Lo$t in the Valley

It was February, and time for the Linfords to upgrade their Verizon Wireless phones.

After an hour of discussion and final purchase, the three of us, Mom, Dad, and me, walked from the store to our little tan Suzuki family car.

As it happens most times, I knew we were about to be asked for money by a woman passing by.  I walked quickly past her shoddy car, hoping Dad would unlock our car so I could avoid the situation altogether.  I passed by.  Mom passed by.  And Dad was the last.

The car she was in paused, and her voice called out to my father.

“Sir, ‘scuse me, sir!”  To my surprise, he paused.

It’s not that my father isn’t a generous man, because he is.  When I left him at the age of 21, I dare say that even living under his roof for those 21 years, I still had no idea who he really was.  So, at 26, when presented with a situation I had never before seen him in, I, too, paused, and watched the scene unfold.

Only an hour earlier he had joked with my mom about “having only $9 in his wallet,” and that “that’s what happens when you get married.”  And here, though I couldn’t hear what she said from the cab of her car, I saw my father open up his wallet and give her what he had.  And further, he called my mother to him, and asked her for what she had.

As the old car drove away, me still standing behind our car, I watched as my dad, teary eyed and mood sullen, unlocked the doors, and lifted himself into the driver’s seat.

“She had nothing, Naomi.”  He bowed his head and spoke to my mom.

She had a car, I thought evilly.  What does he mean she had nothing?

The only thing that stopped the judgment taking place in my mind was the sound of crying.

I sat, trying to calculate what I was hearing.

My father was weeping.

An older and wiser Jamie might have taken this select moment to minister to her unsaved parents, but instead I sat quietly, silently, aghast at my ugly thoughts.  Here was a man so moved we sat in that Verizon parking lot for nearly 10 minutes.  We just sat as he cried and talked of a forsaken humanity.

An unsaved man had just given all he had to a poor woman.

A follower of Christ had run from her.  To add insult to injury, I had run from her after walking away from a store with $500 worth of merchandise.

When we finally drove away, the conviction I felt in my heart was suffocating.

I don’t know why I am so slow to talk about my financial burden when I made everything of my OYC so public.

I am hesitant to admit that I am lost financially.  That I spend irresponsibly.  And not only do I spend recklessly, I spend money that I don’t even have.

The amount of my consumer debt is nearly equal to what I make in a year working at the bank.  That is difficult to type, to admit that I have no restraint.

But to deal with a problem, you have to admit you have one first, right?

I watched another sermon of Andy Stanley’s tonight—one aimed toward the financially lost.  He spoke of the parable of the shrewd manager in Luke, and shared:

For the people of this world are more shrewd in dealing with their own kind than are the people of the light.

It was scripture that hit me square in the face tonight.  And he continued:

Jesus is looking at these religious people, these are people that believe there's a Heaven, most of them, they believe there's an eternity, they believe that this life is not all there is.  And he makes a comment, he says do you realize that people of this world, the people that think what you see is what you get, this is all there is, the people that think this life is all there is to life, the people that don't think in terms of eternity, the people that don't make decisions in light of Heaven, the people that don't really think about the world to come, the people that just think about this world, he said they are way more shrewd, they are WAY MORE SHREWD, than those of you, he would say to his audience and to us, than those of you that actually believe there's a heaven, those of you who actually believe there's an eternity, those of you that actually believe that everybody lives forever somewhere…because they know how to take a little bit of time, and a little bit of opportunity and leverage it so that their time on this earth and the future is good time, is taken care of time, is prosperous time. They know how to leverage the little bit now for the future here.

I didn’t care about that woman’s future.  Earthly or otherwise.  What have I done within the last year to love “the least of these” and to shine light upon their lives?

The perspective of eternity is not guiding my hand.

Slowly, I’m painfully coming to terms with what in my life has Kingdom impact and what doesn’t.

Last year was the OYC that afforded me freedom from relational dependence.  This year I feel as if God has devised the breaking of another idol, and it seems this will be even more painful than the first.  Where last year I fought against the womanly bondage of dating and dependence, this is a larger tyrant.  Consumerism is a broader struggle, touching all in the American culture.

Counter-cultural, this is absolutely what it means to follow Jesus.  Where there is great pain, great struggle, there is opportunity for a great overcome.  God, help me through this and understand what it means to live differently, with contentment, against the grain.

Consumed By

It’s almost the end of January and I finally have a resolution.  I think.

I don’t make resolutions.  Because I can’t keep resolutions.

But with my depression, along with my desire to do something with my life, to be closer to God, to be healthier, is the cause for this most recent upheaval.

I spend a lot.  A lot more than I’d ever like admit.

Pastors at church have said this many times, that we “don’t ever get rid of idol; we replace it with something else.”

With the OYC in place last year, I believe my new idol became spending.  Money.  Consumerism.  A dangerous territory for a girl living in the realm of poverty.

I can’t say why I was drawn to this book, 7, by Jen Hatmaker.  Reading its description on Amazon, at first, sent my eyes rolling into the back of my head.  Arrogant Christian craving light to be shed on her work, her glory.

And yet, because of my habit to consume, I bought the book anyway.

And I’m really glad I did.

What started out with skepticism ended with awe, and a challenging new perspective.  Touching on true love for Jesus, and a plight with consumerism, current in our entanglements with spending, clothes, media, Jen touches on all the things I’ve let feed on my life—or, really, what I’ve been feeding on instead of the light of Jesus.

Jen—and her three children and one husband, to boot—lived radically for seven months.

There are many reasons I relate to this book.  She’s a woman.  She’s American (AKA CONSUMER).  Her background of leaving a theme-park church and beginning a church with missions akin to that of our Fellowship.  A challenge to those reading the gospel without ever really living it out.

I was challenged.  I am challenged.

I want to live differently.  And there are many aspects of a simplified life that give me great anxiety.  My possessions are screaming at me from their shelves to not overreact.  We’ve bonded.  These books, these clothes, these 78 pairs of shoes (shoot me, how did this happen?!) are mine.  All mine.

But how selfish have I been to collect, collect, collect.  Bred into the deepest parts of my subconscious and not-so-subconscious, how misguided by American culture have I been, led to continuously consume?

So we spend, spend; amass, amass; indulge, indulge item by item, growing increasingly deaf to Jesus who described a simple life marked by generosity and underconsumption…What if we are camels, on this side of the needle, dangerously content with our fake gospel and avoiding the actual Christian life described in Scripture?...Could we be countercultural enough to say, “We’re not buying that.  We don’t need that.  We’ll make do with what we have.  We’ll use the stuff we already own.”

I don’t want to be a camel on the wrong side of the needle.  Make me a donkey, God, anything, but not the camel!  I don’t have my resolution worked out, tinkered down to a T, but this much I know I want:

We can simply stop spending so much, use what we have, borrow what we need, repurpose possessions instead of replacing them, and—the kicker—live with less.

Live with less.

Anti-consumer.

Is it possible?  It is and it is what I want for my life.  Give me a road map, Jesus.

Walk the Line

Anti-climactic.

Had anyone endeavored to turn my One Year Challenge into a movie, the audience surely would have been sorely disappointed.

Friends, strangers, advocates of my dating fast anticipated a fast union with a husband God had formed straight from the Heavens just for me.

Maybe even I was a little disappointed that no knight in shining armor formed from the clouds and dove straight to earth, my payout for a sacrifice to God.

But even if I thought that, it was only for a moment, and I re-realized what I had known throughout the challenge, that I wasn’t doing this for the reward of an awaiting husband, but to be closer to the God who formed me, who loves me, who aches for me to be with Him.

I also realized that the OYC was only the beginning of a life-changing shift for me.  It was the training wheels on a bike, a beginning step.  There’s a souped-up motorcycle in the end for me (no doubt Jesus is in a leather jacket waiting for me), but for right now, there’s just a bicycle.

First step.  Wean me off dependence and expectations of an earthly man.  Give me hope that I can survive without my largest idol.

Second step.  Opening my eyes to the idols laying right beyond the first.

There are still large idols in my life.  Much too large and overwhelming that on the off chance that a man would pursue me, our relationship would still be damned before its beginning because I haven’t wrangled the other bulls in my pen.

And I say this knowing that I’ll never step into a relationship or marriage as a perfect person, but knowing that there are some demons that must be dealt with before the altar—dealt with on the altar, given to Jesus, sacrificed.

If I can’t control my money now—imagine the wounds inflicted on a hardworking husband.

If I can’t control my diet now—imagine the realizations a husband will have sharing a home with a woman who secretly binge eats.

Figuring out these issues and others, working through the sin behind them, that is what will bless a marriage home.

Me ignoring them and hoping that marriage will heal these—back to square one of putting impossible expectations on a spouse that will only result in a dilapidated home and diluted union with God.

As I watched The Bourne Legacy the other night, I thought of years and year ago when the Bourne series first debuted.

The story of Aaron Cross was grafted from that of Jason Bourne.  One story led to another, which led to another, which led to another, which led to another installment.

And I realized, just as Jason Bourne gave way to sequel, such is the way of life, for upon every endeavor for Christ is a subsequent, but equally important segment of a walk meant to mirror His.

As the great philosiphizer Jay-Z said, on to the next.

Sneakernight

Such are the things that make a kingdom rumble and shatter

The same dynamic that another day would never matter

It really just depends on who's giving and who's receiving

And things that don't make sense are always a little deceiving

Come and humble me

—River, Lights

I put on my sneakers, and they were excited.

My dogs and I walked down the stairs and boarded into my car.  Tails wagging, their eyes peeked out the windows, ready for what they believed would be a day of fun.

But as we passed Shelby Farms, and as I missed that right turn, I could tell the confusion had set in.  Excited yips turned into questioning whimpers.

We arrived at the V-E-T.

Confusion turned into fear as they remember this visit from previous years.  Nothing fun was about to happen.  The sanitized floors and counter-tops curled their tails in anxiety.

The morning grew worse as they were poked and prodded.  They couldn’t understand why they were being put through pain, and I couldn’t say any words that would make them understand.

When they took Cheeyo onto the table, I could see the whites of his bulgy eyes.  They tried several times to draw blood without receiving any, and all I could imagine him thinking was, “Why are they stabbing me?  Why is my mom standing there, doing nothing, letting them hurt me?!”

It hurt my heart, and as they held him down, I placed my hands on his head and tried to offer soothing words, knowing nothing I said would make a difference.

At one point, he became so terrified he sought out the hands that restrained him.  With three pairs of human hands on him, the grip of fear kept him from knowing whose belonged to whom, and he bit down on me—the hands closest to him.  In terror and an effort to retreat this happened for several seconds.  And all I could do was continue to pet him through the anguish.

When it was all over, when their reports were received, their vaccinations administered, I knew I had two healthy dogs coming home with me.

As dogs, they have no idea why this has to happen.  But me, the one who loves them, I know.  Needles draw blood to be tested.  Strange hands examine for abnormal joints and growths.  But all my beloved animals know of this is discomfort and pain, unable to comprehend the reasoning behind the seemed betrayal.

That’s how it is with God, I think.  He hands us over, omnipotent, all knowing of the paths of our lives, knowing that we’ll come back to Him better than before, shaped by the happenings around us.

We have no idea why things happens, unable to see from His perspective our lives and His plans.

The Cancer, the STD, the life that ended too soon, all these are workings of a God much greater than us.  If we live our days propelled to be more like the God who sacrificed Himself for us, each troubled moment is a chance to live closer to Him.

So much we don’t understand of God, because His ways are not our ways.  How many times does He stand with us through something painful so that we may walk away healthier, stronger?  Maybe not always physically, but hopefully spiritually.  How often does His hand stay over us even when we fight Him off?  We don’t understand what we’re going through as we’re going through it—we may not even understand it after we’re through it—but He knows.

Sometimes God doesn’t take that right turn.  And for good purpose.  But it is to the Promised Land we’ll land, and that’s knowledge we have that my dogs will never know.  That as daughters and sons of the Almighty King, He knows everything that could ever be known, and that His workings are for our best.

We don’t know how God holds the kingdom in balance or why He moves a chess piece at a crucial time; we might never see the results of his sovereignty.  But we can trust Him when He says press on, cling to hope, stay the course.  He is always at work, even if the entire thread is hidden…I’m part of an elaborate tapestry that goes beyond my perception. –Jen Hatmaker, 7

To the Cactus in the Valley

And wipe the mark of sadness from my face

Show me that your love will never change

If my yesterday is a disgrace

Tell me that you still recall my name

—Cactus in the Valley, Lights

Dear beautiful readers, we know each other well enough for me to be honest with you at this point, yes?  Good.

These last few months, straight depression.  And I can’t pinpoint why.  We could spend hours on a roulette of possibilities—is it your singleness? Your family?  Your roommate?  Your job?  Your friends?  Church?—and I would shake my head to all.  I have no idea why my heart has sunk into a state of removal.

I don’t really want to see anyone.  I don’t really want to talk.  Big groups are not my forte right now, instead choosing to fall into the shadows of a quiet evening at home with some books and my HD DVD player.

Maybe it’s because I’ve been sick on and off for the last few weeks?  This week the worst.

Maybe it’s the weather.  Because, really, who likes waking up to sleet?

It could be nothing I’ve thought of, or a mixture of everything.  Whatever it is, I feel as if the dense fog may be in its final state—the state where it slowly evaporates, giving room to new energy and new motivation.

November, December, and January have had their fair share of solitude and prayers begging God for answers and directions and opportunities.

Maybe this is the turning point for which I’ve been waiting.

Behind the Curtain

When I first started dating my ex, of whom I still think very highly, his best friend offered insight on how to be who to be for him to take notice.

It was very much that girl, and very little of who I actually was, that I gave to him.

Months into the relationship, when comfort comes and security is had, the illusion faded and instead of seeing the girl who had captured his attention, he saw the girl he shared little interest in and with.  I had shown him who I was and he didn’t prefer it.  It hurt not so much because I thought something was wrong with me, but because the man I loved didn’t love those things about me.  He didn’t like the girl behind the curtain, a pretense, an imitation of suggestions past. 

It was hard to hear then.  Upon (stupid) request toward the end of our relationship, he told me exactly what he didn’t like about me, and the list was fashioned in unbecoming words.  Though nothing he said about my personality was morally corrupt, or damaged—just different from what he wanted—it hurt deeply.

That instance—along with a year of fasting from dating—has brought me to this relaxed state of not wanting to be someone I’m not.  I refuse the façade.  And I think knowing more about myself now has definitely brought me to a place where I can recognize when I’m being someone I’m not to get attention from someone God has no intention of me knowing.

True, I have no idea for what I’m looking in a man—does any girl, really?  But if he exists, if God has intended a husband for me, I know for whom that man is waiting to seek.

A girl equal parts introvert and extrovert.

A woman who loves to read.

A daughter of The King who desperately wants to pursue Him and be painfully obedient always.

An animal lover.

A seeker of lost souls.

A sister of an autistic brother.

A daughter who pursues her unsaved parents.

A woman who cares little about mansions, monopolies, and millions.

A rap lover who listens to country, Christian, dub-steb, and pop.

A lover of all musicals, i.e. Mamma Mia!, Les Misérables, Jersey Boys

A woman open about her past to other women.

A girl who can’t breathe when she really (really) laughs.

Neurotic to the core.

Imperfect.

Imperfect and still confident in the love her Christ.

I refuse to change for the sake of being closer to a man.  I don’t think we have to change ourselves to be loved.  It’s bondage to do so.

Now, I do believe that our lives are meant to be spent changing to be closer to God.

1 Corinthians 11:1, Paul wrote:

Be imitators of me, as I am of Christ.

Our lives here on earth are meant to mirror the walk of the God who loves us so, not shifting to transform ourselves into faux-magnets to attract those to whom we are attracted.

Change for God, yes.  Change for a man, no.  It is because we love Him so, we walk like so, changing only to be drawn nearer to Him.

All things work together though, right?  In the back of your mind, think simply that in changing to be closer to God, inadvertently, we change in such a way that brings us closer to each other.  It’s not the reason for the change, but part of it.

Don’t make or let someone fall in love with you for someone you’re not.  The most freeing love is that of two hearts who know each other, know each other intimately, and in spite of that, love each other anyway.

Be responsible.  A man can’t love you if he doesn’t know you.  So let him know you.  Because one day there will come a man who loves all of you.  Not just pieces.  And not just who he thinks you are, but the woman he has grown to know who lives in Christ.

Bokeh State of Mind

Some of the most meaningful conversations I have ever had have taken place in the quiet of a parked car.

No disruptions like in a café.  No distractions like a TV at home.  No interruptions.  And privacy.  It’s the perfect setting for honest, open conversations.

And we had one that night.

The frost on the windshield, the lights of the parking lot reflecting off other cars, we talked.  Topic led to topic, and we rested on relationships, marriages, sacrifices, and mistakes.

In the recesses of the human heart, there is a desire to be known.  To be known.  To be known.

And we just sat.  And I talked.

I unveil myself in a multitude of ways.  This blog.  Tweets.  Status updates.  But that night—to be heard, to be truly heard, there’s a God’s love in that.

I spoke of fears I hadn’t had spoken out loud in a long time.  Remorse.  Sadness.  Truth.

When a brother or a sister listens, when they hear your deepest, darkest, ugliest sin—the very sin, the very darkness that overwhelms your soul with your past mistakes—and when they don’t recoil, that is a glimpse into not only the garden of God, but His very heart.

To be heard, God, during this stage in my life I pray that You provide deep friendships where I can bring a heard to be encouraged, where I can be open and release my deepest fears.  I pray to be the type of friend that can offer the same quiet, focused heart.  You did not give us burdens to bear alone, but brothers and sisters that we may not be alone in our hurting.  I pray for more depth to come, and more to be received.  You are a wonderful, loving Father and my spirit is linked in You through it all.

The heartfelt counsel of a friend is as sweet as perfume and incense (Proverbs 27:9).

We love because he first loved us (1 John 4:19).

Normal Siblings

Normal siblings don’t have to prepare themselves to be the caretaker of their own brother or sister.

Normal siblings delight in being aunts and uncles, and having an inseparable bond with one another.  Growing old together and enjoying what comes with age as a family.

Reading through Jodi Piccoult’s House Rules, I have read each chapter of this fictional book with awe.

I’ve never met anyone besides my brother who has Asperger’s.  I’ve never met another person who has to care for someone with Asperger’s.

And the way Piccoult lays out chapter by chapter developing the character of not only Jacob, but his mother Emma and brother Theo and their lives as they revolve around Jacob, I don’t feel so alone.  She has captured all my feelings and left them sitting in these pages for me to discover.

“An ordinary mother doesn’t lie awake at night wondering if Theo will ever accept his brother enough to watch over him when I’m gone.”

An ordinary sister doesn’t lie awake at night wondering what will happen upon the day that she receives the responsibility to care for her brother when their parents are too old, too weary.  Dad and I sat and talked one morning recently during one of my trips to California.  He spoke of what should happen if they pass.  The heavy weight of burdened responsibility sat on my shoulders.

“It’s not fair!” my head cried.

“Other people don’t have to think through their lives like this, taking care of someone with Asperger’s.  I never signed up for this!  I want my own family, a husband, and a house where we can be a family.  Not a family plus Steven, a home that has to live in fear of meltdowns and outbursts, and molding ourselves into his world to keep him comfortable.  A life of servitude!  A life of slavery!  I don’t want it!”

I cried these same selfish thoughts today, months later.  What sibling has to lay down their life for another?  What sibling’s wants and needs are overshadowed by that of their brother?  I cursed the will of God, the unwanted path for my life.

I cried, frustrated.  And God sweetly and simply reminded me of one of Bryan’s sermons where he spoke of Jesus and his brother James.

James, a servant of God and of the Lord Jesus Christ (James 1:1).

James recognized his brother’s title of God.  “Now,” Bryan said, “my brothers and sisters called me a lot of things, but God wasn’t one of them.”  That’s an overshadowing title if ever there was one for a sibling.  And what title did James give himself?  The title of servant.  Only servant.

I read part of Lady in Waiting today and was struck by concepts of singleness being precious.

Singleness is an enviable condition.  An unmarried woman has something that a married woman gives up on her wedding day: extra time for Jesus (p. 23)

The single woman can be involved in the Lord’s work on a level that a married woman cannot because of the distractions and responsibilities of being a wife and a mother (p. 18-19)

Although a single woman may long for the “chaos” of a family, she must not waste her time wishing for it.  She must be diligent to use her single time wisely now.  She has more control over her time and choices now than she will probably ever have again (p. 18).

The day will come when my brother passes out of my parents’ care and into my own.  A heart of preparation will be the best route to love him as much as I can.  Today, I am single.  And I have time to myself to grow in my relationship with God without other distractions, and for a purpose.  Every day is a conglomeration of different callings, but all tethered to the cry of one calling.  Following Jesus.

If James can bow to his brother, The King, surely I am called to bow to my own brother.  The brother God personally and lovingly bestowed upon me, entrusting me with a child He loves more dearly than I can imagine.

Be very careful, then, how you live—not as unwise but as wise, making the most of every opportunity, because the days are evil.  Therefore do not be foolish, but understand what the Lord’s will is (Ephesians 5:15-17).