I'm happy, but I'm not supposed to be.

Apparently, I am not supposed to be happy.  This is not necessarily news to me, but this statement has been marinating in my mind for a month or so.  Let me explain how this statement came to be about and (if you haven’t already guessed) why it is ludicrous.

Awhile ago, I had the pleasure of reconnecting with an old friend over dinner.  We have been friends for over twenty years, but had not sat down to talk for about eight years or so.  During this lapse of time, both my friend and I experienced the “curveballs” that life can so cruelly throw our way, and we spent some time catching each other up and reflecting on our lives, the lessons we learned, etc.

At one point during the evening, my friend looked at me and said “You sound really happy.” To which I replied, “You know, I really am.” And honestly, I am.  If you look at my circumstances, or at the “curveballs” I’ve been given, you may think otherwise.  In the eight year interim since my friend and I spoke I:

 ·         Left my husband of thirteen years and became a single mom of four

·         Due to the marriage I was in, I was also swimming in debt that I am still crawling out of.  Because of this…

·         I moved back home with my mother

 Romantic comedies are made about circumstances like this. I am specifically thinking of Hope Floats starring Sandra Bullock and Harry Connick Jr. But I don’t look like Sandra Bullock and I don’t have a hunky Harry Connick Jr. wooing me, but I digress.

If you had asked me twenty years ago what I wanted my future to look like, I would not have joyously listed the above circumstances.  But what happened to me has shaped my character, and made me a better person.  I have been through the fire and I have come out of it whole and stronger.  That is what makes me happy.

However, during the same dinner with my dear friend, she shared another nugget of wisdom.  After she caught me up on her life, she made the following statement (and I paraphrase here) – According to society, we should not be happy because we “failed” in succeeding at life.

Don’t be so quick to judge that statement.  Many people I know – and unfortunately some people I go to church with – look at my current situation and sympathize with how bad I have it.  And to many of those people, I have failed at life.  I should be a happily married woman (whoops! Failed that one.) in my own home (strike two) with enough money to buy whatever my heart desires (and there is the death swing!).  I have had some well meaning people come right out and tell me how bad my circumstances are. Really.  In fact, when the issue of marrying again came up, an older woman chuckled at me and said “Well you waited too long to get married again.” Um, isn’t 39 the new 29?

 Before that last paragraph takes me completely off topic, let me finish my friend’s infinite nugget of wisdom.  She finished by saying that the happiness we have found in our new lives may not match what the world thinks happiness should be, but that does not diminish what we truly have.  And she’s right.  I’m very happy right now.  If marriage happens to come again, great; but I am not obsessed with finding husband number 2 to validate the insecurities born from husband number 1. And while I am still recovering from the financial disaster that my first marriage was, I am on better financial footing than I was five years ago.  As for living at home, that is a non-issue.  I have found my happy.  My friend has found her  happy too. Our happy does not look like the conventional happy, but why should it?  God made each of us, and designed us to be gloriously different.  So if we are destined to be unique, why should we conform to a cookie cutter standard of happy?  It’s something to think about.  It’s something I think about now when I go up to a stranger at church and introduce myself.  I don’t want to diminish their happy because I think differently.

A tale of two sermons

Chapter One of In His Steps holds a very important question for me - one I have asked myself and sometimes not liked the answer to.  But before I pose the question, let me set the scene for the opening of the novel:

The First Church of Raymond has the best of everything.  It is an affluent church in middle America during the turn of the twentieth century, and it is the church home of the "best" in the community (business owners, politicians, well to do families).  It has the most enviable choir in town, complete with Rachel Winslow a rising musical star.  Presiding over this congregation is Rev. Henry Maxwell, a man who takes great care with his words and sermons, and enjoys preaching to a packed house.  He enjoys the creature comforts afforded to him as a pastor in his position, but he would not be a person who would be considered a braggart or self-indulgent. He is presiding over his congregation one bright Sunday morning when something amazing happens.

Rev. Henry had just completed his morning sermon.  The sermon held interesting words, and he delivered it with his regular speech.  The sermon was completely written out as Rev. Maxwell did not like surprises in his service, and wrote his sermons with care so as not to offend anyone. During the end of the sermon, however, an interruption did occur. A homeless man, who had spent the week in Raymond looking for a job/help, wanders into the church and walks right up to the front of the sanctuary.

The man begins to speak to the congregation, who was so shocked that they did not try and stop him.  The man talks about how he spent the week looking for work, and was scorned and not treated nicely.  With the exception of Rev. Maxwell, no one gave him a kind word, and absolutely no one helped him find a job.  He wheezed ominously as he spoke, asking about true discipleship and truly obeying the will of the Lord.  He asked if his treatment while he was in the city (and he came in contact with almost every member of First Church's congregation) was what Jesus would have done if  Christ himself had come upon this man.  He mentioned that his wife and children were living in a ratty tenement that was owned by an affluent church member. After the man posed these questions, he passed out and had to be carried out of the building.

Two sermons were preached that morning at the First Church of Raymond. The first was austere, eloquent, and delivered by an impeccably dressed man of God.  The second sermon was impromptu, simple, and preached by a shabby, sick man beaten down by the world.  Yet of those two sermons, only one truly touched souls and dared the listeners to dip their hearts into the waters of radical obedience. The second sermon.  The sermon delivered by the man of no reputation, a dying man.

Here is the question that chapter one posed to me: what kind of person am I?  Am I the mindful Christian like Henry Maxwell.  Do I choose my words with care because I don't want to offend/desperately want to be liked?  Do I make sure my outward appearance and attitude is perfect at all times? Or am I the beggar who did not care who he talked to or what he looked like.  When life handed him a crap hand, he walked into the hardship frankly and posed questions that needed to be answered. If I had to choose which of those people best described me, my answer would probably change on any given day.  I am mindful of what people think about me - almost to a fault - and that sometimes makes me a cautious person afraid to offend.  I am sometimes afraid to say the things that need to be said for fear I will be misunderstood.  It has only been the last couple of years, when my life turned upside down, that I walked without my armor on and spoke more freely.  Those times few but they are becoming increasingly rarer as I try to live my life the way God would have me.

See, the biggest lesson I have learned from chapter one is that God does not want plastic followers.  He wants reality.  He wants me warts and all.  I strive to be the man who called out an entire congregation.  While I am not there yet, I am no longer the "Christian" who uses rules and doctrine to shield myself from truth.  How about you?

New Direction

Have you ever noticed that whenever you make a commitment to do something - like eat healthier, exercise more, read your Bible everyday, stay in touch with friends better -, the minute the commitment is made there are more obstacles in your way to hinder your progress.  For example, every time I commit to exercising more (or a little) in the evenings, I will have to run one of my kids to practice or attend a parent meeting or work late.  You get the idea.  And I know it is not just me.  These days, it seems I am so busy doing what I have to do, there is no longer time for things I want to do or even NEED to do. That is why I am writing this today.  God is asking me to make a commitment about this blog, and I am writing it down for whoever reads this because I want to be held accountable.

A couple of weeks ago, I felt the Lord impress upon me to take this blog in a slightly different direction. The full extent of His direction for this I am not sure.  What I do know is for the next few months, my posts will no longer be my random musings about how I try to live the life God has for me.  I don't know if my blog will go back to what it is after the new year.  I really don't - and FYI I really hate that I really don't know.  I do not like wandering into the unknown without a road map. Be that as it is, I want to be obedient.  So for the next few months, here is what I will be writing about:

When I graduated high school twenty one years ago, the pastor of my church gave me and the other graduates a book as a graduation gift. The book was In His Steps by Charles Sheldon.  The book was nicely bound with gold trim.  Though I am a book lover, this particular book's austere cover did not interest me. It sat on my shelf for a few years until I read it one summer on college break, and it affected me.  In His Steps is the original What Would Jesus Do? I remember the WWJD movement from about 14-15 years ago. I mainly remember the WWJD bracelets and t-shirts, but I also remember a book that was a modern re-telling of Sheldon's classic original.  I'm not really interested in revisiting the WWJD movement, but I am interested in digging into the original novel.  I have actually taught the book in a college course since then, and I am still just as affected by it as I was back when I was an impressionable college kid picking it up for the first time.

For the next few months, I am going to use this blog to review the chapters of the book: what lessons those chapters have taught me, and what new challenges are being posed within its words. I'm not sure what new challenges will come out of it, but I hope someone is willing to join the ride with me.

I hate hallways, but I'm learning to love them.

There’s a popular saying right now that used to irk me – “While you are waiting for God to open the door, praise Him in the hallway.” There is nothing wrong with the phrase.  In fact, the metaphor within it is clear and poignant.  The idea that we should praise God whatever our situation is one I’m sure most of us need to work on.  That is why the phrase irked me so.

Praising God in the hallway means praising Him while you are waiting on His leading to take you to a new place – either in faith, a new job, in relationships, etc.  My problem is I hate waiting.  I really hate waiting.  And I have a few situations in my life right now where I have been waiting “in the hallway” for a very long time (think years).  In the beginning, I was very happy to praise God in this hallway while I waited for his perfect will.  But as time has passed, my demeanor has changed from that of a patient daughter of Christ to more of a petulant three year old.  Lately, I’ve gotten tired of waiting, and that wonderful phrase above reminded me that my attitude was not where it needed to be.  My attitude had become sour; instead of praising Him, I was constantly asking “Why, Lord, can’t you fix this already?”

Thankfully, God is more patient with me than I with Him. He directed me to the book of Genesis and the story of Joseph, and to the following passage in particular:

“But the Lord was with Joseph and extended kindness to him. He granted him favor in the eyes of the prison warden. The warden put all the prisoners who were in the prison under Joseph’s authority, and he was responsible for everything that was done there. The warden did not bother with anything under Joseph’s authority because the Lord was with him, and the Lord made everything that he did successful.”(Genesis 39: 21-23 CSB).

God had given Joseph a vision – a grand vision.  Joseph was going to be an important ruler.  However, at the time the above verses were written, Joseph was in prison – framed for a crime he did not commit.  This was just one of many of Joseph’s “hallways” while he waited for God to fulfill his destiny.  But Joseph did not display a bitter attitude as he sat wrongfully in prison. And because of this, God blessed Joseph during this time. God made everything Joseph did successful. God did not forget about Joseph, just like He does not forget about me. 

I’m still not a fan of waiting on the Lord to fulfill the promises He has given me, but I realize though I am waiting on His will, I am still blessed and being blessed every day. As Joseph has shown, it is OK to be successful while I “wait in the hallway”. And soon, I will be able to fulfill the vision God has given me and repeat the words of Psalms: “For you, O God, tested us; you refined us like silver. You brought us into prison and laid burdens on our backs. You let men ride over our heads; we went through fire and water, but you brought us to a place of abundance.” (Psalms 66:10-12 NIV).

 

 

Don't gripe away a blessing!

As I type this, I am reveling in the wonderful weather outside.  The day long rain has taken a short break, and it is a cool seventy degrees outside.  Did I mention that it's July and I'm in Oklahoma? Rain in July is a rarity in itself, but add a cool temperature and it becomes almost like heaven. Oklahoma has endured many summers (especially recently) when there was no rain to be found and temperatures stayed at or near triple digits for weeks on end.  After suffering an exceptional drought, this patch of cool, soaking rain is indeed a heavenly blessing.  It was the topic of many at church this morning.

Most who commented on the weather this morning were ecstatic. Phrases like "I'm luvin' this" and "my plants were sure thirsty" were commonplace; however there was one comment in particular that threw me for a loop.  As I was talking to a person about how great the cool rain was, said person sadly commented that now that the rain was here, a whole host of problems were bound to arise.  Noting my quizzical look, said person did maintain that the rain was good, but people would now have to be on guard for unskilled drivers on the roads when leaving church today. Said person just sighed fretfully and moved on. But I couldn't move on from that comment. I thought about the scorching drought and dangerous heat that has blanketed my state the previous two summers, about the crops that could never be harvested because they withered in the fields - unable to grow.  I thought about how this year would be different.  I wasn't worried about the unskilled driver on the roads, or the extra time it's going to take to maintain my lawn, or the fact that outdoor plans for the day would need to be rescheduled.  It rained and it was 70 degrees on July 14 in Oklahoma.  It's a blessing!  Blessings sometimes come with some work, but does that mean I'm going to gripe my way through it?

Let me pose the question again - do you ask God for blessing, for increase, for whatever, and then gripe when the very thing you asked for comes because it might inconvenience you or doesn't come the way you think it should? Or do you pray fervently for a blessing and once the blessing occurs, worry and get anxious about the blessing itself.  Do you pray for rain and then watch the rain come, but you can't enjoy it because you are worried about the rain getting your car wet?  If you really ponder this question, the truthful answer you give yourself might shock or humble you.  It did me.

When God blesses us, why do we worry about it/gripe about it? Why don't we just say "Thank you".  Do we feel unworthy to receive such blessing even though we asked God for it and the Bible promises it to us? Are we afraid that if we do receive God's blessing, we will endure an attack from the Enemy so we might as well not even be blessed in the first place? I'm not asking for an answer, but I will say that my own answers to some of these questions brought some of my own rotten thinking to light.  It's time to change how I view blessings.  They are not burdens.  If God blesses me, then he will also equip me with whatever is necessary to keep that blessing just that - a blessing, not a burden. And if God's blessing comes in a way that I didn't expect, I just have to remember what it says in Isaiah 55:8-9 that “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,”
declares the Lord. As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts." A blessing may not always look like it should in the short-term, but in the long-term, God knows what he is doing; by trusting Him with my life, I will get to reap the blessing he has for me.

What to do when life completely overwhelms you

I must preface this post with a disclaimer.  This incident actually happened to me months ago, and I was so struck by God's message for me that I wrote it down instant it happened - I was in my car at the time (I pulled into a parking lot before I wrote it down).  I then left the paper in my car to remind me of this message; however, the nugget of wisdom soon found its way into the soccer ball/fast food wrappers/spare socks flotsam and jetsam that is my minivan. I forgot about it until a few days ago when I stumbled upon it while cleaning out my car.  Not only was God's message just as powerful as it was in July, but it seemed He purposely hid the scrap of paper in my car for "such a time as this".  Here's the story:

I was running errands in Norman last July during the period of monsoon rain that left the metro area flooded.  I was grumpy because I hate to drive in the rain, and I was visiting my attorney.  Double whammy.  However, I needed to stop by the bank first.  I stopped at a red light on Main street, and orange construction signs glared through the rain mist and stared at me from across the intersection.  As soon as I crossed the intersection, my lane was going to close and I would have to merge left (not an easy feat to do in Norman in the rain).  I fretted for the duration of the red light on how to merge to the left, inwardly griping about my bad luck.  The light turned green and I started to move.  I turned on my left turn signal blinker hoping to catch the sympathy of the cars beside me when something caught the corner of my eye - my bank.  I was so distracted by the construction signs and so worried about how to change lanes, I failed to notice that the bank was right beside me.  I didn't have to merge left at all; I just had to turn right.  It struck me then and there that I focus much of my energy on the orange construction signs of life.  I fret and worry about obstacles that I may never have to face, and ignore the blessings that may be right beside me.  I find that if I just keep my eyes on God, He is more than capable of navigating me through the road construction in my life.

When I found this paper again, I was feeling exhaustingly overwhelmed.  Between teaching high school five days a week, teaching college one night week, and being a mom 24/7, I felt like I was drowning in an ocean with nothing to hold onto but an anchor.  My own story reminded me not to worry about the future because it is God's control.  "Give us THIS day our daily bread".  And I remember to slow down, breathe, and take this journey one day at a time.

How many times do you pray?

I pondered this question over the weekend as the court date I fretted over came and went with yet another continuation.  As an anxious citizen, I'm frustrated at a system that allows a man charged with felony kidnapping to walk the streets.  As a sane-minded citizen, I can feel compassion; but as a victim, forget about it.  I'm mad and I want justice and I'm wondering how long it will take?

In God's ever present mercy, He reminded of a sermon I heard years ago when I lived in Elk City.  My pastor at the time, Mark, was preaching about an older couple that was a part of his congregation early in his ministry.  The man suffered a severe heart attack, and it was only the multiple attempts at CPR that was keeping him alive.  As Mark prayed with the wife in the hospital waiting room, the doctors came out and said the husband was revived - only to come out minutes later to say that his heart had stopped again.  This process repeated itself again.  And again.  And again.  And again.  I'm not sure how many times the doctors said the husband died on the operating table, but I do know that figure is in double digits.  At one point during this trying ordeal, the wife turned to Mark and asked "How many times do we pray for him to live?"  Mark's answer:  "As long as it takes."

I do not serve a sadistic God, but a God who reveals himself to a sinful world for His glory, not ours.  I have no idea why my life is taking the turn is taking, but I cannot mistake the role God has in it.  While the earth is not bowing to my anxious desires at the moment, the Bible says that all will be revealed for His glory.  And I see God moving in my life in so many other directions (finances, my children's health, my family healing years long rifts) that I cannot deny that He is in this situation as well.  How many times do I pray?  As long as it takes.

An interesting endnote to Mark's anecdote about man who kept coding in the hospital:  the man made a complete recovery.  He went on to live for many years.  He even outlived his wife.  How many times do I pray?  As long as it takes.