but it's been just that: subtle. I've never really been able to talk about the stuff I do as directly God working through me, and my self-absorbance has been nagging on me for the last few years. But last week during Plunge, I was given the most amazing gift: the recognition that God was working through me, and that it was not in my own strength, but only by His grace.
You see, for the previous three years I've led on Plunge, I've always felt my ineptitude at doing any sort of spiritual mentoring. I feel the expectancy from the kids and from the other leaders, and it sends me into a performance spin that ends up plummeting on the Friday nights-the most expected and intense time of worship and ministry. I usually end up sitting in the back of the room at the Rock International church, looking around at all the kids and wondering how in the world I'm supposed to speak into their lives when I'm either too exhausted or too wrapped up in my own spiritual need. Then the self-pity just gets worse when I see the other leaders going around and praying for my kids, and even more guilt is added onto the pile.
But this year, this year was different. Maybe it was the fact that I was one of the few older leaders who had experience in getting through the week, and I needed to step up. Maybe it was that I had a smaller family group and didn't feel so much pressure. It might have been some of those things, but all week long, I felt such grace from God to speak what was on His heart to those around me. It was like I was given new eyes to see what He was doing. I didn't feel any pressure, just relaxed and let Him lead me. All I did was watch what He was doing....if He was kneeling in front of one of the kids during ministry time, telling her how special she is to Him, I felt His heart moving in mine, and went up to her and said His words out loud. At one point, I saw Him whispering into a young man's ear that He is a gentleman-nothing more, just that. It took me a few minutes to ask, 'Lord, anything else? Really, that's it?' before I went up to the young man and told him just that, no more, no less. It was stretching, but so exhilerating!
I realized that my view on "Jesus working through me" needed to change. We get so wrapped up in our own importance that we think Jesus will come alongside what we're doing, when all along He's asking us to come alongside Him and what He's doing. When we do that, we are being His hands, feet, voice, hug, tears, laughter, smile, and cheers. And there is so much freedom in that, not only for the people we minister to, but for ourselves: freedom from the burden of trying to do it our own way, a burden we were never meant to carry in the first place.
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