Grace: Missing the Point

I returned early Sunday morning (12:30am) from Hilton Head, SC. My roommate from my semester at Eastern University was getting married and a friend and I flew down for the week. With a free place to stay a short walk from the beach, how could I not? The week was rather surreal as we were spoiled rotten by our wonderful hostess and treated to things like a rehearsal dinner on a boat, the most gorgeous wedding I have ever been to (and most fun), an accidentally free tour of historical Savannah, perfect weather, an almost private beach, awesome seafood, bike riding, and wonderful conversations with new friends.

I have to admit though that my favorite part of the whole trip was all the time to relax and think. So many times during the week I had the urge, the itch to write, but I’m horrible at writing with pen and paper now and did not bring my laptop. So my thoughts on here, as I get the time, in the next few days or weeks, will most likely be an overflow of my time spent on Hilton Head, the people I met, the conversations I had and the many thoughts I actually had time to think about.

My friend Cierra, who got married, has always challenged me to think…freer. Outside the box I grew up in (or the rock I grew up under, whichever analogy you prefer). She was never afraid to challenge my assumptions or beliefs and that was a first for me since everyone I grew up with pretty much believed the exact same things I did. She has also taught me so much about grace, though I doubt she realizes it.

I realized anew this weekend how easy it is to get caught up in living life by the rules. What rules? The rules we make up and think are set in stone, whether the rule has to do with drinking or relationships or listening to secular music, etc, etc. I grew up living by the rules. And while it kept me from a lot, my friend and I both agreed that growing up, we were too naive, too innocent, too sheltered and that it truly hindered out ability to reach out to other people. And living by the rules didn’t give us the clearest understanding of grace.

There are so many invisible lines I have drawn in my life that I tell myself I must not cross. That’s good, you say. I disagree, because the lines are drawn almost unconsciously out of fear. Fear that if I cross the line, if I do this thing or that thing, then suddenly God loves me a little less, suddenly I need to work a little harder to get back into right standing. Rules can be good. Boundaries are good. But I know personally I need to be careful to not cheapen God’s grace by making it something I think I can earn by the way I live…or don’t live.

So I asked myself this past week what my motivations were for the standards I have set in my life. Were they set out of fear that a lightening bolt will strike me dead if I cross a certain line, or were they set out of honestly believing it is a standard God wants me to have? We are so good at making up pseudo-boundaries, in my opinion and then also pressing those boundaries on others. It makes life…safe. And the tiny rebel in me that I manage to squelch most of the time, flares up and cries, “Adventure! I want adventure! I don’t want to be safe!”

I suppose it all comes down to balance. Which seems so…boring. And yet, I realized on my amazing vacation that I had, once again, settled into a routine of safety. Not only was I being sure to follow all the rules, I was quite actively, though unknowingly, making my God rather little.

I don’t want to live life by a code of things I cannot do. I have. I do. Because I’m afraid if I don’t have that code, that I will inadvertently commit the unpardonable sin and be beyond the reach of God’s grace. Funny that I think at times that I have actually earned grace. I’m not afraid to call it what it is - outright arrogance. So even playing it safe, and following all my rules I’ve come up with, I’m still managing to sin rather outrageously simply in my pride, where I feel I am doing a decent enough job with this Christ following thing to actually deserve his mercy and grace.

Your shaking your head, I imagine, that I would admit such a thing. I dare say doing such a thing is easy enough to do when you have grown up in a Christian home, a good church, when you can’t list things a mile long that you use to do and then tell how God has transformed you. I’m not excusing myself, not at all. I’m just saying I have a lot to learn about grace.

I watched my beautiful friend get married, watched her with her adorable son, thought about the life she has lived and how much the Lord has used her in my life to teach me about grace. It’s so easy to follow all the rules we think are good - to stay pure, to not get drunk or even drink, to not do drugs, to not listen to bad music, to not swear or gossip…it’s easy to follow a code of conduct and miss the larger things we are called to do like love our neighbor and feed the poor or work for justice for the widow and orphan…

I think, perhaps, that all we are called to do gets neglected because we are so concerned with all we are not allowed to do. Jesus was routinely questioned because of who he spent his time with, and his actions toward them. Sometimes I think we are too busy trying to keep our noses clean, making sure there is not even a chance there is something in our life that can be taken the wrong way or interpreted wrong, that we miss myriads of opportunities to extend grace and love and mercy.

The older I get, the more I realize how little I am doing and how much I could be doing to live the life I should be, a life that has little to do with rules and regulations and codes of conduct, but rather love and mercy and grace. It seems I needed to be humbled, knocked down a peg or 2 or 3, to realize that truly I am no better than you or anyone else - be it my pastor or the teenage mom or a drug addict or a prostitute. I don’t deserve what I have been given, but if I live like I do I am constantly missing opportunities to share the love of Jesus, for I make grace cheap, something I can earn through good behavior and thus I miss the power in what Jesus Christ did for each of us through his death on the cross.

And yes, I found it relaxing to think about such a thing while I was on vacation. Such is life inside my head.

Who Am I?

She stood in the silence, eyes closed, face turned upward toward the blue sky. She breathed in the peace, the rest, as if she hadn’t truly taken a deep breath for a long time. Bare feet just covered by water, the nail polish on her toes chipping, the feel of smooth slate, the wind gently blowing.

Old, faded jeans that were bought with patches on them, rolled up past her knees, exposing alabaster legs. Her long hair in desperate need of a cut, thrown up in a haphazard pony tail: a strange definition of beauty. Thoughts, sometimes irritating, rarely considered, paused on the journey through her mind. Thoughts of who she should be, of who others thought she should be, weighed upon her in this moment of stillness. Thoughts, often quickly banished, were considered. They whispered around her, their voices tentative, persistent, summed up in one question: “Am I good enough?”

She wants to pose a question to the world as she tries so hard to find her way. She wants to know if it’s ok that she doesn’t look like you, act like you, talk like you, dream like you, think like you or want to live your life. She knows that you tell her that it is ok. She wants to be able to not care. Most days she can forget that. But she also knows that even though they say she is free to live her life the way God has called her to, there is still this undeniable, almost invisible standard of womanhood that she knows she will never attain, nor does she want to deep down inside – she wants to be who she has been created to be. She wants that to play out in her life just as her Lord wants it to. But the thought of a single, Biblically mandated womanhood – a single, set in stone role for her because she is a woman – she can’t dismiss it, for if such a thing exists, her life is very far from it.

The opinions of influential, respected people cannot be dismissed. They must be carefully considered. And while she asks, like every girl, every woman, “Am I beautiful?” her question veers a bit in an odd direction. She wonders at all the many, different definitions of femininity, of all the portraits presented as being the epitome of womanhood.

White, puffball clouds drift overhead as she asks the one whose opinion matters most, if who she is, as a woman, is enough. Must she dress a different way, occupy a different role, to be more fully a woman? Does it matter that her toe nail polish is chipping, that she is wearing jeans, that she got an education at a liberal university in a liberal field?

She asks her Father “Is it ok? Am I where you want me, doing what you want me to do, being who you want me to be?” She takes some time to examine every area of her life. There is always room for improvement, but that is not what she is looking for today. She is looking, wondering, asking the questions she usually ignores, pushing them to the back of her head until their voices raise in a cacophony once again.

She is asking, if, as a person, a woman, she is a good reflection of her Lord. She is asking a question that hinges not on her occupation or way of dress, though such things must come into consideration. She is wondering if she is succumbing to culture, resisting culture, or abiding alongside…different but not legalistic or judgmental. She wants to know if her lifestyle hinders or helps people to know the Lord.

She seeks to rid herself of the deep-seated inadequacy, compounded by thoughts and ideas she cannot easily dismiss, for she is not one to dismiss a thought or idea, but rather to be plagued by it, tossing it to and fro for months, seasons, years, until she has worked it out and found a rock upon which she can stand. This question, as some of you will realize, has come up before and will come up again as she tries to find that answer, or perhaps, if there is not one solid answer, at least a conclusion of sorts, a premise.

This girl is me, more comfortable in holey jeans than the skirts I often wear to work, careless about my toe nail polish chipping, unable to be bothered to spend any significant amount of time doing my hair, a tolerable cook, a full-time service coordinator (i.e. social worker that gets paid less). I’d rather wear flip-flops or my fuzzy boots, depending on the time of year, than high heels – though they are fun (yet painful) on occasion. Most days I spend at work I feel as if I am playing at grown-up, playing dress-up. If the occasion calls for me to do my hair fancy, I’m just plumb out of luck. I don’t mind a living room that has been in the process of being re-done – truth be told, I don’t even notice the walls anymore. In a way I’m one of those strange artsy types that would rather read a book or write than be bothered by things that need to get done. Lazy, perhaps. Probably.

It’s been said that I am good with change, and I’m a mite stubborn and can be just as opinionated as you, if only you could hear the things that go on inside of my head. I’m a woman. A young one. I ask more questions in a day than I think most of the rest of the world asks in a year. I like crazy ideas that make my head spin just as much as I like knowing where I stand and who I am. I like people to respect my decisions on how I live my life. And when I ask my Father at the end of the day, I’m fairly confident that where I am right now is all his doing and that who I am and who I am being crafted into is firmly under his control.

Some would say I am far too independent, far too outspoken, but I don’t intent to live life vicariously through another. I don’t even want front row seats, I want to be a major player. There is a bit of a rebel in me, which is probably why I pierced my nose and wish I could again.

I am a woman, a strange form of beautiful, made in the image of my God. I have loved hard enough to know the ache of loss deeper than words, stronger than the need to breathe. I have laughed til the wee hours of the morning over absolutely nothing with my girlfriends. I have given up at times when I should have fought, and other times I have fought when I should have given up.

You and I, as women, share many things in common. We are beautiful not because God has created us all exactly the same, to fulfill the exact some role, but rather because we have all been created differently, with different ways to impact our world. I look at all the women in my life and I am overwhelmed at the beauty that I see, coming from different expressions, different forms, different ways of being a woman of God. If I become just like you, I fail to add a needed color to this portrait our Lord is painting.

Perhaps you will permit the honor of introducing you over the next week to some very different women that I greatly admire.

Something New…

Summertime called for a new do…

Wandering, Wondering Feet

I want to wander through life. Enough of staid plans and practicality - I don’t like such things. They wreak of boredom and routine and boredom and a complete lack of adventure and joy.

 

I want to wander through one season and then through the next. I don’t want to take a single, well-marked path through my life. I want to wander off the path others have made, to find the hidden joys. I want to dance.

 

I want to wonder. I want to marvel. I want to keep my idealism. I want to stay awake.

 

I want to laugh a boisterous laugh that springs up from my belly, no matter where I find myself, especially if I find myself in a place where crying seems more logical.

 

I want to be illogical. I think I already am.

 

I want to defy expectations. Surpass them.

 

I want to love deeply, fiercely.

 

I want to be passionate about whatever I am doing at any given moment.

 

I want to be unashamed to be me: independent, perhaps a tad bit too stubborn, rejecting of the labels society tries to put on me because of my gender, choosing to be the best I can be – whether I am a friend, a sister, a girlfriend, a mother, an employee, a service coordinator, a wife, an aunt, a daughter, a teacher, a mentor, a writer.  

 

I want to be who I am not. I want to always strive for more, to be better, to be molded more into the image of my Lord.

 

I want to fight injustice, to see it broken, to see lives set free.

 

I want to be crazy enough to grasp that life is not about getting, that Christianity has little to do with religion, that building the church is not about my building or your building or any building, that missions is not the calling of a select few who travel overseas.

 

I want to stand, eyes closed, in the middle of a bustling city, where the language is different and the skin color is inevitably darker than mine. I want to watch the sun set hours before it would in America.

 

I want to live large, to live richly, to breathe deeply, to dance with my wandering feet in the desert, by the sea, over the mountains.

 

I want extraordinary.   

The Art of Being Thankful

I took a lovely drive through the countryside today in a minivan that has seen better years. The longer I drove, the more rural my surroundings became - long patches of forest occasionally punctuated by either a gorgeous house or a run-down trailer with anything you could ever think of scattered in the surrounding yard. My job took me to the outskirts of the county I work in, indeed, as I reached my first destination, I crossed the county line.

After a rather long hour of waiting in the overcrowded waiting room of a small-town clinic (I was not there for myself), I decided to take the scenic route home, meandering my way through a few small towns and driving by a gorgeous scenic overlook. I must remember to bring my camera one of these times I am out that way. On my way out of one town I was surprised to see what must have been an Amish or Mennonite family driving down the main road in a horse and wagon. Don’t tell, but I discretely snapped a picture with my cell phone to send to all my friends. They didn’t see me. I have a strange and rather strong fascination with that kind of lifestyle. A dream of mine has been to spend a summer among the Amish…being Amish, basically. Think what fodder it would provide for my fingers to write about!

It was on the lengthy ride back to my office that my thoughts drifted towards the art of being thankful. Today, I am thankful for a sweet boyfriend who once again has a cell phone in his possession after a week of going without.

I am thankful:

For $1 ice cream sundae’s at McDonalds, bought on a brief foray out of the office this afternoon with two lovely co-workers who have taken me under their wing, and welcomed me with warm friendship.

For sightings of Amish buggies, and scenic overlooks on the long drives my job takes me on.

For the smile I brought to an otherwise somber young-man’s face.

That I can lift my thoughts up to my Lord at any time, grateful, incredibly so, that I do not journey through life on my own.

For hope. And purpose. Guidance. An intimate relationship with my God.

That I can read. And write. And comprehend. And express myself verbally.

___________________

I asked my Lord today where he was going to take me in this life. And oh how my spirit thrills to hear him speak of the promise of all that is to come. I smiled as I drove in the decrepit, dirty minivan. For my Father in heaven has great plans for me, and I am so blessed that he allows me to taste here and there a little bit of what lies ahead, that he guides my steps so that I can be prepared for what I know not of.  And O, his faithfulness!! When I think of all that has transpired in the last 6 months, even the last 2, I am so awed. The church family I am a part of, the job I have, the boyfriend!! Who would have thought? Certainly not me! I am practicing the art of being thankful, but it is easy these days.

Josh and I

Buttermilk Falls on a very rainy morning

Walking thru the camp we are taking a group of inner city kids to this summer.

Lake Placid

Some of my amazing church family. Who would have thought that a girl who grew up in a rather large church would be more than content being a part of a kid’s outreach ministry, no longer dreaming of ways to escape her city, but rather dreaming of ways to make the biggest impact for the Lord in the places that need it most. How the tables turn!

The Adirondacks - Beautiful!

The cutest boy in the world holding his new niece. (Ok, I might be a little biased…eh…no, he is). It seemed a fitting picture to end with…