Merciful Reset

This time of year we can hardly help it.  

Or maybe it's just me.

 

Christmas celebrations fold into New Year's Eve, and I'm all nostalgic and reflective.  It's an attempt to capture the important points of my life's story over the past twelve months, and then put that on a trajectory to take me into the year ahead.  

 

At this particular junction between calendars - from 2018 to 2019 - there seems to be more to reflect on than usual.  The year past was one of extraordinary change for me, changes I am still adjusting to even as I embrace them fully.  In fact, 2018 is very clearly cut in half for me - before May 27 and after.  

 

Two completely different worlds.  

 

As I step with careful confidence into 2019, I realize that I am still very much making my way on brand new territory.  

 

That always gives opportunity for making lots of mistakes.  

It also opens itself up for brand new adventures.  

So I guess what I'm most grateful for today, 

this first day of the new year, 

is three things:  

Grace 

New Mornings 

Being "Hesed-Loved"

The Grace of all those who have carried, 

supported, 

released 

and otherwise loved me 

through one of the most significant changes of my life thus far.  

The New Mornings of merciful reset that happen every single day, 

and all that lay within them, 

and all the new ways of being and knowing 

that are stretched out before us as soon as the clock strikes midnight.

The "Hesed" Love (loving faithfulness) of a God who just never gives up on me, no matter what, and how that emboldens me for all that should terrify me about the year to come.

 

I was asked casually this week by a cashier if I had any New Year's resolutions.  I smiled and made some polite conversation.  But.  If she only knew the lists and plans and goals and strategies I've been writing and reworking and revising for months and months in anticipation of the new things I'm doing into 2019!  

 

But for all that, it's really more about taking each day for what it is and what it could be.  Receiving the grace and embracing the new morning and being loved with fierce faithfulness.

 Lamentation 3:22-23

The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases;

his mercies never come to an end;

they are new every morning;

great is your faithfulness. 

So I step bravely into what is coming, 

knowing Who has walked with me all this time up until now;

each morning,

especially this morning, 

a merciful reset into all He's allowing me to become, 

for His plans and purposes.

When She Said Yes

"I am the Lord's servant," 

Mary answered.

"May it be to me as you have said."

Luke 1:38

These just might be the most pivotal words ever spoken.

I risk exaggeration or over simplification, 

but it's hard for me to unhook my heart from this consideration.   

A maiden unassuming,

with a wedding looming, 

says "yes" to what she knows is impossible 

and cosmic 

and all-consuming. 

And in so doing 

brings about the rescue of humanity 

from insanity.

She.  Says.  Yes.

And I pause in the mess of my own ego-grasping,

gasping at the enormity of her conformity to the plan of God.

She bears the One,

the Son,

and the whole of the created universe

is changed forever,

severed from a destiny of self-destruction

by the self-deflection of one surrendered heart.

And this is how God chooses to bring redemption.

Through human suspension of self-will.

She.  Says.  Yes.

Pivotal.

My yes seems less.

Unless....

What if God still does this?

What if Jesus is carried and delivered

by unshivered hearts that still declare the yes

even now, in this mess?

What if yes is God's conduit of grace,

somehow vibrating through my face to 

bring the Redemption

to a world that still so badly needs Him?

My yes seems less unless

there's a pivotal yes for me to say

today

to bring and sing the same song of abandon Mary sang

Somehow

To be that broken and unspoken jar of clay;
a way of shalom
of redemption
of bigger things than my own assumptions
Here and now
To say
Yes
And watch with wonder
What He'll do with it.

 

Glory Laid By

I confess to a need in me to be important.

Of all the mirrors of self-awareness 2018 held up to my inner terrain, this was one of the most troubling.  It seems that there is much work to be done in my soul here.  It's difficult work and I don't like how it makes me all angsty.

But I am finding Christmas is good for what ails this soul right now.

Because I also confess to a restless fascination with the whole Christmas idea that God was born.
That He actually did that.
That He actually 'laid His glory by' as Wesley pens it in Mendelssohn's  carol "Hark the Herald Angels  Sing".

Mild, He does this.

The Incarnation.  

           The concept that the Creator and Sustainer of the Universe, 

the King of Everything, 

Sovereign  Deity and Holy God 

actually stepped down and contained Himself in our time and space, 

actually wrapped Himself in human flesh 

and entered our world in a messy, beautiful, intimate, humble miracle.

God puts aside god-ness to become like me. 

How is that even a thing?

I am more inclined to push against my humanity to be something more.  More in control.  More significant.  More listened to.  I tend to grasp for, long for power and status.  And it's so insidious in me that I don't even realize it until some of it is taken away and I feel afraid of the plain humanity I'm left with.

But not God.

God did not regard it a thing to be grasped, but He emptied Himself.  All the way.

All the way to the gush of amniotic fluid and blood, and needing someone to wipe Him off and clear His mouth and nose so He could breathe.  All the way to absolute vulnerability, and needing someone to wrap something warm around Him, and to nurse Him.

All that way.

He went all that way so I could be free of all the subtle and not-so-subtle insidiousness that still entangles me, these 61 Christmases of my life later, when I am undone again by my need to be important to which I confess.

Sweet Baby Jesus, 

laying there without Your glory, 

forgive me.

Work in me 

until I want to be mild like You 

more than anything else.

Fasting and the Feast of the Returning

I am awake with joy this morning.  

A long endurance of six months ends 

as this Sunday dawns with an eager return to my community of faith.

My tribe, my peeps, my beloveds.  That essential place of belonging that every human soul needs to survive and thrive.  God knows, so He invented the Church.  And I love His Church, as flawed as she/we may be.  And I especially love the Church that gathers together and calls herself/ourselves Highview.

This is a community I've loved recklessly for what seems like my entire life.   So these months apart, although necessary and wisely planned, turn out to have been a wretched-wondrous opportunity for a kind of fasting.  Fasting - The deprivation of something longed for and the hungers evoked in doing so, and the clarity that comes when you're just that needy.   So beautifully humbling is this neediness, and I have been humbled, oh so humbled by my neediness these long, long months.

The intensity of my hunger for worship and receiving Communion with people to whom I belong was shocking, and disorienting, and unnerving.   My need for the touch of friends, to be embraced, to be spoken to with affirmation became cravings that threatened my sense of self.  Without the 'together' of life for this past while, I found myself alone in ways I had never had to be before.

And it forced me into God's heart.  

Pushed me there with an alarming force.  

And there He reminded me of the two things.  

One, He is enough.  

Two, I was created for connection.

Over a long ministry of preaching and teaching I have expounded on a theology of community, likening it to the Divine Community of Father, Son and Holy Spirit, explaining that our need for connection is one of the ways we bear the image of God, citing Scripture texts in abundance that call us to love and be loved, know and be known.  I've preached it.  And the thing is, these six months I found out in real time, in sharp ways, it's all true! Like, really, really true. 

It really is true that we need each other to be whole spiritual beings. 

It really is true that our corporate offering of worship reorients us to True North.

It really is true that we share in the Bread and the Cup in sacred ways when we take it together.

It really is true that love is the main thing.

And love sustains and love feeds and love bears and love rejoices.

And today, oh day of feasting, this day I return.  My hungry heart comes home. 

Home to a new way of being, with sensitivity and submission and great awareness of what's weird about it.  But a new way of being I'm so very willing to figure out, just for the privilege of being home.

I am so very grateful for my God who is enough.
I am so very grateful for the Elders of Highview who have invited me to stick around in this new thing.
I am so very grateful to Pastor Erin for her grace and courage to take some risks with me as we continue to serve Highview together in different ways.
I am so very grateful for my husband Ken who has held me through these difficult months.
And I am so very grateful for my community of faith, for being so amazing that it hurt that much to be away from you.

And now.....the fast is ended.  

Let the feasting begin!

All This Time

"I will come and proclaim Your mighty acts,

O Sovereign Lord,

I will proclaim your righteousness,

Yours alone.

Since my youth, O God, you have taught me,

and to this day I declare Your marvelous deeds.

Psalm 71:16-17

Is it really possible that tomorrow I will get on the plane to come back to Canada?

This warp that separates my two worlds by twelve hours also plays with my sense of time passing, I think.  This hurling forwards into tomorrow adds to any sense of not knowing what day it is, how long it's been.  Because really, it seems to me that I just got here, AND that I've been here much longer.  Like, maybe always.  Happens a lot here.  I relax into the rhythms of life, get it right about drinking enough water, let myself have the afternoons off, and press into the days that are a flurry of the unexpected.  And it feels like I've been doing this all my life.

This distortion of time has been exaggerated these specific four weeks, however.  Big things happening at home make for a weirdness in being away that's hard to describe.  And as such, I've barely written.  Barely blogged.  Which isn't great when there are so many faithful friends who are praying with me and supporting the work here, and you all really ought to know what's going on, just generally, in a day to day, kind of way.

But my heart is heavy with the passing of a dear friend, Jen, who also loved this place and these children.  And when I left, even though things didn't look great, we both expected that I would see her again this side of glory.  Now instead, I arrive home to conduct the celebration of life service of someone I love very much.  And this following a six month absence from the community of faith I love so dearly.  And we're all grieving, and I'm back to grieve together.  And I'm so glad for that.

But at the same time it feels distorted and strained.  It feels so stretched to have been away.

Happily, my grandson Jayden's six day-stay in the hospital did finally come to an end.  But in the real-time of it, over texting and emails with his mother, my daughter....It just was so not okay with my Gramma heart not to be there.  Again, stretched out too tight, too far.

And now packing, knowing that I will again be hurling myself through time, backwards now,  And it will only exchange one heart-stretching for another.  Because really, it seems to me that I just got here.  And there's so much more to do.  Especially now that our New Family Foundation has been officially accepted by the Thai government, and we are a real live entity.  Especially now, on the cusp of this vision that Pastors Suradet and Yupa have held up to God for more than seven years, asking me along, and asking for the widened capacity of love and ministry this brings.

And we have been so busy on those days of unexpected flurry!  District offices, and tax departments and banks and signs being made and stamps being inked.  Budgets to clarify and job descriptions to write and lists to make of what comes first and what comes next and what have we actually gotten ourselves into?

And I have dug deep into what it means to do this cross-culturally this time out.  My studies this semester have been about this very thing.  About how we partner with each other, leveraging the differences in how we think, behave, speak and live for the increased effectiveness of sharing the story and the love of the Jesus we say we follow.  Deep reading.  Oh so much reading.  And then, while here, putting lesson plans into actions, preaching sermons, one in Thai, and writing, writing, writing the reports and the research paper.  And then, just this morning, getting it all sent in, a little ahead of time.

So this stretching, this pulling has been awful and splendid at the same time.

I don't understand why my friend had to get cancer in the first place, let alone why her time to leave us had to happen when I was away.  I don't pretend to have any great, philosophical, or even theological answer to put it all away in a tidy box.  This was messy.  This trip, this being here when so much was going on at home, and so much was going on here, it was just messy.  And there were times when the stress plus the heat sent me to my bed for the better part of the afternoon, just coping.

But.



When it all gets that much out of my grasp, it's just another way of remembering again and again that we're co-writers of our lives, not the one and only authors.  Those of us who have invited God to lead and direct, we surrender, don't we?  Aren't we supposed to be letting Him be God?

And the crazy thing about it is, that He actually gets us involved in it.  We're not hapless victims of His 'perfect plan and purpose'.  As we cooperate, we get to help write the story.

I stop here every time I think of this.

We get to co-write our story with God.

At least that's how it seems to me.  Every time we say yes.  Every time we watch Him do something different than we expected and believe that He knows what He's doing, He knows how to be God.  Every time we're on the wrong side of the planet and our humanity gets in the way of us being everything and everywhere we want to be.  Every time we just say, okay, do Your thing.  I'm with You, even in this.  I praise You even in this....Every time that's another chapter of a story that's worth living.

So I put this month into the bigger strand of months that make up the years of my life, and it doesn't have to make sense all by itself.  I know this.  I know because an eleven year old girl once said yes to God if He wanted to take her to Asia.

And in that moment it didn't make any sense at all.

But it does now.

So, this month....I'll let it take its time to explain itself to me.  But even if it doesn't.  Even if I never know all the reasons for all the things, for being far away and right here at the same time, it's okay.  Because God knows.  He does.  And all my life, all my life, He has been faithful to me.

Woven

Both and.

This band,
this weaving of a beautiful-wretched way of life,
and strife.  Here,
there, stretched bare
between the tensions
on this loom of a two-worlds life.

I find myself tamped down

switched around.
Threads dangling in the wrangling
of a secure design
assigned by unseen Hands.

Both and.

Both joy and muddle
in the rhythm of the shuttle
and the shuffle
of friends dying far away.
Again.
Again.


But.

News of new babies
and Thai ladies
and sunshine in the bleak month
of November.
Bai teo to a holy place
reminding me of undeserved grace
even in this stretched out place
of grim realities.

So I surrender in November,
this piece of my humanity -
and the insanity of wishing I could be present in the
both and.
Here and there.

Because God is.
Here and there.

And in this both and
I can rest in knowing
He's showing Himself
in brilliant pieces of tapestry.
A mastery of peace.

When It All Starts To Make Sense

Photo Credit:  Evangeline Wilton

It's more than just the lack of humidity these first few days.  Although it does provide a metaphor.

I've been here in November before, but don't remember it being quite this pleasant.  Temperatures are very agreeable for sleeping at night, and, during the day, a high of 30ish is a a fine contrast to the cold and rainy and windy weather we left behind.  But even more, there's really no humidity to speak of.   And I'm sure that wasn't the case when I was here in the fall of 2015.  All day I feel it.  Just that easy comfort of a perfect day of warmth and sunshine, relaxed and deeply convinced that this is where I need to be right now.

If humidity makes heat feel hotter, then we could say stress makes work - even well loved work - 'workier'.  Not as organic, not as focused, not as enjoyable.

Despite the strong matters that made it difficult to leave (and which very much still occupy my heart and my prayers) I find again that happy reality I experienced when I was here in August.  I am now doing this one thing.  And now, doing this part of what I believe God is asking me to do is so much more organic, focused and enjoyable in this new reality.

I'm hating to admit it for fear it may sound like I did not love being a pastor.  I did.  With my whole heart.  Enough to make these past five months drill down into the work of grieving and of letting go.  I don't think that is done either.

But being here and feeling the difference - the difference in how much I can be fully present in each moment, how easier it is to adapt and go with the flow, how clear-minded I am about what I'm teaching and for my language study, and how often I feel myself ride a little wave of "I can't believe I get to do this!!!!" - I think something very wonderful is starting to make sense.

This stepping aside from pastor and moving into missionary was a good idea.

When you make a decision as impactful as stepping away from a ministry you helped birth, and have been actively and ridiculously involved in throughout it's 20 year history, when you do that, it really shakes your pysche.  But here I feel oriented again, in my element again, like things fit again.

And with the clearer air of just one focus, yes, I can breathe easier. 

Of course, having said all that, I'm here for the month and then, oh glorious then, on December 2, I get to be back at Highview again.  So I think, this visit, there's also a LOT to look forward to going home.

Photo Credit: Evangeline Wilton

The month is still before me. 

We've only begun the first of three units prepared to help us be Strong, Smart and Savoury.  We're memorizing Zechariah 4:6.  We've got 100 words of vocab to learn.  And I get to distill it all into a research paper about this very thing that has captured my heart - cross cultural ministry relationships.

Here comes another little wave because, really...

I can't believe I get to do this!