preggers

I've been getting good email lately. Two, in particular, rocked me. They both spoke good, wise words. Spoke grace and truth. I'm not too proud to say that I needed it. Thank you, dear ones.

(Hopefully they won't kill me for passing along their words here. It was Just. So. Good. And there have got to be other hearts out there that need a breath of fresh air today).

Email 1, snippets:

I feel so, so – pregnant – that it's hard not to feel as if I will explode before I see things come to fruition in my life. I know you know the feeling.

...Be encouraged – what I have sensed throughout this process is that in life, there will be good things, and then there will be the best things, good guys, but then the best guy, good job opportunities, but then the best job fit (which we cannot judge by the world's standards). The hard part is discerning between the two... or making peace with God and ourselves when something doesn't work out that we could have sworn was a "best." I've been known to be so bad about looking to the past and regretting – but I'm finally coming to terms with looking at the present and saying "okay God, this must mean you have something better." And at the same time, doing everything within my power to make this present moment the fullest...

This was one of the best me-too's I've ever received.

Pregnant.

Funny word choice. It's come up a lot recently. And not just because many of my friends are-it. Anne Lamott wrote in Traveling Mercies about how she sat next to a guy on a plane who worked closely with the Dalai Lama. He said they believe when things get all crazy and hectic and burdensome and hard, it's because something in us is trying to get itself born. And it needs us to be distracted so it can be born as perfectly as possible.

Sitting on the ferry, highlighting the words because I'm a nerd and highlight things in my books, I had to blink back tears.

Then it came up a few weeks ago during my coffee/meeting with Pastor Dan. "Grasshopper," he said (which always makes this strange kung-fu-ish movie soundtrack play in my head), "Grasshopper – you are SO pregnant... so on the verge of something..." He then went on to encourage me that he couldn't wait to see what this season of my life will give birth to.

Something in me is trying to get itself born. I've sensed it for a long time. But it's been a painful process. I'm uncomfortable. I don't fit in my life right. I feel way more clumsy than usual (which is saying something). There's the inevitable emotional rollercoaster – and then feeling genuinely bad about being on an emotional rollercoaster. I'm a bit nervous as to how much it's going to hurt – what toll this process is going to take on me – before something new and beautiful is brought forth.

Equal parts fear and anticipation. What a cocktail.

...Good things. Best things. Peace with God and self when we had the two mixed up.

Wow. My heart jumped up and cried it's own me-too. And, of course, she hit on the two hardest areas: meaningful life-work, and the love stuff.

It's not difficult once Best or even Better comes along. Everyone says, "Man! I can't believe I thought that was what would be best for me!" It's the in-the-meantime that's hard.

With regards to work, I'm hoping again. I'm seeing some Better on the horizon, and I'm smiling often just thinking about it. Not even because it'll be The Best... but because I know it'll at least be Better. The love stuff: not so easy. Good, Best so Far, whatever, set the bar pretty high... and I've come across none who measure up. Believing that there's a better plan than what I had in mind takes faith , but it's been quietly and determinedly taking root, growing in me a peace. And – miracle – I've released myself from feeling like it could've worked had I been Better.

...I'm finally coming to terms with looking at the present and saying "okay God, this must mean you have something better."

Thank you, dear friend, for taking time to speak words that calmed my soul and soothed my heart. As you have refreshed me, be refreshed.

Yahweh, Yahweh

Always pain before the child is born

Yahweh, Yahweh

Still I'm waiting for the dawn...

running out of bullets

"Help" is a prayer that is always answered.  It doesn't matter how you pray -- with your head bowed in silence, or crying out in grief, or dancing.  Churches are good for praying, but so are garages and cars and mountains and showers and dance floors.  Years ago I wrote an essay that began, "Some people think that God is in the details, but I have come to believe that God is in the bathroom."  Prayer usually means praise, or surrender, acknowledging that you have run out of bullets.  As Rumi wrote, "there are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground."  I just talk to God.

Anne Lamott, Plan B: Further Thoughts On Faith

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I am LOVING this book.  A great gift from a good friend who had mercy on my soul enough to know that it was going to KILL me to wait for it's print in cheaperback.

Running out of bullets.  I'm there.  Have been for a while now.  I simply ran out of bullets.  Feeling cornered, I started chucking rocks.  Ran out of rocks.  Then I started throwing whatever I could get my grubby paws on.

Then I ran out.

There's a point when the last of your fight leaves you; there's simply nothing left.  It's a terrifying place to be: empty, defenseless.

Unless, of course, you've been fighting God.  I've been shaking my fists at him, saying he didn't live up to his end of the deal.  Screaming that he owes me something for all the hard work I've put in.  Crying that he's an unfair parent who must not care; that this "this hurts me more than it hurts you" stuff is a load. That I'm sick of having things not work out in a way that looks anything remotely like success.

God hadn't given me what I wanted (a certain job, certain living situation, etc.), when I wanted it... and it was just beyond me to believe that maybe there was something better in store; that perhaps he was God, not me, and I should just shut up and hold on for a second.  Let the shooting begin.

God, quite maddeningly, didn't shoot back, and I eventually ran out of bullets, emotions, criticisms, rants, whatever.  I eventually ran out of things to say. 

Empty and defenseless is sometimes the best place I can be, when it comes to God.  I'm acutely aware I need something to fill the void that has become my weary heart, and I don't have so much as a single brick to build up some walls with, to try to tell him where he can and cannot go.  It's all his territory for once, because I'm a bit too weak and a bit too tired to even begin to raise a fuss.

After the cease-fire, there was a silence.  A few days of it.

And then, "Help."

And then, "Help."

And then, "God I need you."

And then, "God, I'm sorry."

And then, "God, help me trust you."

And then, and then, and then.  I quit shooting and started praying.  They're not super-spiritual prayers, mind you.  I just talk to God.  About what I feel like I need, how I'm scared I might be wrong, how I really deep-down want my life to please him, how the anger has scared me, how my heart's been achy lately, how I need some help to learn how to talk to him before I reach the point when it has to start out as a shouting match... I just talk to God.  I know my prayers aren't very impressive.  Or holy or spiritual giant-y.

I just figure, right now, they're enough.   

What's even better -- I figure, he's going to answer.  In his time, he'll answer, and that's always enough.

*Thanks to those who've been patiently dispensing grace this past few weeks.  You've been Jesus with skin on, and my heart thanks you.

embraced

I have a Dear Friend who, today, took an hour from a busy schedule, with many other people to look after and care for, to look after and care about me.  I am not in a great place at the moment.  Let's just say that.  He listened to me rant and rave, curse and cry, admit wounded defeat and angrily speak defiance in the same breath.  I have been living painful moments of near-breaking; my friend helped shoulder the load long enough for me to feel like I can stumble on a while longer.  Helped me see that perhaps the near-breaking was more of a birth-giving than anything.

My Friend showed me grace today.  This kind always catches me off guard: so rarely found, and so sorely needed.  It was like finding ten bucks in your jeans pocket when your car is running on vapors and payday is a week away.  I can keep going now.  I came home thinking that maybe I'm not so far from redemption as I often feel; that, despite my ever-present hangups... there are those who stubbornly embrace me, and who will relentlessly care for me til I learn to embrace myself. 

I am a mess-up, but I am a loved mess-up.  This is hard to reconcile, hard to fully believe, but easy to find rest in.

With that, goodnight.

let it be

Hi friends. Been a while.

I needed it. Sometimes I just need a while to struggle and wrestle and let things simmer without attempting to make it useful... without extracting a contrived moral from the story before its time. Sometimes the chaos just needs to be chaos for a while, with no need to know or even attempt to guess how far I am from some semblance of clarity or that promised light at the end of the tunnel.

When I began writing, I was ecstatic to discover an awareness that had long been lying dormant... thoughts and impressions that had lacked any meaningful expression up until that night last July when I found myself typing and unable to stop. Something profound changed in me. Rather than my days rushing along in a never-ending stream of indiscernible hours, my days became filled with marked meaning-laden moments. Or, to be more truthful, I became present to the moments that filled my days. I gained the ability to hit the pause button on my life; to stop and look around once in a while. I found myself no longer merely existing; I found myself living. Listening. Seeing. Feeling (deeply... and for the first time, okay with allowing myself that freedom).

On the good days, this newfound awareness serves me quite well. I drink it up. I thank God. I have plenty of happy things to say.

On the bad days (or bad weeks)... it's acutely painful. Can I just say that? I don't like writing about those days. And when I do, I pressure myself to wrap it all up in a nice pretty package of "but I'm learning some valuable lesson." Then, I typically tie it up with a bow of "but I know God will work it out." Heaven forbid I leave it messy; unfinished; out of the box.

Chaos doesn't wrap up well.

But on and on I like to go, cutting even, straight lines on pretty paper and curling twirls of bright ribbon... furiously attempting to make life neat and well-ordered and lovely, at least on the outside. Yeah, I'm frustrated, yeah, I wonder why things don't seem to be working out... but I'm nothing - of no value whatsoever - if I'm not inspiring and hope-filled, right?

I ran out of inspiring about three weeks ago. To quote a favorite movie, I had lost the ability to bullshit. I'm sure I erred a little too much on the side of wallowing. I cried. I complained. I got angry. I almost scared myself a little. I said some things to God that were probably a little impertinent, given that, well, he's God, for God's sake, and I'm me, and we both know the track records of who's been right more often. But at least, for once, I wasn't attempting to say it was alright when it really wasn't yet. It was ugly, but at least it was real.

And when I came to the end of (or at least a significant pause in) my tirade this weekend, I found God there still. (That's not an attempt at a pretty bow; it's just a fact).

He used several things this weekend away to remind me, among other things, to get my grubby hands off his projects; there will be no need for pretty packaging when he's done. There's timing at work here, and I'm typically so in a hurry to see the end product, the moral, the lesson, the gift, that I'm forever missing the process.

(I think, although I can't be sure, that he may have also been saying that I would probably do well to lay off the pointed sarcastic comments aimed heavenward and attempt a little more patience. He said this more gently than we both knew I deserved).

I can stop pushing for a quick resolution... and yet, I can still live within that chaos in faith that there will someday be beauty wrought from it. I don't have to be bitter and depress-o to be authentic. Neither do I have to have a Full House-ish resolution to every daily struggle in order to be a woman of faith.

It's weird. In refusing to gloss over what's happening in my life with some flippant Christian cliche, I found them all more true than ever.

Dang it.