Marriage, among other things, is not the answer

                In a break from making a dent in my “to do before the quarter is over” to-do-list, and as I make a mental note of the dates of upcoming weddings—two in one week the last week in December, I was struck by the thought that “marriage is not the answer”. For every engagement announcement I see on facebook, there is a subtle name change, a deletion of pictures, a quiet absence of something that once was a beautiful and shared celebration turned to a lone unannounced mourning. Marriage is not the answer.

                Maybe because I’m in the stereotypical “mid-twenties-crisis” where 20-somethings lose the “I’m invincible, the world is my oyster” mindset as the reality of school loans, lost love, and aging family members begin to shape our lives. Maybe it’s because this time of year reminds me of people “gone too soon”—empty chairs around holiday tables and missing faces in family photos scream that this life ends. What is right now is not forever. The quarter will end, the grades will be posted, the heart will stop beating.

                I cannot count on others, on school achievements, on what I have to define me. People will fail me—I hourly fail others. I will procrastinate on some things while clinging to my crossed off lists. As black Friday approaches, it is easy to get sucked into the “you gotta have_____ to be accepted, loved, applauded”. I can’t help but reflect on Kenya—where I saw physical poverty. The material disparity doesn’t change the fact that our hearts are the same. We are all desperate for recognition, applause, approval, status, love—and cling to any semblance of it.

                As I plow through the end of the semester, as I head to two more weddings without a “plus one”—I am comforted by the fact that I don’t lack what I need. Marriage is not the answer. Yes I am busy, yes I am “single”—but my life is full and beautiful not because of where I am, who I am attached to, what I’m studying, or what I have—or lack. My life is beautiful because of WHOSE, I am.

                You see, I could get the degree, get the job, get the guy—and yet it could all be taken away in a moment—in a typhoon, a tornado, a diagnosis. I lack when I lose sight of the truth of my acceptance—I am single but not alone, I am still at home but not homeless, I am sinful yet saved. We all have our own fill in the blank if-only qualifications for “finally” having what we need. But any spouse, professor, ceo, and parent can tell you that those things lose their luster as life happens. Those treasures are tarnished by unfulfilled expectations, by broken promises, by quieting applause.

                So tonight, I am grateful for where I am, what I have, and most importantly—whose I am. He alone is constant, is sufficient, is the answer.

Plans, Patience, and a Spontaneous trip to Portland—God Always Leads in Making us New

                When I woke up yesterday morning, I had my own agenda—rest—sweats, sweets, and movie and reading marathons. I had a “few things” I wanted to get done but for the most part the day stretched before me pretty uneventful. As I finally crawled out of bed—savoring the last few minutes my body could stand before it just had to move—I prayed, God, I want this to be a day of rest—but what does that need to look like? I sleepily scrolled through pinterest and facebook and an event caught my eye.  The author of the book I reviewed in September was going to be in a suburb of Portland at 7:30 pm….hey, it’s only 11—I could totally go. I called upon my dependable travel companion and dear friend Emily—stating that I had “aca-crazy idea….”and by 3pm we were off.

                As Emily drove and I read the first few chapters of Packing Light—I knew that this was what I needed. For some travel is draining; but it is energizing to me. There’s just something freeing and perspective giving about getting away and letting myself let go of my to-do list of homework and errands that can wait. When I looked up from reading, conveniently resting my voice while Emily processed the encouraging challenges Ally artfully weaves through her narrative; I realized that my morning prayer was answered. I had my own plans for a “lazy Saturday” but God knew what I needed. Emily and I chatted about how great it was to be on a spontaneous road trip while reading about Ally’s preparation for her own—and our personal “new things” of short hair and graduate school. The emotions of hesitation, fear, and the underlying “what the heck am I really doing” bubbled up in our own way as we flew down the highway. 

 

Sometimes being spontaneous is just what your soul needs.

 

We arrived at the coffee place in record time—and a half hour early. The café was a beautiful blend of quirky and inviting. After grabbing a chai, Emily and I introduced ourselves to Ally. It was such a wonderful experience to finally meet someone whose journey, writing and faith has influenced my own. Ally and her family were friendly, gracious, and encouraging. A little while later, while the music played, Emily read, I wrote a prayer—            

You lead—sometimes across an ocean, sometimes across state lines, sometimes into a salon. Nevertheless, You lead. Daily. Hourly.

I breathed in the smell of fresh coffee, enjoyed the folksy music, and sighed—grateful for the day’s journey and for ones in the past—visions of faces in Kenya and a flood of emotions. I processed the events of the day—mulled over conversations and the surprise that I actually was in Oregon. Out of my reverie I was encouraged by the fact that my plans and God’s providence collide and interweave in ways I will never understand this side of heaven. He plants and waters the deep longings within me—from days of rest to the rest of my life—He leads in making me new. I can trust Him to provide and lead in the perfect plans He has as I walk daily. Sometimes it takes a while to see the fruits of faithful patience—my first trip to Kenya was 12 years in the making—the next one, well, I’ll keep you posted.

On the way back to Seattle, Emily and I silently processed just how blessed the day had been—saying yes to a spontaneous trip refreshed our souls in ways that we didn’t even know we needed. Our respective visions and dreams had been clarified and sharpened—glimpses of goals and written plans sparking hope and joy. Even this morning, my pastor spoke on how God makes us, our plans, our calendars and our relationships new. Sometimes that means a spontaneous road trip, sometimes it means meeting new friends, but it always means growth and joy.

 

 

Permission to rest.

Well today marks 3 full weeks of being sick on and (only 3ish days) off. With being out of the house working/in class/driving 12 hours a day 4 days a week (and a full day of work Fridays), I am spent. I am THAT person going to bed early and waking (confession, I wrote "working" the first time--a sleepy and busy "Freudian slip") up tired. I've hit a wall.

I can't do it all. I can't plow through this year, and life in general, full speed ahead, all the time. I'm not wired to. We're meant to find a balance of work and rest. I have to make rest a priority even when duty calls. Sometimes the most productive thing you can do is set your pencil down--or if you're like me--pencil in, rest.

Ironically enough, like I wrote previously, it is in bodily sickness my soul is refreshed. Today, in the morning fog of stuffiness caused by laying down all night (yes, from roughly 9:30 pm on) I found myself praying in gratitude.

I surprised myself by being grateful for being sick--for the reminder to slow down, to rest and reflect on this season of school and work. I am thankful that through sickness I have permission to rest--to remind myself that my body is weak, that it will fail me, that someday more than just my ears will lose their abilities--not in a morbid but in a meaningful--today matters way.

I'm also beyond grateful for the upcoming long weekend--praying that I'll heed these words and rest one full day. The weight of the world is not on my shoulders. This is one year, one set of classes, one weekend. REST.

“Though I turn my back to leave…” –November 3, 2013

                …You come running after me, and when I come home, from broken roads, You are faithful, you are faithful”.

                Tonight, as I sip a cup of gingerspice coffee, the lyrics above (by a very talented young couple at my church) are refreshing my mind and filling my soul. I am intentionally resting—after a beautiful wedding yesterday that I was privileged to be a part of, after hitting the half way mark of my first quarter of grad school—and in an attempt to fight off a long-lasting cold/sinus infection.  But the real reason I need to rest—is because “in returning and rest is your salvation, in quietness and trust is your strength” (Isaiah 30:15). I need to rest in the truth that I am loved. I am loved for breathing, not for “handling” my busy schedule, a difficult client, being sick, etc. I am not defined by where I’ve let the ball trop, said what I should have kept silent, was silent when I should have spoken, or let my temper rule. No, I am not the sum of my mistakes or achievements—I am the sum of His blood, His death, His love.

                As I knelt in church today—I realized that he’s been running after me. Even when I’ve let busyness be my excuse, when I’ve claimed television is more relaxing than reading His word. When I’ve been so “on top of school” that I’ve conveniently not taken time to reflect and rest. I often find that it is in bodily sickness my soul is nourished—it forces me to slow down, to think, to re-evaluate how I spend my time.

                He has been running after me—inviting me to open up to him again. You see, yes I may still refer to Kenya a lot in conversations—but I’ve been really bad about discussing it with my heart. In the same way I’ve steeled my heart against the many “one year ago…” (and even, 5 years ago) anniversaries this time of year brings. I talked, but I didn’t allow myself to taste and see the good in the hard things. Today I realized I had become calloused towards spiritually based emotions—crying in church, being “moved” and expressing that. As I fought the urge to knee my mind screamed at my cracking heart “don’t do it. It hurts too much, it won’t make a difference anyway—the kids are still hungry and abused, the bodies are still in the graves, you’re still standing alone here, and you’re still wearing hearing aids”.


“What good will it do….” Hissed in my ears.


                To an extent those thoughts were true—my circumstances haven’t changed. But just like Isaiah was prophesying to the Israelites—it wasn’t that returning and rest would change their physical circumstance—it changed their heart towards God and save them. I am not saved by what I do but by whose I am. Even if I don’t deal with the messy emotional mess that the last year brought—I am loved. He runs after me even as I work to return from broken roads—He’s faithful.