Pain and Grace

I feel like I am on the cusp of learning something. That this hard thing called life, is one big exercise in teaching me something vital about obedience and faith, love, hope, and peace.

The women’s Bible Study at my church is slowly going through the book of Ruth. The guide we are following is very thorough and garners rich insight from just a single phrases of Scripture. As a woman, I really appreciate being able to look at Ruth and Naomi’s struggles, fears, and faith, and imagine what I would do or feel in the same situation. In the face of loss, rejection, and loneliness, they were women of enormous courage. As I compare my life to theirs I recognize that I live with much fear. Fear of loss, fear of loneliness, fear of pain. These things were real to Ruth and Naomi. But their obedience to God carried them through to the other side, into the Lord’s provision, care, and peace.

What would it look like for me to take steps of faith like that? In what area of my life is God calling me to obedience? Am I living in the freedom of Christ?

I used to think that I understood the meaning of faith, obedience and freedom. It’s not very difficult when one leads a clean, quiet, safe life. But those seasons never last very long. Life is more often messy, clamorous, and vulnerable. I am learning that these things are not the absence or silence of God, but His way of getting our attention. I recently heard a sermon by Charles Stanley about listening to God. He emphasized that God often speaks to us in our restlessness. If we are willing to respond to anxiety, discomfort, and pain with prayer, God is there to guide us in whatever way He knows will get our attention.

I am in a season that could definitely be described as messy, clamorous and vulnerable. But through God’s grace, I also feel an underlying string of hope shifting into place. I’ve shared before about my church. It is a small church, with a uniquely blessed community all living within the same few zip codes. This tight community makes life decisions and struggles about so much more than just me. Living in such a transient neighborhood and city, the largest struggle has been the loss friends who move away. When this happens, I react with great sensitivity and empathy. I can feel my anxiety bubbling up, just thinking about how many things their leaving will impact. But this unease and hurt is a gift from God. It is a wake-up call. C.S. Lewis wrote about it in his book, The Problem of Pain: “Pain insists upon being attended to. God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our consciences, but shouts in our pains. It is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world.”

One of my favorite Christian writers, Catherine Marshall, fills much of her books with this concept. Throughout her lifetime she experienced great loss, affliction, and loneliness, yet she records a distinct moment when she traded resignation for acceptance through a prayer of relinquishment. In her book, Beyond Ourselves, she describes it this way:
 

“Resignation is barren of faith in the love of God. It says ‘grievous circumstances have come to me. There is no escaping them. I am only once creature, an alien in a vast unknowable creation. I have no heart left even to rebel. So I’ll just resign myself to what apparently is the will of God; I’ll even try to make a virtue out of patience submission.’ So resignation lies down quietly in the dust of a universe from which God seems to have fled, and the door of Hope swings shut.” 

“But turn the coin over. Acceptance says, “I trust the good will, the love of my God. I’ll open my arms and my understanding to what He has allowed to come to me. Since I know that He means to make all things work together for good, I consent to this present situation with hope for what the future will bring.’ Thus acceptance leaves the door of Hope wide open to God’s creative plan. This difference between acceptance and resignation is the key to an understanding of the Prayer of Relinquishment.” (Chapter 6, p. 104)

This is the kind of truth you cannot come to without pain leading the way. I would much rather not have to deal with the grief and loneliness of departed friends, but I am also realizing that I would not trade away these times of God’s deep grace. He has gotten my attention. Now to the challenge of listening for what He is saying, walking where He is leading, and watching for what He is providing.

This is What Vulnerability Looks Like

One of my favorite things about Sunday evenings is donning my apron, laying out all my ingredients, and making soup or stew for the coming week. It is a ritual that I prepare for with research and imagination. It is a creative endeavor with a practical outcome. It both excites and calms me. And it is something that I enjoy doing alone.

As you read this, I wish I could turn your attention to previous posts I’ve written on this topic. But the problem is, I haven’t posted them yet. I’ve written them, yes, even added to them, and questioned them. I just can’t seem to find a good starting point. And every story, essay, or article must have a starting point. When it comes to thoughts, however, they don’t often have a clear beginning. Thoughts, and even dreams, wind themselves around and around in our minds. By the grace of God, something concrete begins to form.

So, last Sunday evening, I was extremely grateful when I began cooking and had this tangible thought: cooking is something I enjoy doing alone. Here is the reason I bring this up: sometimes it is very hard for me to be alone. I have wrestled with this truth. I’ve tried to ignore it, push it aside. I’m tried to wrap my mind around the science of being an introvert who struggles with loneliness (this should be an oxymoron, right?). Even in the midst of solo activities that I enjoy, it is so easy for me to turn my thoughts to feelings of loneliness and dejection.

This I know: I am good at being alone. I am not good at being lonely.

I could wallow in this unfortunate fact (and I often do), or I can acknowledge it, and seek Truth to fill in the gaps. My head knows that as a follower of Christ, I have the freedom to be content in His love. But why is it so hard for my heart to feel the same?

I am confident that I am not the only one who feels and experiences this. It has taken a great amount of vulnerability for me to get to this point where I can share my struggles, but I do so because I know that healing and growth is often sparked when one person’s openness  begins to resonates with yours. I can only write about these things today because countless others have gone before me, trusting that the way God designed their minds and hearts was not a mistake. I have chosen to “dig deep,” to seek out Scripture and the life-giving perspectives of some of my favorite Christian authors. Their writings and memoirs have helped me gain perspective and assisted me in forming a theology of loneliness and belonging. It is their words that I will reflect on. 

I am by no means done with this journey, but I am finally at a place where I can share what I’ve learned, and in the process, etch these truths deeper into my own soul. I cannot tell you how long this “series” will last, but I know it will take some time to hash out all I want to share. I invite you to join me along the way. If something resonates with you, copy it down, bookmark it, tag it, store it for a time when you will need to be reminded of it.

There are times when we will all feel lonely, but we are never alone. For the steadfast love of the Lord never ceases. He mercies never come to an end. They are new every morning, great is His faithfulness. (Lamentations 3:22-23).

Thoughts from the Practicum

Prac·ti·cum: a practical section of a course of study. 

This summer I’ve been doing a practicum at the Evanston Public Library. I’m there one day a week, and most of that time is spent observing or participating in the library’s various summer programs for children and teens. Last week I had the opportunity to jump in a bit and help.

I began the day by reading a book about vegetables to a room full of 40 toddlers and their caregivers. It was fun, and I can totally imagine myself running a program like this in the future. It combines the right amount of creativity, management, and children-adult interaction that gets me excited for my future as a children’s librarian. But what really got me excited happened later in the day. In two different instances, I encountered children who probably wouldn’t be in the library except for the organizations and programs that brought them there– programs known for supporting library-use and summer reading.

First the Evanston YMCA and Y.O.U. summer camp brought in a couple dozen kids for a drop-in craft time. It was chaos, but in the most perfect way. The kids were engaging with the activity, asking for help, and trying with all their might to create a beautiful coffee-filter butterflies. As I jumped around instructing and assisting, my hands became messy with colorful marker residue, but this momentary interaction with each child was a genuine way to show mutual respect, care, and responsibility.

A few hours later, the Evanston YMCA and Y.O.U. (this time in conjunction with a summer reading initiative sponsored by a Evanston foundation formed in the memory of a local boy who was tragically killed in 2013) brought about 60 kids to hear this year’s Newbery award winning author Kwame Alexander talk about his new book, “Crossover.” Honestly, I don’t think I’ll be able to get into the book, it’s written in verse and is a little hard to follow. But it is a very timely – a quintessential book of the contemporary African American youth experience. As Kwame was talking about the book and the process of writing in general, he said he didn’t set out to change the world when he wrote the book (a few dozen versions, actually, before he was able to get it published), but now that he is seeing its impact, he is taking the message and running with it. “The world needs to know what there are black boys like this,” he said.

Kwame is an effective champion of reading, creativity, poetry, and the diverse human experience. His message that day focused on the importance of saying YES in the face of adversity, and it was very clear that he wants both girls and boys to enjoy reading. I was astonished to see young boys and girls of every color engaged in what he was saying and actually asked questions about the book. They related to it, and they related to him, who spoke both candidly and at their level. It was beautiful.

When it comes to issued of equality and rights, I am often a quiet advocate, not feeling the need to raise my voice very loudly, and also not knowing when it’s the best time to jump in. But days like this make me want to tell everyone I know about the small ways lives are being impacted by the power of books. The group of people in that room were as diverse as they come, both in skin color, socio-economic background, and education, but the fact that they were all brought together through the commonality of reading is a really encouraging thing to see. There’s that saying that it “takes a village to raise a child,” well, I was seeing an example of a community clearly coming together for the betterment of its young people.

When I first moved to Rogers Park I helped out a lot with my church’s youth group. It was a group made up of neighborhood  elementary and middle schoolers. I got to know kids I would have never met before. And I learned a lot about how issues of race and socio-economic status effect the kids in this neighborhood. That group of kids no longer exists within the four walls of our church, but my heart still breaks for those kids and their daily struggles. So many are effected by broken homes and gang violence. So, to see a group of kids, only a few miles north of Rogers Park, with so much support and encouragement, it makes me want to take part again – but this time as a librarian.

Pain to Teach Me That My Strength is Not My Own

I sometimes forget that I deal with chronic pain. I know that sounds hard to believe when migraines often hit half the days out of a month. But somehow it does. From day to day, they don’t plague my existence. The pain doesn’t define who I am. I am in graduate school, studying to be a librarian. I like to cook and bake, bike along the lake, take close-up digital photos of things outdoors. 

But the days when I am experiencing the most intense pain are the days I would not be sitting down to write about these things. These are the days I would be hunched on the couch in front of a Netflix marathon or driving frantically around the northwestern Chicago suburbs in search of my pain-killer prescription from Costco.

My pain shouldn’t define who I am. But recently I went to see a neurologist and was prescribed a new medication--one that might hopefully prevent my migraines from happening in the first place. Instead of jumping at the opportunity, I was wary. The list of side-effects was long and scary. Things I already battle with, and things I often fear. Yet, I knew I needed to take a step of faith, a step in any direction.

It’s only been a few days, but the side-effects are true to their word. I am dizzy and weak, ill-at-ease, and on top of all that, dealing with regular-old-headaches from the transition. I am told these will lessen in a week as my body adjusts, and I am praying this is true.

This is certainly one of those thorns Paul was talking about in 2 Corinthians 12. But it has reminded me of a very valuable truth: my strength needs to come 100% from Jesus. And not just a “fill-’er-up” in the morning kind of strength, but every single moment throughout my day.

Isn’t it odd, that it takes pain to teach me that my strength is not my own?

"Silence Makes Us Knock"

It is not easy for me to take time off for myself. But this week, I am on a solo vacation in a quite little town in Michigan. It has been a great time to gain perspective and get some much needed rest. I wonder if this is why the Israelites were often called away into the desert to worship the Lord. Stepping aside from the daily grind can do wonders. But it also makes one think.

And recently I’ve been thinking about God’s timing. I am one year into my newest educational endeavor (something I thought would never happen!) and loving the things I am learning. When I was doing my first round of graduate school, I loved the topic, but didn’t engage with that I was learning. Looking back though all the course work and subsequent job searching, it turned out to not be the right fit anyway. This often makes me wonder why God allowed me to go through that program (and spend all that money), when four years later I would be drawn to something different and seemingly more fulfilling.

In thinking about all this (for probably the millionth time), I stumbled upon an article entitled “When God Seems Silent” on the Desiring God website. It’s probably the best piece, and most clarifying perspective, I’ve ever read about “waiting for God.” The author put it this way:

There is a pattern in the design of deprivation: Deprivation draws out desire. Absence heightens desire. And the more heightened the desire, the greater its satisfaction will be. It is the mourning that will know the joy of comfort (Matthew 5:4). It is the hungry and thirsty that will be satisfied (Matthew 5:6). Longing makes us ask, emptiness makes us seek, silence makes us knock (Luke 11:9).

We may complain about God’s timing for a multitude of different reasons, but the fact is, it is the process that God has designed for us to walk through. Unfortunately, we are often blind to this. It is as though we are walking through a dark tunnel, just trying to get to the other side. But the beauty of God’s timing is looking back and seeing how He has led, what He has led us through, and the impact His faithfulness has had—not only on our own selves, but the lives of those around us.

When I stop and take the time to think about it, I am amazed at the masterful interweaving of people, time, and space that God has used throughout history to fulfill His purposes. I am reading a great book about this right now—Catherine Marshall’s A Man Called Peter. In it she recounts her late husband’s story of faith, in which he once imagined God saying, “I have all the circumstances planned and all my helpers designated, to make sure that my plan does not go awry.” Peter Marshall was no stranger to challenges and obstacles, and he soon learned that the Hand that firmly shut one door was God’s, not mans. And more importantly, it was God who would be the one to open another.

There’s a quote floating around Pinterest that goes something like this: “If you’re waiting for God to open the door, praise Him in the hallway.” It sounds a little too easy and cliche. But we do so often neglect to have thankfulness in all things. Let us remember to praise Him for His perfect plan, for His faultless  timing, and for the “longing which makes us ask, the emptiness that makes us seek, and the silence that makes us knock.”

Looking Up

This evening as I was walking towards the beach, I held a steady pace behind a man who was walking confidently with his nose in a book. He paused after a while and turned towards the gate in front of him, as if he was heading home. He looked up from his book and with a surprised expression exclaimed, “I’m on the wrong street!”

I almost laughed. I would have, if I hadn’t taken his exclamation so seriously.

My roommate and I are in the midst of searching for a new apartment. And while this man’s story could be an analogy for our house-hunt, it is a picture of something a little bigger. His actions struck me because, while I have been scouring the internet and re-tracing my steps through the neighborhood in search of a new place to call home, I have neglected to look Up.

I’m sure I am not alone. It’s not like we try to whole-heartedly focus on the ground beneath our feet or the book below our noses. Yet somewhere along the way (often within the span of a few minutes), our pride takes over and we forget to look up and see the One we should fix our eyes on.

This might seem like an ordinary observation, nothing like a epiphany, but in reality it is a daily struggle. And it should be. Not the struggle part, but the day-in-and-day-out. On this side of heaven, walking by faith is not meant to be easy. We will never get it “right.” It is a process.

The author of Hebrews describes it as a race. I am not a fan of running, but when I walk (walk by faith) I am reminded that I cannot do it full of pride and self-certainty. This is why he instructs, “Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith” (Hebrews 12:2). Only through Him. It has been painful remembering this. But maybe next time it won’t take me so long to look up.