1 november

Six years ago today a tragic accident changed my life forever. For me, November 1, 2002 is a day that will live on in infamy. While the overwhelming sadness of the tragedy is, for the most part, over… thinking about the situation is still sobering and thought provoking.

Today was the most beautiful autumn day, the kind you can’t help but be happy about… on top of which I have had the most incredible time with two of my good friends… but for the whole day in the background of my mind everything wasn’t all bright, clear skies and leaves turned orange and red.  

I have been thinking a lot about all that has been given to me and all that has been sacrificed for me. I tend to think only and always about the negative things that have happened in my life, feeling sorry for myself which gives me an excuse to be angry or mad or… whatever.

But today I realized how much has been sacrificed for me… even to the point of someone giving his life for me… to inspire me to live a life of passion and to make a difference and to think of others besides myself… others who haven’t been given as much as I have.

Jesus said that to whom much is given much is required… I have been given so much… and I have given in return very little.

Jesus, teach me to live a life of passion… teach me what is truly important… let me not be comfortable in my complacency. Thank you so much for Stephen… and all who have sacrificed for me and given to me. And thank you mostly for your sacrifice… you are wonderful, my beautiful friend.

 

Welcome to the fall out

Welcome to resistance

The tension is here, the tension is here

Between who you are and who you could be

Between how it is and how it should be

I dare you to move, I dare you to move

I dare you to lift yourself up off the floor

I dare you to move, I dare you to move

Like today never happened, today never happened before

I haven’t listened to this song in forever… but it came on the radio today… call it a coincidence… but the day I started getting past my bitterness and allowed myself to learn from Steve’s death was the day this song started holding meaning for me…

Knowing and Believing are two very differient things

“Religion is a matter not of learning how to think about God but of actually encountering Him. Loosing our illusions is painful because illusions are the stuff we live by. The spirit of God is the great un-masker of illusions, the great destroyer of icons and idols. Gods love for us is so great that He does not permit us to harbor false images, no matter how attached we are to them (Brennan Manning The Relentless Tenderness of Jesus).”

  

I don’t do long distance relationships. So what I like about you is that you are close. I tend to trick myself into thinking you are far away. I think that you break my heart and then leave me hurting because that is the only thing I know and understand. And then I get mad at you for being far away, and distant, and not responding to my call… when the truth is, that in the broad spectrum of the universe and time, humanity and all creation, heaven and hell, you took notice of me when I was a little girl hiding in the dark. I was unseen by all, under a pile of stuffed animals in the back corner of a closet not big enough to stand up in, and I caught your attention with my tears. I had your whole attention. And I kept your whole attention; you couldn’t look away from me. You longed to carry my burden, but I couldn’t let it go, I didn’t know how. My burden broke my heart, and that broke your heart. And while I couldn’t let you in because I didn’t feel quite safe with the image you portrayed (though it was the only thing I wanted with all my heart), you didn’t grow mad or impatient, but continued to call “I’m here, I’m here let me hold you, let me dry your tears.” Still I couldn’t let you in so you loved me through my animals in the closet in the dark. You loved me though the moon that shone through the window onto the top bunk where I struggled to sleep every night. You loved me through the rain and the storms that somehow always made me feel calm and secure. You loved me through the safe things, the things that couldn’t hurt.

  

And the thing is you still see that little girl in me. You see my fears, and my pain, and my exhaustion, and all the things I fight every day, you still see me. In fact I have had your attention for so long that you understand my fight better than I do. You understand that you could fight it much more successfully than I can, if I would just learn to let you in and let you take over. And you still don’t get frustrated with me when I see you as scary and dangerous (though you’re the only thing in the world I want with all my heart). You don’t grow mad or impatient and you continue to call, “I’m here, I’m here let me hold you till you finally let all your tears go, and then let me dry your tears, forget tissues, hide your face in me and let me dry all your tears away. Let me be the God you know I am. Forget your doubt, your caution, your fear, let me be who I am no matter how attached you are to the image you’ve made of me. You don’t have to hide anymore.”

  Oh how I wish I could believe it.

far far away…

When I was a senior in High School me and some kids from MorningStar went to Stonecrest to do prophetic ministry. The group I was with went into Borders and decided to talk to a man who was relaxed, sitting in a chair reading. I made the mistake of introducing ourselves as “Christians” who believe that God still speaks to us… it didn’t matter what I said after I said the word Christian, that was enough to fill his eyes with pain, cause him to stand up and say he was late for a meeting. I don’t think he was late for a meeting the look in his eyes told a different story… they told of pain he had gone through from other “Christians.”

Too often I hear ministers and pastors, evangelists and prophets preaching fire and brimstone from the hands of a wrath filled god.  Sometimes I wonder if we are even serving the same God. Is the God of Jacob that I wrestle with and try to love and do whatever I can for, my God who is gracious and compassionate, is He also the God of those who preach a message of fear and shame?

I don’t know, but what I do know is that since that experience I have stopped introducing myself as a Christian. I am embarrassed to do so. Not at all because I am ashamed of the God I serve, but because I am ashamed to associate myself with the kind of person who preaches fire and brimstone and fills the unbelieving with pain. Is that wrong? I don’t know, in a way I feel horrible saying that I am ashamed of my siblings. But honestly someone who can evoke so much pain into another is not someone I really want to associate myself with.

While I don’t like to associate myself with judgmental Christians, I think I am one myself, but in a different way. I believe in Gods grace for other people, but not for me.  I have these two parts inside me, I think maybe the Bible would call it the old nature and the new nature, and they fight over my belief system. One side says I am a daughter of God, totally accepted, loved, forgiven, and complete. The other side says that I cannot be close to God unless I am completely and totally perfect, it says that God does not accept me, that I am not worthy to be his daughter. Sometimes I see God as my dad but sometimes I see Him as my judge.  

Over the summer I fought over the idea of grace verses judgment. At one point in my confusion I sent an email to a friend that said:

I love the idea of God—a God who is ever loving and accepting, but I am not sure if I buy it. He sort of seems to hold a double standard. I need to know where the lines of grace and judgment meet. How far does grace extend—how long? There must be a point where grace stops or there would be no need for Jesus to be a Judge

While Jesus died so that I can be close to him, I mock his grace and say I’m not good enough. I don’t deserve Him. When I screw up or when I think that I just don’t make the cut I put myself on a time out, ostracizing myself from God. Maybe I am the one who holds a double standard, its okay for the fallen, the poor, and the needy to approach the throne boldly, God wants to be close to them, but not me. In truth, God doesn’t reject me, I reject myself. And the more I reject myself the more I continue to hurt.

 No longer do I call you servants, for a servant does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends, for all things that I heard from My Father I have made known to you.

Park Bench Dwellers, You and I

There has never really been a moment when you weren’t on my mind. Still the spaces that divide us, the differences, the time—its all about timing isn’t it? But the seconds when we’re together and all the stars line up to give us the most beautiful view—these seconds are worth the waiting, the pain, the doubt, and the hope for something brighter further on up the road. Yes the seconds we’re together, when nothing else matters, when we’re sitting on a park bench and the cool breeze caresses with a gentle kiss. Cause we’re park bench dwellers, you and I, no matter the season or time, day or night you’ll find me sitting, just waiting, chasing the memories. The place we will always go back to. And maybe we will meet again, in some park, on some bench, and life will get out of our way, and you can take me home, to my first real home with a bench of our own where we can stargaze, and moon gaze.