Category: a hope and a future (Page 16 of 20)

Blinded by the light

While my evening Pandora listening fluctuates between Mumford & Sons or Nora Jones stations, my morning routine is dominated by the David Crowder Band worship station. This morning I took note of how many of the songs revolved around God’s presence during hard times – storms, raging seas and general calamity. Much of the language (though, thankfully, not all) includes an element of God lifting us out of the pit, our places of desperation.

Looking at it with a historical-critical approach, a good amount of worship music amassed just after our country went through its collective dark time of 9/11 and now we’ve been introduced to living in an era of uncertainty. I recall (a personal favorite) Blessed Be the Name rising in popularity after the towers fell, as a response to tragedy. Later, I sang David Crowder’s Never Let Go on repeat while I miscarried our first baby. I would “sing until it’s true” and music became a rope to pull me from the depths of grief.

It’s a beautiful thing to find God’s presence in the darkness. We need to see the light breaking through.

The other morning, we headed east toward the school and drove directly into the sun’s blinding morning rays. I tried sunglasses, a visor and even my hands to block the glare and see the stoplights. The light was so bright – as one of my kids says, “there’s too much day!” – I couldn’t see right in front of me.

As a culture, we’re good at finding God in the darkness. But could we be blinded by the light?

Is it possible to have so much light, so many good things, that we can barely sense God’s presence? Instead we settle for the neon and chrome the world artificially produces.

When you ask people of faith why they believe, they often site the ways in which God got them through the hard times, which is good and right. Such experiences are unshakable. Finding God in the darkness is not the easy way out. Perhaps, just as believing is often finding God in the darkness, a life of  faithfulness means finding God in the light.

Just before God took his people into the Promised Land, he told them (Deuteronomy 6) through Moses: When the Lord your God brings you into the land he swore to your fathers, to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, to give you—a land with large, flourishing cities you did not build, houses filled with all kinds of good things you did not provide, wells you did not dig, and vineyards and olive groves you did not plant—then when you eat and are satisfied, be careful that you do not forget the Lord, who brought you out of Egypt, out of the land of slavery. (Emphasis mine)

Though far from perfect, I’m living a pretty blessed life right now. We have strong families behind us, friends among us, a family of faith around us. We can pay our bills and feed our family with enough to spare to send them to a wonderful preschool and go on vacation. We’re healthy, happy and free. If my faith was only big enough for God to move into the darkness, then it would be a pretty small place for Him right now. The challenge, then, is to keep moving toward the true light.

Reserved

A year ago I got off the plane in Austin, where it was only 2 degrees warmer than Ohio, for the first ever IF:Conference. This thing was an enigma, but I knew I wanted to be there – my favorite writers would be speaking and they were trying for a whole new thing when it comes to Christian women’s conferences. I hungered for a sense of authenticity, a newness within my familiar Christian world.

 

Alas, she will not be at IF this year, she's too busy having another baby. Seriously, who has 4 kids?!

Alas, she will not be at IF this year, she’s too busy having another baby. Four babies. Who does that?!

At the first session Lori and I sat so close to the reserved tables we could have swiped their cell phones and programmed in our own numbers. We refrained. As Jen Hatmaker arrived in the 11th hour, she asked the general population of Reserved Table Sitters where she could find a seat. I said, loud enough to be heard, there was a seat open right beside me. She didn’t rush over.

I rummaged up the nerve to walk over and introduce myself to my favorite blogger, Sarah Bessey. I’m awful at small talk and generally awkward around new people, specifically those who have no clue who I am, yet whose work profoundly shapes me. I can find specific places where her words have etched a new pattern or direction, a new hope, into my life. What is the appropriate way to introduce yourself to such a person? What do you say and how do you not gush?

After my idol-stalking, I made my way back to my seat among the commoners, aware I had made my role for the weekend a taker – a receiver. An audience member. I felt small. Even in a more intimate venue with hospitable atmosphere, I carried a sense of division between those who were doing God’s work and those there to learn how.

This invisible division was not the work of the speakers or event organizers. It was the work of a liar, one who wanted me to take the easy way out – comparing and belittling myself and others.

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In black, on the right, Hatmaker, et. al.

As the worship music began playing, I watched. These women who had such genius thoughts and words, who led organizations and spoke to crowds of thousands, sang with me the same words to the same tune.

I loved IF. I came back inspired, ready to live out my next chapter. I read Jennie Allen’s Restless in its entirety on the plane ride home. I grew in my sense of clarity and confidence. I vowed to stop apologizing for myself. (Thank you Brene for reiterating that promise this year). Overall the conference propelled me into a generally positive direction, getting me off my ass and into work for kingdom things. I dug into ideas for reaching the women of my own church with this fresh breath. My hopes were high – we could grow BIG and be REAL and go DEEP in our faith.

This is what I wanted.

Except, not really. What I really wanted was to do something well. I wanted on the map. I wanted to find a way to that reserved table. I went looking for a way to validate my life and my ministry. I took off in search of a victory story to bring back, believing it was a step toward a someday when I could be a part of that, over there, with those people.

And I failed. And then I quit.

I failed mostly because the thing I offered our church women was not what they are seeking. I worked in marketing mode, starting with my product then creating a felt need and offering the solution to that need. I believed if we just made it BIGGER and BETTER and all of those cool-kid things, we would see success. I was foolish. A successful ministry is one in which people leave closer to God – period. That, over there, with those people, is not this, right here, with these people.

Over and over in our world, I’m convinced bigger does not mean better. It means centralized, it means cheaper and often it means under control. But it doesn’t mean better.

And so it goes in the Christian Celebrity world. I have continued to voraciously read the work of well-known leaders and grow from their wisdom.  I have also become alert to the dangers of celebritizing them. There’s a concern in believing an elite group keeps all the answers. (It’s especially dangerous if you put people like me in that group because we like to think we have all the answers.)

Not a single woman on the panel of speakers comes from a rural context, where talented and faithful people grow disciples, largely unnoticed. If the pastor of my childhood church could get the town’s entire population into church on a given Sunday, s/he still would not have more than the local megachurch here in Dayton on a slow day. Numbers don’t tell the whole story.

This year as IF approaches, I’m taking a different approach. I value the words and wisdom of conferences – I’m a complete geek. I’d learn from all of the conferences, all the time, if I could. I’m not going to miss the inspiration of some of the top voices of my generation.

Instead of longingly watching The Reserved and feeling as if I should aspire for more,  I’m reserving seats for some of the most amazing women I know from Ohio. (And Troy, MI.) When I take a good look at the women I know, let me say, I know some fabulous people. Loving, beautiful, talented and faithful. The way in which we live out our faith is quite diverse (though we as a group are not diverse. I regret we’re quite monochromatic. I would like to see that change).

if lakeIF I believe (which is the theme for 2015) that bigger is not always better, than I’m determined to live it. I have 12 beautiful souls joining me for IF:Lake – most of these women I know. Others, they are awesome by association because my friends have good taste. It’s not a closed group, I simply started with those I know and threw open the doors.

My heart is so full as I dive into these final 2 weeks of preparations. Of course, I’m hoping that the women making the trek will hear something to inspire their life with God. Yet I’m most excited to hear from them. They may not have a stage, but I can learn a thing or two about living as IF God is real from these ladies.

When life sprouts

I don’t know how the Duggars do it. For every baby I’ve had, I get exponentially more weepy when I get news of my friends heading to the hospital or holding their sweet newborn for the first time. Just thinking about a photo I saw yesterday sends chills up my spine. Something about the emergence of new life gets to me. It gently grabs me in my core and shakes really hard until all the tears come out.

Last night I had to shy away from Facebook for a while because all the love toward friends of mine welcoming their baby girl got me shook up in a good way and she really didn’t need me gush-texting her at that particular moment. Then other friends made their way to the hospital to meet the newest member of their family after they had received word the birth mother in their adoption was induced. This several-year journey that they’ve allowed me to peek in on was culminating. I stayed up much too late thinking over and over in my head, “they’re going to be holding their baby any time now. They’re going to be holding their baby any time now.”

Seriously, my heart might just bust open and drip all over the floor.

Photo by Noelle Gillies used with permission via CC.

Photo by Noelle Gillies used with permission via CC.

I believe adoption to be one of the ways in which God works shalom into his world. This idea – peace, a returning to the right order, a sense that goodness pervades and wins the day – is central to what we mean when we talk about God at work. He can write love stories into tragedies. He grows life out of barrenness. In my mind, I see a big tree stump that appears dead but with a small sprouting bud beginning to emerge. I admire those that enter into the adoption process for their willingness to step into some unknowns with faith and love of and for someone they have never met.

If I may, I need to write from my gut, not my knowledge, for a moment. I’m out of my realm here, and I know it, but something is brewing and bubbling inside.

In the next several days – weeks! – I’ll be offering prayers for my friends and their new little families. They will awkwardly carry the baby carrier out to the car and wonder, “what in the world were we thinking?!” because that’s how all new parents leave the hospital. They will turn their heads to check on the sleeping one no less than a million times in the 10 minute drive. They might remember the empty fridge they left behind and stop for a bucket of chicken on the way home. That happened to us at least once. Then they’ll come home and go about the work of adjusting to life and wondering how this little person, who takes up so little space in the living room, can take up so much space in their hearts.

I will be offering other prayers, too. I’ll pray for another woman – probably young and probably mostly alone – who will sign papers to be released from the hospital. Hopefully her mother picks her up because a mother can help begin sorting the emotions that come from expelling a living being from your center. This girl will return to her home where there is no crib, no stacks of diapers waiting, and she, too, will go about the work of adjusting to life and wondering how this little person who takes up no space in her living room can take up so much space in her heart.

She will endure a process ahead of her. Her body will bleed for weeks. Her moods will shift and her eyes will leak tears as her breasts leak milk. The task of releasing your child into adoption is not a decision you endure for a singular moment of time.

Those who enter the adoption process, from any side, I believe operate with a great amount of faith and generosity. My friends, for agreeing to bring a person into their lives and homes, to provide for him or her. To make this person a son or daughter. This will be their child.

And this woman, who chose to endure the birth process, only to hand off the fruits to someone else. Such an act can only be described as hope. We don’t know her story and how she ended up in a maternity ward. Perhaps she didn’t want this pregnancy – or perhaps she did but realized she couldn’t provide the life that every parent wants for their precious ones. Whatever the case may be, she gave 10 months of her life, her body and a sense of her future to someone she has never met. No matter what we might believe about this woman’s story, I see a thread of selflessness woven through it.

I am outside my realm here. I know so little about this. I’ve experienced none of it. But I know someone who has. If you or someone you know is interested in the redemptive work of adoption, let me point you toward my friend Angela. Both her heart and her living room is filled with this sense of shalom. They have started an adoption agency, Choosing Hope Adoptions, to make adoption affordable for families who want to step into this faith-filled and hope-filled place. If you want to give to this cause and continue making adoptions possible, you can give online.

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