I have a group of girlfriends I became close to when we all lived in New York City. These women are tremendous people, and truly great friends. And what is so wonderful and comforting about these friendships is that despite the fact that we all live in different cities, rarely ever connect on the phone, and only see each other but once a year, no matter what these friendships pick right up where they left off. We keep up with the basics via facebook and email and leave the heart stuff to when we get to be together. And when we do, there's no awkwardness, not need to re-enter the friendship slowly, like you would get into a very cold pool, one toe at a time. We can dive in head first and laugh and share and go deep immediately.
Wouldn't it be great if God were like that long-distance friend who you don't see very often, and only speak to like, once a month, but whenever you do the two of you just pick up right where you left off? Wouldn't it be so sweet if you could check God's facebook page while you're killing time at work to get a sense of what's going on in His world, knowing that he can do the same for you, and then go about your day, looking forward to when you next get to connect with Him, but not feeling overly burdened to call him as soon as you leave work. Wouldn't that be an easy relationship with God to maintain? I've noticed that I've lived most of my life with God trying to make my relationship with him like this. It's an endless cycle of trying to connect with Him briefly once a week or so and being so frustrated that I don't have a close, life-giving relationship with Him. Being frustrated that I always feel like I don't know Him like others know Him, that I don't connect to Him in the ways that I want. And yet my well intentioned time set aside to be with God always seems to be snatched away by laundry and coffee dates with friends and Bravo TV.
I was struck by a thought today that my relationship with God is meant to look more like a marriage than a long-distance friendship. I've only been married for 2 years, so I can't claim to be an expert on marriage, but I thought about what my relationship with my husband Tommy would look like if I treated him like a long distance friend. If I only talked to him every couple of weeks to catch each other up on the ins and outs of each others lives, our relationship would fall apart- there wouldn't be a relationship. If I only saw him once a year, but when we did get together it was just as fun as the last time, it still wouldn't be a relationship. Besides the obvious reasons (physical intimacy would be pretty hard if I only saw him once a year), there were a million reasons why our relationship would fall apart if I connected with him they way I try to connect with God. I talk to Tommy a couple of times a day. We spend most evenings at least together. And if it's been a while since we really spent intentional time connecting, talking, being with one another, we set aside time to go out on a date and we stick to it. And beyond the connecting part, my relationship with Tommy is something I talk about with others. When things are going well, I brag about him: how much I love him, how awesome he is, why being married is the best thing ever (and other annoyingly lovey dovey things that make others nauseous). When things are tough, I talk about it too- sometimes almost obsessively. When we aren't connecting I work at it- we talk about what's wrong and we (ok sometimes just me) are relentless (sometimes to the point of aggravation) in fixing what's wrong and reconnecting. In short, we work at our relationship.
And yet, I don't work that hard with God. I expect myself to be able to just come in and out of His presence on my terms, whenever I want/need, and like a long distance friend, He's supposed to just take it. But God hasn't created our relationship to thrive under these conditions. And so the cycle continues. Just as soon as I've gotten into a good rhythm with God, one where I'm connecting myself to the vine regularly and feeling the fruit of that connection, I let life get in the way and days go by without even a thought or prayer (besides a please, please, please don't let me get a parking ticket for illegally parking my car in this spot for the next hour). And then, once I'm ready to connect again I find it clumsy. I don't know what to say, I'm distracted, and I almost don't want to connect back to the presence of God.
A few weeks ago Tommy went on a missions trip with the students at his church. For various reasons I could not go either. This week long trip was jam packed with events, work and time where he had to be with the kids. As a result our only contact were 3 minute exhausted conversations at the end of each day (literally 3 minutes- I obsessively checked my cell phone at the end of each conversation). What struck me about all of this were the broad spectrum of emotions that swirled through me on the day he was to return. At the core I was excited- I had missed him a ton and couldn't wait to see him again. But I was also dreading it on some level. When Tommy did finally walk through the door I found myself awkwardly bouncing back and forth between giddy excitement and an inability to know how to act around him, what to say to him and how to connect to him. And this was only after he had been gone for a week!
And I wonder why I am clumsy about spending time with God after I've been away for a while. What I know for sure is that God is God- he loves me the same if I spend every second of every minute of every hour basking in his love and presence or if I go weeks without so much as a begging plea for the stain on my shirt to come out. But I am human, and I cannot expect to be able to pretend a marriage relationship with God can be maintained like that of a long distance friend. I can't do it. I wasn't created to relate to God that way and trying to do so stunts what should be the most vibrant, thrilling, life-giving, beautiful, passionate, adventurous relationship of my life.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Monday, June 15, 2009
God Likes His Bacon Crispy...
I think God came into my diner today. Ok, not really, but a customer did come in that shed light on God for me. I'll explain...
I work twice a week at a diner. A real old school diner with a cash register that doesn't go any higher than $5.99 and certainly doesn't take credit cards. A diner with a counter, and regulars and the "everybody knows your name" feel. On Monday's my station is the counter. The counter is both the best and worst station. You can always count on the regulars who come in once or twice a day; and they generally order the same thing every time, so it's easy to take care of them. But beyond the regulars you have no idea who will sit down at your counter, or if anyone will sit at all. So you could wind up with the creepy creepers who sit creepily leering at you and creepily sipping their coffee. Or, you could wind up with no customers. Or you could wind up with 12 people who all sit down at the same time and wanted their coffee like, 6 minutes ago. Oh, and when you work the counter you also have the boss, Bill, breathing down your neck, watching your every move, and shouting your name the second your food hits the window. In other words: life on the counter is a barrel of monkeys.
So there I am, minding my own waitress business, when a very unassuming older gentleman sits down at my counter. And by almost all accounts he is unremarkable. I don't mean this in a bad way, by diner standards that's probably a compliment. Remarkable usually means creepy. But there was something about him that stopped me. He had this weird look on his face. He looked at me almost as though he knew me, knew all about me, and was so excited to be sitting across the counter from me. There was a weird excitement that seemed uncontainable. And none of this had a sleazy or shady affect to it. All right, it was weird. And if I hadn't made the following connection, I would have written the whole thing off as a awkward encounter with a slightly creepy old man. And while I can't quite put the look on his face into the right words, all I could think in the 30 seconds after that brief encounter was that something about the look in his eyes and the excitement on his face made me think of God. For some reason I imagined that this is the look God would have on his face if he were to meet me face to face. There was that uncontainable excitement that I can only hope God has on his face when He sees me.
I've been learning a lot about God's love and experiencing it in whole new ways. And there is something almost unbelievable about it for me. Something maybe I just don't dare to believe. I have an amazing friend/mentor, Bryan, who has spent the last year trying to help me believe that when God looks at me, He smiles. And I have another beautiful friend, Devon, who thinks that God "gushes with love" when He thinks about me. And when I really stop to think about that, when I try to hold those thoughts in my head, it almost feels too good, too impossible to believe. But that guy in the diner (God perhaps?) gave me a glimpse of what that would actually, literally look like. So while I hope that a face to face encounter with God will be a little more profound, I can't ignore the encounter God used with an ordinary man to bless me today.
I work twice a week at a diner. A real old school diner with a cash register that doesn't go any higher than $5.99 and certainly doesn't take credit cards. A diner with a counter, and regulars and the "everybody knows your name" feel. On Monday's my station is the counter. The counter is both the best and worst station. You can always count on the regulars who come in once or twice a day; and they generally order the same thing every time, so it's easy to take care of them. But beyond the regulars you have no idea who will sit down at your counter, or if anyone will sit at all. So you could wind up with the creepy creepers who sit creepily leering at you and creepily sipping their coffee. Or, you could wind up with no customers. Or you could wind up with 12 people who all sit down at the same time and wanted their coffee like, 6 minutes ago. Oh, and when you work the counter you also have the boss, Bill, breathing down your neck, watching your every move, and shouting your name the second your food hits the window. In other words: life on the counter is a barrel of monkeys.
So there I am, minding my own waitress business, when a very unassuming older gentleman sits down at my counter. And by almost all accounts he is unremarkable. I don't mean this in a bad way, by diner standards that's probably a compliment. Remarkable usually means creepy. But there was something about him that stopped me. He had this weird look on his face. He looked at me almost as though he knew me, knew all about me, and was so excited to be sitting across the counter from me. There was a weird excitement that seemed uncontainable. And none of this had a sleazy or shady affect to it. All right, it was weird. And if I hadn't made the following connection, I would have written the whole thing off as a awkward encounter with a slightly creepy old man. And while I can't quite put the look on his face into the right words, all I could think in the 30 seconds after that brief encounter was that something about the look in his eyes and the excitement on his face made me think of God. For some reason I imagined that this is the look God would have on his face if he were to meet me face to face. There was that uncontainable excitement that I can only hope God has on his face when He sees me.
I've been learning a lot about God's love and experiencing it in whole new ways. And there is something almost unbelievable about it for me. Something maybe I just don't dare to believe. I have an amazing friend/mentor, Bryan, who has spent the last year trying to help me believe that when God looks at me, He smiles. And I have another beautiful friend, Devon, who thinks that God "gushes with love" when He thinks about me. And when I really stop to think about that, when I try to hold those thoughts in my head, it almost feels too good, too impossible to believe. But that guy in the diner (God perhaps?) gave me a glimpse of what that would actually, literally look like. So while I hope that a face to face encounter with God will be a little more profound, I can't ignore the encounter God used with an ordinary man to bless me today.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
The Screaming Silence
So, this marks my entry into the world of bloggers. I've always been intrigued by blogs but also a bit resistant. I think I worried that I would end up using the blog as a justification of sorts for my existence- a way to somehow subtly brag to my friends and family about how exciting and cool my life is (or more accurately to attempt to prove that my life is exciting and cool--which it isn't). But recently I've begun to rethink this position. I spend much of my day with a crazy hamster brain; I have a load of thoughts swirling around without a place to rest. And I have a wild dream to one day write and well, this seems as good a place as any to rest my crazy brain and practice the craft. Even if no one reads this, it feels a little more official than my journal. So, here I am, barefoot without a cause.
What sparked the whole "let's start a blog" idea was an image that was keeping me up one night. An image I had a hard time reconciling in myself. I drive back and forth on Roosevelt road many times a week. On this road there is a women's health clinic. I have been driving this road for years- most of my life- and I never really noticed this clinic before. I would never have even known what this clinic even did. But then, the billboard showed up. Right across the street from the clinic a "right to life" billboard was put up detailing when a fetus has a heartbeat and can feel pain. It reminded me of the anti-puppy mill billboard that went in right across from the puppy store- it wasn't like the billboard had a huge arrow pointing towards the puppy store exclaiming, "This place tortures cute, innocent puppies and then makes them eat their own poo- don't buy one here!" but it wasn't hard to make the connection either. The same was true at the clinic. Then the "pray-ers" showed up. The "pray-ers" are a group of people who stand outside the clinic praying. It is a silent protest. Instead of angry signs they carry rosaries; instead of angry shouts they let their silence scream. And there is something I respect about that. It is less judgemental than the signs and screaming. I can hope and choose to believe that the pray-ers are praying for the women in the clinic, prayers that extend beyond just a change of decision, but prayers for after the decision is made. Prayers for support during the pregnancy, for a safe and loving home for the baby. And yet, something still doesn't feel quite right about it. While the words of judgement are not spoken out loud, the silence still conveys the message. It is intimidating and menacing. There is nothing in the pray-ers' protest that identifies with the difficult decision the women at the clinic are making. And there is nothing that gives them any hope for the future. And, truth be told, I don't really believe that the pray-ers' prayers are as loving and considerate as I'd hope for. Some small part of me thinks they are probably asking God to bring down a harsh and painful death to anyone who walks through the doors of that clinic- after the innocent baby is born first of course.
I think what bothers me about the pray-ers, and the whole pro-life/pro-choice argument in general, is that it feels like a colossal waste of energy. The silent protesting, and the loud proclamations that all Christians must vote pro-life if they want God to love them and consider them followers feels like the easy way out. It is easy to give up your Saturday and stand in judgement of a woman and her decision; it is much more difficult to walk along side them during their pregnancy, attend every doctor's appointment, answer the phone in the middle of the night when she's freaking out about the pains she's experiencing, and then help her raise the child for the next 18+ years. It is easy to preach from the pulpit on Sunday morning that Jesus wants you to cast your vote with whatever candidate promises to outlaw abortion and that you're not really a Christian if you don't; it is much more difficult to take in a foster care child, to love him through the emotional scars he will bare from the abuse he has experienced in the system, and to continue to stand by her through her rebellion and attempts to push you away. I am not saying that I think abortion is the solution- I just don't think making abortion illegal is the solution. I am not pro-abortion. I don't recommend it as a solution and I think it breaks God's heart. But I also think the systems we have in place to take care of unwanted children also breaks God's heart. I think the judgement our churches cast on single pregnant women breaks His heart.
I think we lose sight of the real problem when we get caught up in the titles of pro-life and pro-choice and the battle of making it legal or illegal. Frankly, I think we are focusing on the wrong problem. Whether or not it is legal, there is still a reason women see this as the only or best option. We have a foster care system where children are abused, neglected and abandoned. We have an adoption system that makes it impossible for well meaning people to adopt. And we've created churches that are too busy condemning to help. My friend from Oklahoma told me something crazy the other day. If every church in Oklahoma were to take in a foster care child, there would be no need for foster care. The Bible says true faith is taking care of widows and orphans. I wonder what would happen if followers of Christ, the "pray-ers" and right-wing screamers took the energy they spend trying to convince the world that they are right, the energy they spend standing outside of clinics trying to persuade someone to change her mind and spent that energy taking care of the orphans. Lovingly raising the children whose biological parents could not raise themselves. If every church raised money to support one family who chooses to bring in a foster care child, what would happen to the foster care system? Might that have a greater effect on the number of abortions performed each year than the fighting and judging? But that is the harder route- one that I'm not even sure I'm ready for yet. But which is better- to silently wrestle with God while doing nothing, or to choose the easy route in the absence of doing nothing?
What sparked the whole "let's start a blog" idea was an image that was keeping me up one night. An image I had a hard time reconciling in myself. I drive back and forth on Roosevelt road many times a week. On this road there is a women's health clinic. I have been driving this road for years- most of my life- and I never really noticed this clinic before. I would never have even known what this clinic even did. But then, the billboard showed up. Right across the street from the clinic a "right to life" billboard was put up detailing when a fetus has a heartbeat and can feel pain. It reminded me of the anti-puppy mill billboard that went in right across from the puppy store- it wasn't like the billboard had a huge arrow pointing towards the puppy store exclaiming, "This place tortures cute, innocent puppies and then makes them eat their own poo- don't buy one here!" but it wasn't hard to make the connection either. The same was true at the clinic. Then the "pray-ers" showed up. The "pray-ers" are a group of people who stand outside the clinic praying. It is a silent protest. Instead of angry signs they carry rosaries; instead of angry shouts they let their silence scream. And there is something I respect about that. It is less judgemental than the signs and screaming. I can hope and choose to believe that the pray-ers are praying for the women in the clinic, prayers that extend beyond just a change of decision, but prayers for after the decision is made. Prayers for support during the pregnancy, for a safe and loving home for the baby. And yet, something still doesn't feel quite right about it. While the words of judgement are not spoken out loud, the silence still conveys the message. It is intimidating and menacing. There is nothing in the pray-ers' protest that identifies with the difficult decision the women at the clinic are making. And there is nothing that gives them any hope for the future. And, truth be told, I don't really believe that the pray-ers' prayers are as loving and considerate as I'd hope for. Some small part of me thinks they are probably asking God to bring down a harsh and painful death to anyone who walks through the doors of that clinic- after the innocent baby is born first of course.
I think what bothers me about the pray-ers, and the whole pro-life/pro-choice argument in general, is that it feels like a colossal waste of energy. The silent protesting, and the loud proclamations that all Christians must vote pro-life if they want God to love them and consider them followers feels like the easy way out. It is easy to give up your Saturday and stand in judgement of a woman and her decision; it is much more difficult to walk along side them during their pregnancy, attend every doctor's appointment, answer the phone in the middle of the night when she's freaking out about the pains she's experiencing, and then help her raise the child for the next 18+ years. It is easy to preach from the pulpit on Sunday morning that Jesus wants you to cast your vote with whatever candidate promises to outlaw abortion and that you're not really a Christian if you don't; it is much more difficult to take in a foster care child, to love him through the emotional scars he will bare from the abuse he has experienced in the system, and to continue to stand by her through her rebellion and attempts to push you away. I am not saying that I think abortion is the solution- I just don't think making abortion illegal is the solution. I am not pro-abortion. I don't recommend it as a solution and I think it breaks God's heart. But I also think the systems we have in place to take care of unwanted children also breaks God's heart. I think the judgement our churches cast on single pregnant women breaks His heart.
I think we lose sight of the real problem when we get caught up in the titles of pro-life and pro-choice and the battle of making it legal or illegal. Frankly, I think we are focusing on the wrong problem. Whether or not it is legal, there is still a reason women see this as the only or best option. We have a foster care system where children are abused, neglected and abandoned. We have an adoption system that makes it impossible for well meaning people to adopt. And we've created churches that are too busy condemning to help. My friend from Oklahoma told me something crazy the other day. If every church in Oklahoma were to take in a foster care child, there would be no need for foster care. The Bible says true faith is taking care of widows and orphans. I wonder what would happen if followers of Christ, the "pray-ers" and right-wing screamers took the energy they spend trying to convince the world that they are right, the energy they spend standing outside of clinics trying to persuade someone to change her mind and spent that energy taking care of the orphans. Lovingly raising the children whose biological parents could not raise themselves. If every church raised money to support one family who chooses to bring in a foster care child, what would happen to the foster care system? Might that have a greater effect on the number of abortions performed each year than the fighting and judging? But that is the harder route- one that I'm not even sure I'm ready for yet. But which is better- to silently wrestle with God while doing nothing, or to choose the easy route in the absence of doing nothing?
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