First of all, please read the WHOLE thing. I know it's long, but it's the best snapshot of what's been going on with me that I can give you. Second, know that this is the brutal, honest truth about where I've been this week. There is no polishing or trying to put a positive spin on things to make us all feel better. Just pure honesty from this week's journey. Finally, this is a HUGE RISK for me as I'm not usually this completely vulnerable with people - and for some of you this will be a first. Please, at least, let me know that you've read it - a phone call, email, FB message, or blog comment - however you wish. For some reason, I need to know to whom I've really bared my soul.
OK, so the last week or so has been pretty rough. I told Shawn and Stephen on Sunday that I couldn't stop "the bleeding" (or the tears - which is VERY unusual for me). Usually a few tears welling up is as emotional as I get - at least in public. Overwhelming floods of tears for days on end is not normally my thing. I think the best way to share where I've been on this part of the journey is to share bits of my journaling - which are bits of my prayers - with you:
From 2/14: I feel so alone. And I feel selfish and guilty for being so emotional and teary. What right do I have to feel this way? ... My basic needs are being met. What right do I have to feel so beaten and bruised? ... The thing is that I miss you, Jesus. I can't deal with all of this without you. I want to trust that you are good, that there is a purpose for all of this, that I'm not disappointing you, that you do carrying me close to your heart. But none of that seems true right now. ... So I'm alone again. Trapped in a life that seems like prison. ... I don't know how to stop the bleeding. I don't think I can keep doing life this way. I need you, Jesus. I need to hear your voice. I need to feel your presence. I need hope.
From 2/17 (or actually early Thursday morning): So at work for the past 2 nights, I have been thinking about all this that's going on and why you would abandon me. Abandonment or punishment are the only things that make sense because if this is anything else, then everything I believe about you is wrong. And though I believe you let us suffer the consequences of our choices, I don't believe you set out to punish us, so I guess you have abandoned me. Which still violates promises that I have believed, things that I have thought to be true about you.
Then I started thinking about fear. When you turned my world and my faith upside down after DuBois, there was a lot of fear involved. So what am I afraid of this time? ... I'm afraid you do want me to stay here forever. I'm afraid that this is all that there is for the rest of my life. I'm afraid that you want to take my dreams and my passions away from me - the last bits of hope I have to hold on to.
You've taken everything else. Why not? ... And if I have to live a life separated from my call, from what I love? It's like dying every day. I can't see a way out. At what point does the body finally give out as well? At this point, I'd welcome death. I've thought so much about gunning my car at the bottom of Mullen instead of hitting the brakes. But in reality, I would just smash into the guard rail and wreck my car. I can't actually commit suicide. It leaves too much pain behind, and I would never do that. I can't even bear the thought of what that would do to some of the people I love the most. ...
I followed the link to Donald Miller's blog from Sunday. It was about plowing the field and taking care of your own farm. I get that. But he kept talking about not moving to a bigger field if you are where you are supposed to be, doing what you love. I don't think either is true of me right now.
So now what? If it's true that you've been watching me fall apart, what else is there to break? My soul, my heart, my dreams - everything is in shambles. When does the starting to "be made whole again" part happen? Or do I just become a casualty?
If it would help, I'd give you what I love, but I don't even have those opportunities to give right now. And if you want me to give up any semblance of dreaming, well... that's all the hope I have right now. It's the only thing that is keeping me going. ... But if that's what you want, you can have it.
From 2/19: Even after 2 relatively sleepless nights, I only managed to get 2 hours of sleep before I woke and felt compelled to get up and journal this morning. ...
This week has been rough. The bleeding that started Saturday night just continued. I cried all day Sunday, and tears kept springing up at the most inopportune times during the week. Tears, aching, that deep longing, complete despair - all were present throughout the week. But despite being exhausted today, something has changed. The bleeding has stopped. Something happened when I had it out with you on Wednesday night/Thursday morning. First the tears stopped. I actually went all day yesterday without bursting into sobs. Then I actually drove to and from work last night without looking for a steep bank with no guard rail. And now, the slightest bit of relief is allowing me to write/pray with some hope.
Is that you, Jesus? Was it that you just wanted me to let go of my dreams and what I love? I did that in a fit of sarcasm, fear, anger and hopelessness - desperate to stop the pain, but was it what you've wanted from me all along?
Now what? Do I simply become content with metrology, Meadville, this isolated life? Or do you have something better for me now that I truly have nothing left to call "mine"? ...
For the first time in a longtime, I can actually say and mean this: Whatever you want, wherever you lead, I will follow. I do trust you. I trust that you are good, merciful, loving and have my best interests at heart. I trust that you haven't forgotten about me, that you still know my name, that you've not only seen all the tears, but that you've sobbed and ached right alongside me. I trust that one day I will feel your presence and hear your voice again, that you are leading me somewhere, that you will see me made whole again, that I am still your beloved, that you still love me, still have called me. And I have hope that you are still proud to be my Savior.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Focal Points of Frustration?
Shawn has noticed a pattern in my life - a pattern that goes way back to jr. high and high school. He mentioned it to me last week, and I've spent quite a bit of time this week thinking about his observation that it seems that I always have someone who is the "focal point of my frustrations."
Like most people, lots of things people do frustrate me. I get frustrated when people tell me that what I've experienced or what I know to be true is wrong. I get frustrated when people pretend all the time. I get frustrated when someone holds me back from something I really want to do. But these are usually one-time frustrations. I get upset in the moment, let it go, and move on. When these kinds of things happen, it's not lasting, and I usually can continue to treat the people the same way I did prior to the frustration with no problem.
But Shawn was right - almost. I don't ALWAYS have someone who becomes the focus of all my frustrations, but it is does occur with some frequency. I made a list of all the people in my life about whom I could remember having this feeling. It took several days to work through my feelings and potential reasons for my feelings about these people, but finally a single pattern was revealed.
Apparently I have a problem with authority. I don't like people telling me what to do, how to do it or not to do something. I should clarify that I don't have a problem with all authority. There have been a number of teachers, coaches, principals, pastors, etc. who have had authority over me, and I've accepted their leadership with no problem. So what's the difference between these people and the ones who become the focus of all my antagonism and opposition?
It comes down to trust. At the moment, Shawn is in a leadership position over me. But I trust Shawn. I understand what he is trying to do. I want to support Shawn in those efforts, and, even if I don't agree with him about something, I trust that Shawn has my best interests (and the interests of those he serves) at heart. So I will do what Shawn asks of me without complaining or fighting him. Doug (former senior pastor) was obviously in authority over me. But Doug always had my back, even when we didn't agree. I didn't always agree with Doug, but I trusted him. I knew that Doug wanted what was best for me, for my students, and for the church, so when he asked me to do something, I did it without questioning him. These are just a few examples. The people who have had authority over me but who have demonstrated a desire to make decisions and do what is best for the people in their care have always had my respect, my trust, my loyalty.
But I've had other people in authority over me (or people I love) who haven't earned my respect, my trust, my loyalty or anything other than my frustration, antagonism, anger and sometimes blatant disregard for anything they have to offer. They have all done things that have hurt me, or worse, hurt the people I care about the most. I have seen them act in such a way as to abuse their power, their position, or their authority. I feel completely powerless to stop them, to correct the situation, to do anything about the damage that they are doing to people. I hate that these people are often undermining my efforts to help people, to teach my students, to point people to Jesus. So I fight back. And with me, it's all or nothing, so I can't accept even the good things that these people are trying to do.
And yet, perhaps in all this fighting back, I've only been doing more damage to my own soul. Dave doesn't care what he did to me, to my students, to my youth team. It hasn't bothered him one bit over the last 7 years. I'm sure that Henegan or Reyer haven't had a second thought about everything that happened at Maplewood. I'm pretty sure that none of the people who have been the "focal point of my frustrations" - as Shawn so gently put it - have lost one second of sleep.
So who are they really hurting? I've seen the life impact some of these people have had on the people I care about, and I let that hurt and anger bury itself deep within me - at least until I can escape the ramifications of being under their authority. Justified or not, this only hurts me. It takes time to heal from these deeply buried toxins, and I often think I've forgiven and moved on only to have everything surface again later. Forgiveness is a long process, and even after forgiveness has been granted, the effects of these toxins linger.
I wonder how my own actions, words, attitudes towards these authority figures has further hurt those that I love so dearly. The thought that it is my fault that some of these precious people have stepped further away from Jesus or have struggled in their own lives is devastating.
Even the midst of these situations, I have been able to recognize that eventually I will be able to forgive, to let go. Eventually, that is able to happen. It becomes part of my story, shapes the way I move forward, but I am eventually able to forgive. However, what if the people who get caught in the middle aren't able to forgive? What if their bitterness or anger over what they observed settles deep within them? What if the things I have said or done causes them to deeply resent the people who still have authority over them? What if, because of my responses, they blame God for the things that have happened to me or to them? What if my resentment of these people has filled those I love with deadly toxins from which they can't recover?
Like most people, lots of things people do frustrate me. I get frustrated when people tell me that what I've experienced or what I know to be true is wrong. I get frustrated when people pretend all the time. I get frustrated when someone holds me back from something I really want to do. But these are usually one-time frustrations. I get upset in the moment, let it go, and move on. When these kinds of things happen, it's not lasting, and I usually can continue to treat the people the same way I did prior to the frustration with no problem.
But Shawn was right - almost. I don't ALWAYS have someone who becomes the focus of all my frustrations, but it is does occur with some frequency. I made a list of all the people in my life about whom I could remember having this feeling. It took several days to work through my feelings and potential reasons for my feelings about these people, but finally a single pattern was revealed.
Apparently I have a problem with authority. I don't like people telling me what to do, how to do it or not to do something. I should clarify that I don't have a problem with all authority. There have been a number of teachers, coaches, principals, pastors, etc. who have had authority over me, and I've accepted their leadership with no problem. So what's the difference between these people and the ones who become the focus of all my antagonism and opposition?
It comes down to trust. At the moment, Shawn is in a leadership position over me. But I trust Shawn. I understand what he is trying to do. I want to support Shawn in those efforts, and, even if I don't agree with him about something, I trust that Shawn has my best interests (and the interests of those he serves) at heart. So I will do what Shawn asks of me without complaining or fighting him. Doug (former senior pastor) was obviously in authority over me. But Doug always had my back, even when we didn't agree. I didn't always agree with Doug, but I trusted him. I knew that Doug wanted what was best for me, for my students, and for the church, so when he asked me to do something, I did it without questioning him. These are just a few examples. The people who have had authority over me but who have demonstrated a desire to make decisions and do what is best for the people in their care have always had my respect, my trust, my loyalty.
But I've had other people in authority over me (or people I love) who haven't earned my respect, my trust, my loyalty or anything other than my frustration, antagonism, anger and sometimes blatant disregard for anything they have to offer. They have all done things that have hurt me, or worse, hurt the people I care about the most. I have seen them act in such a way as to abuse their power, their position, or their authority. I feel completely powerless to stop them, to correct the situation, to do anything about the damage that they are doing to people. I hate that these people are often undermining my efforts to help people, to teach my students, to point people to Jesus. So I fight back. And with me, it's all or nothing, so I can't accept even the good things that these people are trying to do.
And yet, perhaps in all this fighting back, I've only been doing more damage to my own soul. Dave doesn't care what he did to me, to my students, to my youth team. It hasn't bothered him one bit over the last 7 years. I'm sure that Henegan or Reyer haven't had a second thought about everything that happened at Maplewood. I'm pretty sure that none of the people who have been the "focal point of my frustrations" - as Shawn so gently put it - have lost one second of sleep.
So who are they really hurting? I've seen the life impact some of these people have had on the people I care about, and I let that hurt and anger bury itself deep within me - at least until I can escape the ramifications of being under their authority. Justified or not, this only hurts me. It takes time to heal from these deeply buried toxins, and I often think I've forgiven and moved on only to have everything surface again later. Forgiveness is a long process, and even after forgiveness has been granted, the effects of these toxins linger.
I wonder how my own actions, words, attitudes towards these authority figures has further hurt those that I love so dearly. The thought that it is my fault that some of these precious people have stepped further away from Jesus or have struggled in their own lives is devastating.
Even the midst of these situations, I have been able to recognize that eventually I will be able to forgive, to let go. Eventually, that is able to happen. It becomes part of my story, shapes the way I move forward, but I am eventually able to forgive. However, what if the people who get caught in the middle aren't able to forgive? What if their bitterness or anger over what they observed settles deep within them? What if the things I have said or done causes them to deeply resent the people who still have authority over them? What if, because of my responses, they blame God for the things that have happened to me or to them? What if my resentment of these people has filled those I love with deadly toxins from which they can't recover?
Overwhelmed
As we sat and prayed with the Praise Team tonight, I was struck with an overwhelming sadness and frustration. You all know my situaiton. I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of being alone to deal with all this (OK, not alone because you're along on the journey, but you know what I mean). I'm tired of feeling like a complete failure. I hate my job to the point that I dread going each day and actually get physically sick most days as I head out for another long, soul-crushing night of sitting in front of a machine. I miss hearing/feeling the presence of God in my life. But it seems that as much as I'm having to deal with at the moment, I'm one of the lucky ones.
Sitting around the circle are people who are dealing with major tragedies. Heartache was in abundance. Tears were near the surface for many of us, and a few spilled out despite our unwillingness to cry in that moment. There was just so much pain and frustration sitting there. It was overwhelming.
What right do I have to feel the way I do? I have a job. I'm able to cover my financial obligations at the moment. My family isn't falling apart. I have a place to live. I'm not having to mourn the death of a loved one. I have clean water to drink and food to eat. I'm not dealing with a disease. I'm just struggling with God's call on my life and his seeming lack of presence at the moment. What's the big deal?
And yet, I do feel this way. Which makes me feel selfish and a bit guilty. And I'm not sure what to do with all this.
Sitting around the circle are people who are dealing with major tragedies. Heartache was in abundance. Tears were near the surface for many of us, and a few spilled out despite our unwillingness to cry in that moment. There was just so much pain and frustration sitting there. It was overwhelming.
What right do I have to feel the way I do? I have a job. I'm able to cover my financial obligations at the moment. My family isn't falling apart. I have a place to live. I'm not having to mourn the death of a loved one. I have clean water to drink and food to eat. I'm not dealing with a disease. I'm just struggling with God's call on my life and his seeming lack of presence at the moment. What's the big deal?
And yet, I do feel this way. Which makes me feel selfish and a bit guilty. And I'm not sure what to do with all this.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Glimmers
This may seem to be a collection of unrelated bits, but they are all connected with this struggle about ministry. Bear with me and feel free to give any insights you have to any or all of the pieces:
So for the last several weeks, I've been really questioning my call. Am I called to youth ministry? Am I called to prayer/alternate worship ministry? Am I called to ministry within a church? Am I called to any ministry at all? It has seemed that there is no hope of ever escaping the soul-crushing job that I am currently working, and I keep being told that if I would just accept that this as life, I would learn to be happy. I have to admit that if it wasn't such a struggle to get ready, go to work and sit there for 10 hours each day feeling the life and passion slowly drain from me, I would be much happier. So the questions keep resurfacing... am I called to do some sort of ministry? Can I be fulfilled/passionate/happy doing anything else? Has the ministry of which I've been apart over the last 13 years made a difference or have I been wasting my time?
Scott is an immature 20, but is a good kid. He is the only other person on the night shift with me. We don't have much in common, and our work stations are at opposite ends of the building, so we don't talk much. But Scott was faced with dealing with death for the first time this week. His grandmother had a massive stroke, the family made the decision to pull life support, they watched her die for almost a week, and the funeral was Tuesday. Scott asked me for advice on how to deal with everything, and all I could tell him was an echo of what Stephen told me a few weeks ago: Feel what you feel, and don't let anyone tell you it's wrong to feel that way. The other bit of hope I offered him was that it wouldn't always hurt as much as it does right now. Last night, he told me that he appreciated me not telling him what to feel or how to deal with everything. He also thanked me for just listening when he returned to work on Wednesday night. He said he felt better because of what I had done, and when I said I hadn't done anything, he responded "But you are here for me."
I was having a brief conversation with Shawn about the weather, and I mentioned Andrew (Marin) being stuck in D.C., which led to talking about Andrew's work. There's something about reaching out to the GLBT community that has been percolating within me for a long time. That got me thinking about an experience I had in Cincy this fall: It was early in the morning, and I was headed over to the Sanctuary space to support Lilly's effort at Morning Prayers and then have 2nd breakfast with her. I step into the elevator with a mom and a young teen boy who was excitedly talking. Being exhausted already, I made some comment about someone being way too excited for that early in the morning, and the boy looked at me said, "I've been waiting for this weekend for a long time. My mom promised me a trip to the city if I wouldn't tell my 7th grade class that I'm gay." He continued rattling on, but I was watching his mom stare at my name tag and slowly pull her son as far away from me as they could get in a small elevator. I turned my attention back to the boy, Isaac, and engaged him for the remainder of the ride to the lobby. As we exited, I started to wish them a great day, when the mom, Carolyn, put her hand on my arm to stop me. "Could we talk?" she asked as tears ran down her face.
Carolyn sent Isaac on to breakfast, and she and I spent 10-15 minutes sitting in a quiet corner of the lobby. She spilled her entire story... how she and her husband couldn't have children, how Isaac had been adopted, why they named him Isaac (after the biblical story of Isaac), how they knew early on that Isaac was different than the other boys, how Isaac proclaimed to them that he was gay in 6th grade, how their church pushed them away because everyone knew Isaac was gay, how her husband had slowly drifted away from them because he was ashamed of Isaac, how she wasn't sure if their marriage was going to survive. Again, I just listened... mostly because I didn't know what to say or how to respond to a perfect stranger spilling all these personal details. She then told me a how there had been some guys from the convention (same tags) in the elevator with them the night before. They had engaged Isaac but physically stepped back from him when Isaac said something that tipped them off to his being gay. As they exited the elevator, one of the guys said, "You should find a local church to attend. They can help you fix him." She told me that was why she was so scared and wanted Isaac away from me in the elevator. And then she thanked me for listening and told me that it was good to know that there was at least one Christian who didn't hate her because of her son or hate her son. We prayed, I gave her contact info for me and for Andrew, and she went off for her special day with her son. Most likely, I will never hear from Carolyn or Isaac again, but that encounter changed me. It made a difference for me, and hopefully it made a lasting difference for them.
I was tired and drained but wanting to spend time with an old friend last week. We were just catching up when she brought up T.A.G. Ministries (prayer/alt. worship/experiential worship). Immediately I was energized and excited. She even commented on how passionate I was as I spoke about the possibilities. The same thing happened later on when Lilly called to get a few ideas for an upcoming retreat. I was on my way to work and dragging every step of the way, but the ideas started flowing, I was all wound up, and I wished that we had more time to talk and create together.
I had a phone interview this afternoon with a church in Wilmette, IL. I was actually dreading it because the website presented the church as a "prosperity gospel" type church. The pastor confirmed that as we spoke, and he confirmed that I probably am not the person the church is looking for. That being said, he asked if he could pick my brain anyway. We talked for almost 45 minutes about being present - to God and to each other, experiential worship, contemplative prayer and prayer practices, building community, not pretending, and being willing to disrupt the status quo if God leads you in another direction. I probably won't hear from that church again, but the pastor was impressed with my honesty and my passion for not "playing church." He said that I would be an asset to the church because I wouldn't disciple students to become star atheletes and super students, but I would actually challenge them to become followers of Jesus. He actually told me that he felt convicted about how he was playing the game in order to keep this nice, wealthy, North Shore church happy, and, in turn, keep his salary coming.
So, as I'm trying to process all this, I happened to look out the window. It's been cloudy and gray all day, but in that precise moment, it started to snow those HUGE snowflakes... just slowly drifting down. Then a small ray of sun burst through the clouds and made all those big snowflakes shimmer - just for a second. It was the most beautiful thing I've seen in a very long time. And with it came the tiniest glimmer of hope...
So for the last several weeks, I've been really questioning my call. Am I called to youth ministry? Am I called to prayer/alternate worship ministry? Am I called to ministry within a church? Am I called to any ministry at all? It has seemed that there is no hope of ever escaping the soul-crushing job that I am currently working, and I keep being told that if I would just accept that this as life, I would learn to be happy. I have to admit that if it wasn't such a struggle to get ready, go to work and sit there for 10 hours each day feeling the life and passion slowly drain from me, I would be much happier. So the questions keep resurfacing... am I called to do some sort of ministry? Can I be fulfilled/passionate/happy doing anything else? Has the ministry of which I've been apart over the last 13 years made a difference or have I been wasting my time?
Scott is an immature 20, but is a good kid. He is the only other person on the night shift with me. We don't have much in common, and our work stations are at opposite ends of the building, so we don't talk much. But Scott was faced with dealing with death for the first time this week. His grandmother had a massive stroke, the family made the decision to pull life support, they watched her die for almost a week, and the funeral was Tuesday. Scott asked me for advice on how to deal with everything, and all I could tell him was an echo of what Stephen told me a few weeks ago: Feel what you feel, and don't let anyone tell you it's wrong to feel that way. The other bit of hope I offered him was that it wouldn't always hurt as much as it does right now. Last night, he told me that he appreciated me not telling him what to feel or how to deal with everything. He also thanked me for just listening when he returned to work on Wednesday night. He said he felt better because of what I had done, and when I said I hadn't done anything, he responded "But you are here for me."
I was having a brief conversation with Shawn about the weather, and I mentioned Andrew (Marin) being stuck in D.C., which led to talking about Andrew's work. There's something about reaching out to the GLBT community that has been percolating within me for a long time. That got me thinking about an experience I had in Cincy this fall: It was early in the morning, and I was headed over to the Sanctuary space to support Lilly's effort at Morning Prayers and then have 2nd breakfast with her. I step into the elevator with a mom and a young teen boy who was excitedly talking. Being exhausted already, I made some comment about someone being way too excited for that early in the morning, and the boy looked at me said, "I've been waiting for this weekend for a long time. My mom promised me a trip to the city if I wouldn't tell my 7th grade class that I'm gay." He continued rattling on, but I was watching his mom stare at my name tag and slowly pull her son as far away from me as they could get in a small elevator. I turned my attention back to the boy, Isaac, and engaged him for the remainder of the ride to the lobby. As we exited, I started to wish them a great day, when the mom, Carolyn, put her hand on my arm to stop me. "Could we talk?" she asked as tears ran down her face.
Carolyn sent Isaac on to breakfast, and she and I spent 10-15 minutes sitting in a quiet corner of the lobby. She spilled her entire story... how she and her husband couldn't have children, how Isaac had been adopted, why they named him Isaac (after the biblical story of Isaac), how they knew early on that Isaac was different than the other boys, how Isaac proclaimed to them that he was gay in 6th grade, how their church pushed them away because everyone knew Isaac was gay, how her husband had slowly drifted away from them because he was ashamed of Isaac, how she wasn't sure if their marriage was going to survive. Again, I just listened... mostly because I didn't know what to say or how to respond to a perfect stranger spilling all these personal details. She then told me a how there had been some guys from the convention (same tags) in the elevator with them the night before. They had engaged Isaac but physically stepped back from him when Isaac said something that tipped them off to his being gay. As they exited the elevator, one of the guys said, "You should find a local church to attend. They can help you fix him." She told me that was why she was so scared and wanted Isaac away from me in the elevator. And then she thanked me for listening and told me that it was good to know that there was at least one Christian who didn't hate her because of her son or hate her son. We prayed, I gave her contact info for me and for Andrew, and she went off for her special day with her son. Most likely, I will never hear from Carolyn or Isaac again, but that encounter changed me. It made a difference for me, and hopefully it made a lasting difference for them.
I was tired and drained but wanting to spend time with an old friend last week. We were just catching up when she brought up T.A.G. Ministries (prayer/alt. worship/experiential worship). Immediately I was energized and excited. She even commented on how passionate I was as I spoke about the possibilities. The same thing happened later on when Lilly called to get a few ideas for an upcoming retreat. I was on my way to work and dragging every step of the way, but the ideas started flowing, I was all wound up, and I wished that we had more time to talk and create together.
I had a phone interview this afternoon with a church in Wilmette, IL. I was actually dreading it because the website presented the church as a "prosperity gospel" type church. The pastor confirmed that as we spoke, and he confirmed that I probably am not the person the church is looking for. That being said, he asked if he could pick my brain anyway. We talked for almost 45 minutes about being present - to God and to each other, experiential worship, contemplative prayer and prayer practices, building community, not pretending, and being willing to disrupt the status quo if God leads you in another direction. I probably won't hear from that church again, but the pastor was impressed with my honesty and my passion for not "playing church." He said that I would be an asset to the church because I wouldn't disciple students to become star atheletes and super students, but I would actually challenge them to become followers of Jesus. He actually told me that he felt convicted about how he was playing the game in order to keep this nice, wealthy, North Shore church happy, and, in turn, keep his salary coming.
So, as I'm trying to process all this, I happened to look out the window. It's been cloudy and gray all day, but in that precise moment, it started to snow those HUGE snowflakes... just slowly drifting down. Then a small ray of sun burst through the clouds and made all those big snowflakes shimmer - just for a second. It was the most beautiful thing I've seen in a very long time. And with it came the tiniest glimmer of hope...
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Not "Father", but "Daddy"
When I was little, I had these pajamas that said "My Heart Belongs to Daddy." I was only 2 or 3 when I received that first set of those pjs, and because I loved them so much, my mom went back and bought several pairs of them in different sizes so that I had a set of them until I was probably 7 or so. I loved those pjs because my dad and I had this little game we played everytime I wore them. I would come downstairs in my pjs, and my dad would scoop me up, hold me close and say, "Now what on earth is that on your pajamas?" I would snuggle even closer and say, "My heart belongs to Daddy." Dad would say, "And why does your heart belong to Daddy?" and I would respond, "Because my Daddy loves me." And Dad would say, "That's right. I love you and my heart belongs to you." At that point, tickles or a kiss and a good night would send me off to bed, safe and secure in the special love and bond between father and daughter.
When I was little, I knew my dad cherished me. He delighted in me. I would run to greet him when he came home from work, and he would toss me high in the air and catch me. I loved the thrill of flying through the air, but it was only because I knew I would land safely in my daddy's arms again. There was such joy for both of us in those kinds of moments.
My dad was proud of me too. I think he was more excited than I was when we discovered that I could read. He bragged to all his friends about how smart and precocious I was as a little girl. He kept a picture of me and my first fish (4 nice perch) in his wallet to show all his coworkers. He'd slip me a pack of baseball cards and tell me how proud he was of the way I helped mom around the house.
My daddy wanted to spend time with me. He would play games with me. He would take me fishing - just the two of us out in the middle of Pymatuning. He would curl up in the bean bag with me and read me stories. He was patient when teaching me things. I learned how to bottle feed a calf, and then how to get that calf to drink from a bucket. I learned how to cast a fishing line. I learned how to hit a baseball and throw properly. I learned how to batter and fry fish. I learned how to drive a tractor. Dad wanted to show me places that were special to him, so we hiked through the "Big Woods" (Allegheny National Forest) with my daddy carrying me on his shoulders when I got tired. When we took a family vacation through New England, Dad took me to the top of a cliff overlooking the ocean in Maine, and we sat and watched the sunrise together.
These are some of my best memories of childhood and of being with my daddy.
Somewhere around age 9 or 10, things started to change. My dad quit spending all that special time with me. When we did play ball in the backyard, it was because he wanted me to improve my hitting or my fielding. It became drills and demanding perfection rather than special time with daddy. We quit taking those hikes through the Big Woods. He never curled up in the bean bag with me to read or played Legos any more. We rarely went fishing alone, and if we did, he was always correcting me. I managed to catch a snag one day, and instead of patiently helping me or simply cutting the line, he ripped my favorite fishing pole out of my hands. The next thing I knew, my favorite pole and best reel were at the bottom of Lake Wilhem. I think that was the day that I knew something had changed.
Mom started referring to dad only as "your father." Interaction with him was limited as he was silent, withdrawn or angry most of the time. I kept trying to get my daddy back, or at least my daddy's attention back, but I was never quite successful. What I didn't know at the time was that his work was eating his soul (something I understand quite well now) and that he and my mom weren't getting along. "Your father" was this angry, unapproachable, demanding man who somehow made "my daddy" go away.
As I said before, I had this all out with my dad long ago. We sat in the boat one day and I told him all of this. He was upset and angry - but not at me. He later came back to me and apologized. We talked about why he had changed, how unhappy he had been, and began the process of reconciling. Now, I often call my dad "Daddy" (which freaks many people out). We like to escape to the lake early in the morning and go fishing together - just to be with each other and do something together. In the spring, he takes me out in the woods with him turkey hunting. We sit and watch the sunrise together, and we're just happy to be in the woods together once more. He goes geocaching with me, and we still cook fish together in back of the camper like we did when I was four. My daddy cherishes the time spent with me again, and we have a different "game" we play now when we talk on the phone, but it's the equivalent of those "My Heart Belongs to Daddy" pjs all over again.
But with God...? So, this week I spent some time working on thinking of God as I recalled how I felt with my daddy. God as "Father" still brings up those less than helpful images, but God as "Daddy" is good. God as "Daddy" is more inline with my images of Jesus. God as "Daddy" is my protector who cherishes me, delights in me, wants to spend time with me, wants to teach me things. It's not all warm fuzzies as there is still correction and some uncomfortable guidance involved. There's still that element of uncertainty, but thinking of God in terms of "Daddy" is a lot like flying through the air as a small child and knowing that after the adventure, I will land safely in my loving daddy's arms.
When I was little, I knew my dad cherished me. He delighted in me. I would run to greet him when he came home from work, and he would toss me high in the air and catch me. I loved the thrill of flying through the air, but it was only because I knew I would land safely in my daddy's arms again. There was such joy for both of us in those kinds of moments.
My dad was proud of me too. I think he was more excited than I was when we discovered that I could read. He bragged to all his friends about how smart and precocious I was as a little girl. He kept a picture of me and my first fish (4 nice perch) in his wallet to show all his coworkers. He'd slip me a pack of baseball cards and tell me how proud he was of the way I helped mom around the house.
My daddy wanted to spend time with me. He would play games with me. He would take me fishing - just the two of us out in the middle of Pymatuning. He would curl up in the bean bag with me and read me stories. He was patient when teaching me things. I learned how to bottle feed a calf, and then how to get that calf to drink from a bucket. I learned how to cast a fishing line. I learned how to hit a baseball and throw properly. I learned how to batter and fry fish. I learned how to drive a tractor. Dad wanted to show me places that were special to him, so we hiked through the "Big Woods" (Allegheny National Forest) with my daddy carrying me on his shoulders when I got tired. When we took a family vacation through New England, Dad took me to the top of a cliff overlooking the ocean in Maine, and we sat and watched the sunrise together.
These are some of my best memories of childhood and of being with my daddy.
Somewhere around age 9 or 10, things started to change. My dad quit spending all that special time with me. When we did play ball in the backyard, it was because he wanted me to improve my hitting or my fielding. It became drills and demanding perfection rather than special time with daddy. We quit taking those hikes through the Big Woods. He never curled up in the bean bag with me to read or played Legos any more. We rarely went fishing alone, and if we did, he was always correcting me. I managed to catch a snag one day, and instead of patiently helping me or simply cutting the line, he ripped my favorite fishing pole out of my hands. The next thing I knew, my favorite pole and best reel were at the bottom of Lake Wilhem. I think that was the day that I knew something had changed.
Mom started referring to dad only as "your father." Interaction with him was limited as he was silent, withdrawn or angry most of the time. I kept trying to get my daddy back, or at least my daddy's attention back, but I was never quite successful. What I didn't know at the time was that his work was eating his soul (something I understand quite well now) and that he and my mom weren't getting along. "Your father" was this angry, unapproachable, demanding man who somehow made "my daddy" go away.
As I said before, I had this all out with my dad long ago. We sat in the boat one day and I told him all of this. He was upset and angry - but not at me. He later came back to me and apologized. We talked about why he had changed, how unhappy he had been, and began the process of reconciling. Now, I often call my dad "Daddy" (which freaks many people out). We like to escape to the lake early in the morning and go fishing together - just to be with each other and do something together. In the spring, he takes me out in the woods with him turkey hunting. We sit and watch the sunrise together, and we're just happy to be in the woods together once more. He goes geocaching with me, and we still cook fish together in back of the camper like we did when I was four. My daddy cherishes the time spent with me again, and we have a different "game" we play now when we talk on the phone, but it's the equivalent of those "My Heart Belongs to Daddy" pjs all over again.
But with God...? So, this week I spent some time working on thinking of God as I recalled how I felt with my daddy. God as "Father" still brings up those less than helpful images, but God as "Daddy" is good. God as "Daddy" is more inline with my images of Jesus. God as "Daddy" is my protector who cherishes me, delights in me, wants to spend time with me, wants to teach me things. It's not all warm fuzzies as there is still correction and some uncomfortable guidance involved. There's still that element of uncertainty, but thinking of God in terms of "Daddy" is a lot like flying through the air as a small child and knowing that after the adventure, I will land safely in my loving daddy's arms.
Ups and Downs
I was able to actually sit down and talk with Shawn for a bit today. One of the things he asked me was how I was doing - up? down? the same?
I think that I'm "up" from the point I was two weeks ago when I sent out that first post. Though nothing has changed - and in that sense is "the same" - just knowing that you all are willing to walk with me has been encouraging. Some of your comments and suggestions have been helpful, but it's really more about knowing that I'm not having to do this part of the journey alone.
There have been "downs" as well. There was a point at work this week when I felt like my soul was literally being crushed as I sat there. It's a feeling I've had often, but this was almost a physical sensation. There are more and more days when I feel like I just can't do it one more minute, but I have no choice. Sometimes I wonder if it would just be easier to give up/give in and start to accept that this is going to be life for me. I think I'd be happier here if I could do that, but somehow I just can't.
Today was a REALLY GOOD day though. Again, nothing has changed. But today I got to spend 2 hours with Shawn. It was good to just talk. He shared some insights that will appear in the blog at a later date - once I've had time to explore them a bit more. We talked about ministry, what church should be, and how we did church/community better when we were in junior high and high school. Thinking back on our teen days, Shawn said that for all the drama, we (meaning our group of friends) really did love and care for each other. Something happened as we gathered around those cafeteria tables for lunch or to hang out before band practice, and it's one of the reasons that neither of us can settle for "playing church." It was good to be reminded of that, and, in the process, why I love working with teenagers.
Earlier in the week, I had made plans to hang out with Mary, a friend from the Meadville YM days. We ended up hanging out at her house and then heading to her church. While we were there, we ran into another friend from those days. We sat and reminisced about mission trips in "the old days" - particularly a trip to Nicaragua. We told stories and, again, it was good. Mary was one of the people there for me when I was debating going into full time ministry. She, Randy and I sat up late almost every night in Nicaragua talking about what plans God might have for the three of us. It was good to be reminded of those days and the bonds we shared as well.
Beyond that fun though, I had the chance to share with Mary a little about T.A.G. Ministries. As I talked about it, I could feel that same soul brightening feeling that I felt when I was talking to Shawn about some of my youth ministry experiences. If nothing else, it confirmed in me that I shouldn't settle for the soul crushing work of metrology. I've been sending out resumes to some churches that I have the sense would be suffocating situations- one of which I even have a phone interview with next Friday - but today also confirmed that I shouldn't settle for one of those jobs either.
Not much has changed. Tears are still near the surface and spill out at inconvenient and frequent intervals. I'm still desperate to hear - or at least sense the presence of - Jesus. I still have no clue where this phase of the journey is headed. But there is a stirring. I can listen to music again without wanting to throw my iPod under a MAC truck, and there are a few encouraging signs along the way that I haven't totally misunderstood my call, that I haven't been disappointing God, that I haven't been "wasting" my life working with teens and exploring creative and alternate forms of worship.
I think that I'm "up" from the point I was two weeks ago when I sent out that first post. Though nothing has changed - and in that sense is "the same" - just knowing that you all are willing to walk with me has been encouraging. Some of your comments and suggestions have been helpful, but it's really more about knowing that I'm not having to do this part of the journey alone.
There have been "downs" as well. There was a point at work this week when I felt like my soul was literally being crushed as I sat there. It's a feeling I've had often, but this was almost a physical sensation. There are more and more days when I feel like I just can't do it one more minute, but I have no choice. Sometimes I wonder if it would just be easier to give up/give in and start to accept that this is going to be life for me. I think I'd be happier here if I could do that, but somehow I just can't.
Today was a REALLY GOOD day though. Again, nothing has changed. But today I got to spend 2 hours with Shawn. It was good to just talk. He shared some insights that will appear in the blog at a later date - once I've had time to explore them a bit more. We talked about ministry, what church should be, and how we did church/community better when we were in junior high and high school. Thinking back on our teen days, Shawn said that for all the drama, we (meaning our group of friends) really did love and care for each other. Something happened as we gathered around those cafeteria tables for lunch or to hang out before band practice, and it's one of the reasons that neither of us can settle for "playing church." It was good to be reminded of that, and, in the process, why I love working with teenagers.
Earlier in the week, I had made plans to hang out with Mary, a friend from the Meadville YM days. We ended up hanging out at her house and then heading to her church. While we were there, we ran into another friend from those days. We sat and reminisced about mission trips in "the old days" - particularly a trip to Nicaragua. We told stories and, again, it was good. Mary was one of the people there for me when I was debating going into full time ministry. She, Randy and I sat up late almost every night in Nicaragua talking about what plans God might have for the three of us. It was good to be reminded of those days and the bonds we shared as well.
Beyond that fun though, I had the chance to share with Mary a little about T.A.G. Ministries. As I talked about it, I could feel that same soul brightening feeling that I felt when I was talking to Shawn about some of my youth ministry experiences. If nothing else, it confirmed in me that I shouldn't settle for the soul crushing work of metrology. I've been sending out resumes to some churches that I have the sense would be suffocating situations- one of which I even have a phone interview with next Friday - but today also confirmed that I shouldn't settle for one of those jobs either.
Not much has changed. Tears are still near the surface and spill out at inconvenient and frequent intervals. I'm still desperate to hear - or at least sense the presence of - Jesus. I still have no clue where this phase of the journey is headed. But there is a stirring. I can listen to music again without wanting to throw my iPod under a MAC truck, and there are a few encouraging signs along the way that I haven't totally misunderstood my call, that I haven't been disappointing God, that I haven't been "wasting" my life working with teens and exploring creative and alternate forms of worship.
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