Choosing Peace and Not Neglect (And a Glorious Understanding of Life Eternal)

In the Christian life, I am convinced there is something that ties us all together, despite our unique callings, sufferings, and life choices: When the Spirit draws us near, we cannot resist the call -- whether at 3 in the morning at a Waffle House, late in the evening circled around a community of other Christ-followers, or alone in your quiet house, sipping coffee as the light pours in like honey. When He pricks our hearts, He can fill us with emotion; dread or joy bubbles up -- a numbing or a hurt, an intense serenity or resilience can well up in the most trying of circumstances. Sometimes it comes in waves or showers of blessing, restoration, hope... hours pouring over His Word or long, drawn-out evenings spent in prayer. Sometimes He whispers so quietly we barely notice it at all, except for a few small moments we stop to take a couple of deep breaths. No matter how He draws us near or why, the Holy Spirit has a way of wooing us, reminding us of our first love, and tending to our hurt, even if we don't see God's purpose in sight or trust ourselves in His hands. 

I'm beginning to see how God softens the hearts of man, and how He chooses to reveal Himself in moments we do not realize are "molding moments" -- slowly refining us according to His divine purpose and His promise to never leave us. Sometimes I will realize I've been sleep-walking through life, unaware of just how much I need His living water, until He wakes me up to comfort a friend in mourning or a friend expectantly waiting in the patience of faith. Suddenly, I am entirely aware of myself, aware that God is using me like an instrument in the lives of His children to wake them up too. He does the same for me in the lives of other people, and He calls us to Himself so we can pray, "Fall afresh on me. Come wake me from my sleep." There is something so compelling and victorious about a God who wakes us up and draws us near, allowing us to play a part in building for eternity -- as if we are flying high above ground, looking down at ourselves, because no soul has any right to claim where he or she shall be put. 

Lately, I have found myself fighting back as He wakes me from my sleep, time and time again, feeling the hurt and sting of my own abandonment to my first love. I feel the heaviness of living intentionally, because it is unnatural to recognize prayer and faith at the core of my being. If you've been reading this blog for some time, you know (however obscurely) that this is a year of healing for me, and in many ways, I am shocked at how true it is -- in more ways than I ever dared to imagine. 

But recently, I have tried the pause button on this whole healing process. I don't know if it's from exhaustion or fear of what I'll discover, but I somehow convinced (and deceived) myself into thinking that real rest follows this neglect -- neglect of all the hard things, neglect of Christ, wooing me back to Himself. A counselor friend once told me that a healing journey is a lot like re-breaking a leg -- "Some people are more content to hobble around in their pain on a bad leg than to go through the painful process of re-breaking, which is necessary for the leg to truly heal properly," she said. The process of restoration involves letting in the hurt and feeling the weight of that brokenness more profoundly than you would ever want to, but it's well worth it in the end. We cope as best as we can with our brokenness, and this -- perhaps the most -- is what continues to break my heart. 

But God does not leave us in our brokenness. Take heart, if you are reading this, and you are waiting for the patience of faith. Here is a passage from My Utmost for His Highest (May 8th) that the Spirit pressed on my heart this morning, to woo me and to wake another dear friend: 

"Patience is more than endurance. A saint's life is in the hands of God like a bow and arrow in the hands of an archer. God is aiming at something the saint cannot see, and He stretches and strains, and every now and again the saint says -- 'I cannot stand any more.' God does not heed, He goes on stretching till His purpose is in sight, then He lets fly. Trust yourself in God's hands..."

The devotion continues to map out the true reason we cannot resist the Holy Spirit, and a clearer picture of life eternal, for "God has ventured all in Jesus Christ to save us, now He wants us to venture our all in abandoned confidence in Him. There are spots where that faith has not worked in us as yet, places untouched by the life of God. There were none of those spots in Jesus Christ's life, and there are to be none in ours. 'This is life eternal, that they might know Thee.' The real meaning of eternal life is a life that can face anything it has to face without wavering. If we take this view, life becomes one great romance, a glorious opportunity for seeing marvelous things all the time."

The Gap by Ira Glass -- And Why I Can't Doubt Myself

Currently? I am resurfacing --feeling my way through the night and finding my grip. I am hiding, or perhaps knocked off my feet, waiting for the sun to rise, and I know it will. When it does, I will surprise myself and take a breath because I am waiting at the edge of something beautiful. This is a growing season -- a learning season. I take it all in, along with the insecurities and the doubts, and I am ready to create. So far, this year is exhausting because I am desperately trying to cling to what I know and expand those walls a little more. Learning something can be both exciting and disheartening, especially if you are relentless at making what you are learning your identity. I'm trying to find the boundaries here. I'm ready to hold my ground and take in this view, because I have climbed and fallen. It's time to trudge on, to move forward. In need of inspiration, these words from Ira Glass found me at the perfect time. I hope they encourage you as well.

Happy Monday. xo

Preparing for Christmas

"Master of both the light and the darkness, send your Holy Spirit upon our preparations for Christmas. We who have so much to do seek quiet spaces to hear your voice each day. We who are anxious over many things look forward to your coming among us. We who are blessed in so many ways long for the complete joy of your kingdom. We whose hearts are heavy seek the joy of your presence. We are your people, walking in darkness, yet seeking the light. To you we say, 'Come, Lord Jesus!' Amen." -- A Prayer of Henri J.M. Nouwen

As you prepare for Christmas shopping, resolutions to "do better" and decorations to be comfortable and full of Christmas cheer, do not forget that our merciful God is always with us, always coming. Remember that this is a season of waiting - not merely in expectation of Christ's nativity, which has already happened - but also for His second coming to rule, judge and save. We pray for His kingdom come. There is Christmas cheer and joy in this season, as we have much to be thankful for, but there is also a longing and lament that helps us prepare for Jesus' coming -- an honest reflection and confession that we cannot clean ourselves up. We are in great need of a savior. And what a savior we have been given! What follows this longing is Christmastide -- full of light, joy and celebration.

In the midst of Christmas clutter and setting your own goals in preparation for the new year, I hope you set aside time to be quiet and full. Walk your dog late at night to get some fresh, cold air in your lungs. Sit around a fire with friends and tell them layers of your life they do not know about. Watch the sunrise and be reminded that His mercies are new every morning. Meet someone new at a bar, park or coffee shop and wish them a Merry Christmas. Go caroling. Drive to the ocean and remember His expansive love, boundless grace and recount His promises to you. Remember that He came into the muck and mess of our world to restore His people to Himself, and that before He flung the entire world into existence, He knew when He would enter it, and when He would leave it. Come thou long expected Jesus! Come, Emmanuel.

And while you pray for a prepared heart this Christmas season, enjoy this incredible cover of Little Drummer Boy by Pentatonix. :) I promise it will put you in the Christmas spirit. 

Thanksgiving: Counting My Blessings

"Eucharist [Thanksgiving] is the state of the perfect man. Eucharist is the life of paradise. Eucharist is the only full and real response of man to God's creation, redemption, and gift of heaven." -- Alexander Schmemann

Happy Thanksgiving Day Eve, friends! I hope your day is full of laughter and family and that you eat so much turkey tomorrow that you have to wear sweat pants for the rest of the weekend. Mmm. My aunt once said it's not a good Thanksgiving unless you're groaning around on the floor in agony (and .. thanks?), which we intend to do. I'm pretty nervous because we're somehow going to be making a turkey, ham, three different casseroles and two pies in our small, dinky (endearingly so) little kitchen with one oven. :) But I am thrilled to celebrate my 25th birthday on Friday with my twin by my side. We haven't been able to celebrate together on our birthdays in quite some time, and I am certainly thankful to be with my family for the big 2-5. 

We're preparing for this holiday - I have to confess - a little more frantically than I would have liked. I guess that's what happens when a day is set apart to be recognized as a holiday of thanks and giving; the stress of preparation gets in the way of what it's really all about. I feel like November has been a whirlwind and December only looks more chaotic. In the midst of sweet potato casserole recipes and beautiful Thanksgiving table decorations exploding on the Internet, I can't say I have seen too many reflections on all there is to be thankful for. It's easy to get caught up in the rush of it all, especially since Thanksgiving is late this year. Christmas music and decorations seem to be creeping in all around - and I get it. It's easy to skip to Christmas - at least for me it is. Aaron and I are blessed beyond measure to enjoy so much travel (and family!) time, but I am looking forward to some normalcy. Nevertheless, we're going to eat our hearts out and be thankful, thankful, thankful. 

What do you have to be thankful for? Lately, I am humbled on all sides because of the blessings he has lavished upon me. I'm thankful for my husband, who loves the worst and best of me, my whole family and how the Lord has given us plenty of time to be together, my job and the flexibility to scale back on hours, the wild dreams I have to pursue some literary goals (and the support from my loved ones who egg me on in my wild dreams to pursue literary goals), being in a fairly new home that we love already with a church community that we've grown to love, good health and so so much more. 

More than all of it, I am thankful for the one who gives good gifts. All of the blessings in my life do not compare to the greatness of a God who loved me so much that he sent his son to conquer death to bring me in to his family, all for his own glory. That I am known and loved by a righteous God - and that I get to be an instrument in his story of redemption  - are true gifts to be thankful for, and my heart will sing thanks and praise for eternity. When we've been there ten thousand years, bright shining as the sun, we've no less days to sing God's praise then when we'd first begun. 

Yes, there is much to be thankful for. Just in the last few weeks I have been reminded of this. 

First, I am thankful for Rebekah, my sister-in-law, and her husband, Brad, and the perfectly-perfect Ezra James Shillinglaw. It was such a blessing to lay eyes on this little fella, and Aaron and I cannot wait to spoil this kid. Seriously, so much love for such a tiny, sweet thing. What a rich Thanksgiving it will be for his new mom + dad. We love them a lot.

I'm thankful to have watched the leaves change in my hometown. 

I'm thankful that I got to explore childhood again in Pinehurst with my parents and sister. I'm also thankful for nostalgic parents who think it's fun to visit all the houses you once lived in. Taking pictures of our old stomping grounds? Not creepy at all!

Like this one. We actually drove up these 10-acres of wood just to reminisce. I wrote a Thanksgiving memory post a few years back about this sweet home. You should check it out if you want to know what 11-year-old me was thankful for on Thanksgiving Day. 

Happy Thanksgiving. May you rest, eat and be merry! 

Stories We Claim

A snapshot: part of my family tree. The Anholt family, 1891. 

Stories we claim + stories that claim us. I love when nostalgic moments kind of bump into you and then you realize it's more than a little love tap. I read inspiring words about family stories right after I discovered a pile of old poems and papers from my college days. This old poem I wrote went hand-in-hand with Christina's words, sprouting an interest in story telling and how family history unravels. 

I have always been intrigued by the passing of memories and how they can change shape, even for those who did not live them. Christina expounds on this craving for family stories in a fierce and lovely way, writing that, perhaps, it is "proof that artists live some part of their lives circling the secret of their calling before their way." She is also bewildered by the stories her mother tells, "like lost stitches in the tapestry of her lineage." Her words were sweet to me today, and they inspired me to reflect on one of my old wrinkled-paper poems: little vignettes and family stitches. I hope -- like Christina's stories -- they inspire you to reflect on your own family's memoir-moments. 

++++

Family History (And Words Sometimes Told)

I want to be there,
Where the weeds grow long
and the fields are gray;
listening to you teaching
to the cattle, driving through the Badlands, 
where the grasshoppers don't stop growing. 
I want to be there,
when she bought that teapot in Vienna; 
once not so rusted and
beautiful in its time

like she was when she fed the hobos
chicken dumplings on fourth of July
on that front step.
I want to be there, 
when you cut off all of your hair 
to remind yourself it did not matter
and then spent 20 years alone 
on an airplane with napkin notes
and old phone numbers. 

I want to be there, 
when you sold what you had
to pump gas in Wisconsin --
living with that Jewish girl, Mutta, 
who always looked pretty in pictures. 
Or when you hitchhiked through wherever 
or when your father fell asleep
under that bridge; 

when you learned to paint in jail;
when you heard we landed on the moon in some bar
in Milwaukee.
I want to be there, 
Where ancient past weaves through your veins
and names make up your DNA 
and memories are more than ripped pages, 
cassette tapes and
faces you don't remember.

Spaciousness

Our "dwelling place" may be physical -- a room, apartment, or house. It may also be a metaphor for mental and emotional [and spiritual] "space." We can invite others into our inner world of thoughts and feelings, sharing gifts of heart and mind. Gracious inner space gives others room to play, question, and converse; room to be heard and understood; room to reveal themselves as they choose.

-- Soul Feast by Marjorie J. Thompson 

Solitude

"Settle yourself in solitude and you will come upon Him in yourself." -- Teresa of Avila

Saying Goodbye

Today I am vulnerable. I mourn a dream I had, but I face it knowing that a better dream prevails. Today, I am tired, and I finally admit to myself that the Holy One does not always call us to start and finish; Our God does not always concern himself with end results. Sometimes, it is the process we must understand. We are humans that fear regret and failure, and this month I know what those shadows look like in my own life. This month I have considered pride, in the appearances of things, and I have weighed my heart of the implications that we gravitate toward a new identity when we are discontent - one that is not ours for the taking. We seek identity in careers, in our friends and spouses, and even in our faith communities we are eager to tell what we do and what we are made of apart from Him. 

Like most things in life, I am scared and hopeful for what is new. And due to the pouring out of wise words into my life, I realized there was a purpose in my confusion. 

A tuition problem at the University I attend -- an increase in the middle of the semester due to a mistake of placing me in the wrong section -- was the seed to doubt, a catalyst for it all, but even still a blessing in disguise. I spent a month struggling with that doubt, first entering my heart like a river run dry and I was able to tell myself it was only distraction. I told myself that surely this dream I have, being so passionate about libraries and the mission of librarians is what I am called to do. I prayed earnestly that God would make it known if I wasn't called to this place, to this profession. Even in doubt, I believed behind the surface that I was supposed to be a librarian. In my youth literature class, I  devoured children's books and young adult fiction, falling in love with the stories I was meant to read when I was a child and reluctant reader. It was like taking a time machine back to my childhood, and it strangely felt like home. I began to learn about authors and illustrators and publishers.. and how the mad world of writing and publishing picture books and novels came to be; and I learned how these stories taught, consoled, and united children and adults. I fell in love with children's books, and I found myself thinking about something that I had never before legitimately considered for myself. I thought about writing books, something I always said I wanted to do "one day" but never truly considered as a full-time possibility. I thought about being a barista, I thought about living my life and walking my dog and being debt free with my husband and revising words on a page. I thought about writing, and how it is more of a burden than a desire. I began to consider that because of the support of my wonderful husband, I am financially in a position to explore the world as a writer. All of a sudden, I was awake in the middle of the night with the terrifying idea that I have two dreams, but one is stronger; one is a purpose for me. And that above all of those dreams is my overall true purpose to bring Glory to God. What did this mean? How am I to discern where the Lord wills me? How am I to look past the fear of regrets and efforts to control my own life? How am I supposed to assess if this is just discontentment or a push to rethink this degree? 

I chewed on it all and everything around me was fuzzy. I prayed about not being impulsive, but also to be brave enough to admit if this isn't where I am meant to be. I talked to friends who kept me grounded and reminded me of his faithfulness; that He knows and will give me peace in where I need to be. Do not fret. And then, when a friend was praying for me in Waldo's Coffee shop, I told myself "I know what to do." Even when the decision was made, I knew the heaviness my heart would feel letting go of my dream to become a librarian. It soon became clear that my love for libraries and respect for librarians and their mission, and the efforts to promote early literacy and be a story teller to children was a dream very much alive. It occurred to me that I could still be involved in these library programs from an author's side, and that sometimes we grasp so tightly to what we want that we forget to listen to anything else. I know that as the days fall one by one I will have to fight the feelings of guilt and failure. I know I will have cringe moments of fear that I did the right thing. Strangely, it feels like a break up. But I know that it is right, perhaps the hardest thing to cling to when I want to be in denial. 

I wanted to thank you, as a reader. This blog has reminded me that writing words is more than writing for a press release or an ad, or for money in general. Not that writing for these purposes is not admirable, but I did not remember my need for creative writing until this blog was born. I was faced with the pain or gratitude or fear I felt and I remembered the way it feels to write from inside, as if summoning words from some hidden place. I do not in any way believe that living a life as a writer is easy. Facing rejection from yourself and others is a common battle among all writers. But in the words of Anne Lamott, "my writing is like a person to me - the person who, after all these years, still makes sense to me." 

Speaking of Anne Lamott, I want to finish this post, these thoughts, and this chapter of librarianship in my life with a quote that I intend to take to heart. 

"I heard a preacher say recently that hope is a revolutionary patience; let me add that so is being a writer. Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait and watch and work: you don't give up." 

- Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life by Anne Lamott 

Are you thirsty?

"Are you thirsty?" said the Lion.
"I'm dying of thirst," said Jill.
"Then drink," said the Lion.
"May I - could I - would you mind going away while I do?" said Jill. 
The Lion answered this only by a look and a very low growl. And as Jill gazed at its motionless bulk, she realized that she might as well have asked the whole mountain to move aside for her convenience. The delicious rippling noise of the stream was driving her nearly frantic. 
"Will you promise not to - do anything to me, if I do come?" said Jill.
"I make no promise," said the Lion.
Jill was so thirsty now that, without noticing it, she had come a step closer. 
"Do you eat little girls?" she said.
"I have swallowed up girls and boys, women and men, kings and emperors, cities and realms," said the Lion. It didn't say this as if it were boasting, nor as if it were sorry, nor as if it were angry. It just said it.
"I darest come and drink," said Jill.
"Then you will die of thirst," said the Lion.
"Oh dear!" said Jill, coming another step nearer. "I suppose I must go and look for another stream then."
"There is no other stream," said the Lion.

The Silver Chair by C.S. Lewis

Sunday Community: Joy

favim

Joy dwells with God; it descends from Him and seizes the spirit, soul, and body, and where this joy has grasped a man it grows greater, carries him away, opens closed doors... the joy of God has been through the poverty of the crib and the distress of the cross; therefore it is insuperable, irrefutable.

- True Patriotism by Dietrich Bonhoeffer

Listener

"Wooden Heart" by Listener

...this war-ship is sinking, and I still believe in anchors

pulling fist fulls of rotten wood from my heart, I still believe in saviors
but I know that we are all made out of shipwrecks, every single board
washed and bound like crooked teeth on these rocky shores
so come on and let’s wash each other with tears of joy and tears of grief
and fold our lives like crashing waves and run up on this beach
come on and sew us together, tattered rags stained forever

we only have what we remember...

The Word made flesh

"Christ is the human face of God. Jesus is the autobiography of God. In Christ, God was spelling himself out, expressing himself. Jesus was the audible, visible Word who expressed the heart of the inaudible, invisible God."

- F. Dale Brunner from Theology, Notes, and News - October 1999

"The first verb Mark used to describe Jesus' action is "came." Jesus came to be with us. God's first move is to be among us - Immanuel, God is with us. God comes to us long before we come to God. We may think we are in pursuit of God, but in reality we are only responding to a God who has been pursuing us."

- Embracing the Love of God by James Bryan Smith

"This Word which created the world, this reason which controls the order of the world, has become a person and with our own eyes we saw Him (John 1:14)."

- The Gospel of John by William Barclay

"While God does not ask any of us to bring Christ into the world as literally as did Mary, God calls each of us to become a Godbearer through whom God may enter the world again and again."

- The Godbearing Life by Kenda Creasy Dean and Ron Foster

Remembering that Love came down, and enjoying this video of the Christmas Story as told by the children of St. Paul's Church: