how Valentine's and Lent are the same..

Do you observe lent? That makes it look like you watch it from a distance. Do you practice lent? Do you look forward to Ash Wednesday. Do you dream about Fat Tuesday? When Brad and I were early in our relationship he mentioned that it is the practice for one to have pancakes on the Tuesday before lent. And I looked at him as if he had lobsters coming out of his ears. 

Yesterday I was laughing at the irony that Valentine’s day fell on Ash Wednesday. A day that celebrates chocolate and sex and “love” but really brings consumerism, disappointment and loneliness. But as I thought further about it, it came to me that Ash Wednesday is just another religious construct, much like Valentine’s day is a hallmark construct. There is nothing biblical commanding us to a season of lent. Invariably it comes from Christ being in the dessert for 40 days before beginning his ministry and a denomination rife with legality. And while saying no to ourselves in the throes of temptation is good and important it is also important to remember that observing lent in no way saves us, just as Valentine’s Day in no way proves our love, or creates a sustaining sacrificial love. 

My very first memory of Valentine’s day is from grade 3. We all had brown paper lunch bags up at the front of the class and throughout the day you could put valentine’s cards in the bags of whomever you wished. I don’t remember if I gave cards to everyone in my class, that wasn’t a rule in those days. I do remember giving a few out, I think mostly to the other girls that I thought were my friends. But then that moment, when you go get your bag and there are only a few cards in there. Like maybe three or four. And certainly the people I gave cards to didn’t necessarily feel the same way. And looking around the class and noticing of course, the more popular kids getting more cards. It was devastating and so began my negative connection to this misguided day. 

If you love Valentine’s day and love celebrating it and going in for all the things associated with it, more power to you. But don’t expect me to tow your line. And don’t entertain the notion that I don’t love you the same because I don’t reciprocate on this one day of the year. I know so many people who demand action from their spouse on that day and if it doesn’t play up to their ideal then they add it to the list of disappointments. What would happen if you received AND gave love and respect to your spouse every day of the year and February 14th would seem like child’s play. If your relationship is in such a state that you rely on this day to receive affection and appreciation from your partner then maybe you should spend that money on marriage counselling instead of overpriced flowers and dinner out and chocolates. 

Digressing

In comes Ash Wednesday and lent which, honestly, I have taken part in twice in my life. I have not been to Ash services. I have not had an ash cross drawn on my forehead. But I have given up things for lent. One year it was alcohol, just a few years ago it was Facebook. And both times were washouts. I stayed off the booze that first time because it’s somehow easy to say no when you look at the cost and also, halfway through that lent season I found out I was pregnant. The Facebook year was harder but both times left me with a resounding sense of loneliness and disappointment and I think it was because of the consumerism aspect of our faith.

I am speaking wholly for myself here in that when I look at lent it has become another construct of “what’s in it for me?” Those two times I felt God calling me to let go of those things and I said ok. But then “secretly” wondered, what am I going to get out of it? This is my secret shame that I still catch myself looking at my relationship with God and asking “what’s in it for me” What I actually voice is “what is your purpose for me Lord” but really, at the dark heart of it I am saying the former. 

Maybe you don’t get anything out of it Colleen. Your God died for you. Is that not enough?

Yet still, I want something. And practicing piety during lent, waiting for these 40 days of the year to listen to God and pray more and read my bible more and talk about how I’m fasting from “this or that” does little more than turn me into the spouse that demands that special thing come Valentine’s Day. Do I daily show my love and appreciation to Christ. Do I only wait for special days to show him my ability to “sacrifice”. Does He wait for a special day of the year to show me how he loves me? It is a level of selfishness I was not aware I was capable of until recently. God does not call us into obedience for what he will do. He calls us into obedience because of what he has already done. And this, thankfully, is where we can leave Valentine’s and Lent in the dust.

In your marriage, as in your relationship with God, are you required only one day of the year to consider your spouse? Are you only required one day of the year to consider the Lord? Is that day Good Friday? Or maybe Christmas? With your spouse is that one day their birthday? Or your anniversary?

What a loss. 

When you consider someone else, when you lean your heart towards them, when you give them space, every day, in your life wouldn’t it be for the better? When you put your own needs aside for them, isn’t there grace? When Christ put aside his desires for you.. wasn’t there grace?

Daily we are to pick up our cross, the instrument of our death, what we die on, and die to it every day. Every day. That means if we hold onto our selfishness we have to die to it even day. If we hold onto our pride we have to carry it to him every day. If we hold onto resentment, hurt, “know it all-i-ness”, power, hate, anger. We, every day, have to pick it up and give it to him. 

This isn’t something we wait for lent to do. We do it now. 

We don’t wait for Valentine’s Day to show love and appreciation, we do it now. Because he died for us. Not because he will. But because he already has. 

broken christmas..

Ugh, Christmas is hard. Anyone telling you different is selling you something, or they aren’t  paying attention.

The warm glow, the time with families, the revelry, the foooood, the presents, the trees and trimmings, wassailing. Bing Crosby crooning, “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas…”. Or maybe your groove is more Boney. M. The snow is gently falling, it’s cold enough for a fire in the fireplace but not so cold you bitterly complain about it. As you walk down your street every house is lit and twinkling and the warmth seems to pour out of every window as there is a party or family gathered at every house. The city sounds are quieted by the snow and all is calm, all is bright. 

Is any of it even real?

I have battled Christmas this year. Much like Jacob and the Angel of the Lord in the desert. I was walking towards Christmas with hope and anticipation.

“This year will be wonderful” I thought to myself. “This will be our fourth Christmas here and it will finally not be painful. Finally I won’t be homesick, and finally I won’t cry over not being able to bake with my sisters and finally I won’t get depressed after our FaceTime call with our families on that day because this is the first time since we moved here that I am actually looking forward to Christmas”

I started to plan and organize and schedule. I made lists and lists and lists for my lists. Not really. The Christmas music kicked in and the recipes came out and the online shopping carts filled up.

Then I got sick.

Again.

Strep throat.

Again. 

Only this time I couldn’t get antibiotics in time so I was on  my own in my fight against it. Let me tell you, strep without antibiotics is exhausting. A whole day in bed, a week of sore throat, two and a half weeks of exhaustion. I was going to bed at 8:30 most nights, barely even making it to that time. I lost thirteen pounds and just walking up the stairs wore me out. Just as I was beginning to wonder if I was ever going to have energy again, things slowly started to turn around. But now Christmas no longer seemed inviting, it was looming like a threat to every part of me. And within that recovery from strep was a stressed family. A husband taking on more even though his plate was already spilling everywhere. Stumbling into a pit of despair over financials, children checking in on me every morning and throughout the day, “Are you ok mom? How are you feeling today mom? Are you still sick mom?” Just this morning, Iain asked me if I was all better, “How much better are you mom?” I had to assure him I was 100%. But it was no small task to get there.

I have “joked” with a few people that I had my ass handed to me over the weeks of November. I’m sure someone else could go through those same things and truck along just fine. Me? Well, I feel everything. Everything. Even everything everyone else is feeling. I felt the weight of Brad’s stress with having to do more around the house while I was recovering, I felt the deep concern my boys had for their mom, I felt the deep wound of guilt as our finances came knocking, reminding us of being good stewards and how, well, we haven’t. That was probably the hardest blow. Right before Christmas. I sat at the computer and looked at those online shopping carts and shook my head, and got angry. The anger went only one place, inward. 

What are we doing? What are we teaching our children? What kind of mixed message are we selling? Jesus wasn’t even born on Christmas day. The church laid a blanket over a pagan holiday in attempt to redeem it. But the church isn’t even perfected in it’s redemption. How did we think it would turn out? 

Noah feels compelled to bring it up to anyone who mentions him that Santa is dead. Don’t be getting any ideas about it to the contrary either. I grew up being told that we celebrate Christmas because it’s Jesus’ birthday and we give gifts because of the wisemen giving gifts to Jesus (even though they came two years later) and because Jesus is the greatest gift of all. But is that still my motivation? Did Jesus come so we could buy more things we don’t need? Why just get those things at Christmas? As a Christian, if you are glad all year long for Christ’s birth - and you should be - why not give gifts all year long? 

The Wisemen’s gifts were actually spirit lead and prophetic. Gold, frankincense and myrrh. Joseph and Mary needed the gold to pay for their travels. Frankincense was used for cleansing. The priests would use it in the Temple for anything and everything. Myrrh, well, let me tell you about Myrrh.

It is used in burial.

I sat stuck on this for the longest time. I wanted to scrap Christmas. Just, let’s forget about getting a tree, we already have a small one the boys use. And I can explain to the boys that we can’t do Santa sacks this year. I’ll tell Brad that he and I can just go on a date and not worry about presents for each other. I mean, it gets ridiculous and out of hand. What are we saying to the world when we hop on the bandwagon of secular culture and fail at every attempt to redeem it?

Is redemption our mandate?

Last Sunday was pretty typical. Slow comers, late start, restless boys - grumpy child - last minute details, power point problems, music challenges, stewing over Christmas problems. It felt like a cyclone of distraction. And in the midst of it walked in a man who, let me say, has burned his bridges at nearly every organization in town. He has certainly made no friends at our church either. He left town a few months back and we thought it was for good. And a part of me was glad. So often he was coming around for soup kitchen or Sundays or any day and was drunk. He would yell and swear at Brad, and the next time he was by he had no memory of his previous visit. A couple at our church tried to help him and he deeply, deeply took advantage of them. We helped pay for his bus ticket out of town after he told us he was going to get clean. When he walked in on Sunday my first thought, after my anxiety seized me, was “man, this guy has balls”

But really,

“man, this guy is broken”

And we can not fix him. That is not our job. Our job is to love him. 

He walked in to the sanctuary in the middle of the sermon and sat down and echoed a few amens, then started mumbling to himself. 

And in that moment Brad’s voice seemed to cut like a sword,

“God is close to the outcast, we see that he is close to those who are on the fringes of society. Back then it was the poor or women or slaves that were on the fringes. And we can think of people nowadays who might be on the fringes of society” 

And I wept.

Because I am broken too

And we fail each other because we don’t want to admit to our own brokenness, only to each others.

Why does this man keep coming back here? He makes us uncomfortable. Holy interruption is such a blazingly, awkward, burning light. What happens when God calls us on our bullshit?

And I prayed. I nearly collapsed to my knees. 

God is so good to me. He is so gracious and tender and loving. As when you were little and ran like the wind and tripped and scraped your knee and your mom would look over your wound and gently press on different areas. This hurts? How about here? And you would wince and cry. Don’t touch it! It hurts!

Of course it does. The body is broken. 

Healing can only come after the hurt.

And the frankincense burns.

And the myrrh soaks the linen.

identity..

I joined an art class.

I’ve never considered myself artsy fartsy.

I like to paint.

Bob Ross was my Sunday afternoons in my late teens, early 20’s.

One day, I thought I did a good job with a painting in art class in high school and a stupid jerk face boy made fun of it.

I love art.

But I’m not great at it, I’m not gifted.

I had an art teacher in high school that was not schooled in art… or teaching

My efforts were never very good apparently.

But, I love art.

I love looking at art, I love watching people make art. 

Any kind really.

What I love really, is being in the presence of creation.

How amazing would it have been to be in God’s presence when he created the world, the universe, the garden, eve, the serpent.

Creating something out of nothing is breathtaking, anytime, for anything. 

How breathtaking would it have been to be with him as he created you?

In my head I see a picture and I try to sketch it and it looks like a cartoon.

My art teacher gave me an assignment. A stack of post it notes and a charge to sketch what I see over the next two weeks. Well, tomorrow it is two weeks and I haven’t sketched a thing. I’ve seen things, and think, “wow, I wish I could draw that”

I lamented to Brad in the car on the way to church last Sunday and Iain said, “Why are you afraid to draw mom?”

I said, “because I don’t think I’m very good at it”

And Noah chimes in, “But, it’s just drawing, mom”

“I will help you mom, it’s really easy, you just draw. I will show you how when we get back home” Iain spoke plainly. No one has ever told him his creation is bad.

-

I see Birch trees dropping their yellow glitter. their white bodies with black tiger stripes looking stark and gloried at the same time in the autumn sun.

I see a neighbour’s cat in our backyard, I’m hoping he’s there to catch a mouse.

I see Iain come running to me from the school, smiling ear to ear. He had a great day.

I see Brad reading and highlighting and reading and writing and labouring a paper and a sermon in one week.

I see my friend weep as the spirit moves her in recounting Revelation. And all creation sings His praises for ever, without time or space, past or future. He is the I Am. No beginning or end.

I see Carlon laying on his bed, talking to me about his day, choking back tears and my heart burns because I know his pain. Oh my son.. I know it intimately.

I see my sister, answering my FaceTime call, talking me down off the ledge of panic and anxiety.

I see devoured turkey and stuffing. And pies… works of art.

I see Noah, hugging his friends. Boys, girls, it make no difference. If they will accept it, they get hug love.

-

These are the moments I notice. 

Not “things”. 

Moments.

They are flashes of his image, they are his creation.

What does it matter what it looks like?

Are we not created to create?

Do we seek to bring light and life, understanding and meaning to our space in this place and time?

We are creation living and breathing because he decided it so.

And he isn’t even done creating us yet.

I am a work in progress, and a masterpiece.

-

My creation is not for my own impress

-

Look what I made Abba?

Do you like it?

-

And he always knows exactly what it is

And he loves it

out on a limb..

The beginning of this year God told me to wait, and I have looked into all that can mean. Wait on him? Wait for him? What do I do in the waiting? It is a lot to figure out and my thoughts aren’t settled overnight. So, I have been pretty quiet on here lately, part busyness, part ignoring, part scared, part not too sure I should even be doing this. I really struggle with the inauthentic authenticity of blogs. The calculated sincerity, being genuine, writing to “your” audience. The marketing end of it is so disheartening and disturbing. All those thoughts and questions and answers have brought up many doubts and fears, questioning motives questioning ability, questioning calling. It’s amazing how little it takes for the deceiver to get his claws into something. When I decided to start blogging a few years ago I believe at the time, it was out of anger. I wanted to scream and I had no voice. So, I used the blog as a way to scream. I look back on some of those posts and cringe. I can remember how I felt and it drips through my words. 

I was mad that I had to move, that God sent us somewhere, and it coloured, or, blacked out, every nuance in my days. And while I have learned so much about myself and God through this, one thing I can’t seem to get my thick skull around is to not be afraid. Every time God calls me to something new, I am afraid. 

Do you have that too?

Even if it is something I have wanted, When it seems clear that it is in front of me I figure I must’ve taken a wrong turn. 

“What God?”

“No no no no, that’s not for me”

“You must have me mistaken for someone else”

“I don’t know how to do that”

“Can’t I just stay here where it doesn’t require anything of me?”

“I don’t. like. change!”

That last one Brad and I will say to each other over different situations as a joke. 

But really.

I don’t like change.

Even the first three months after Brad and I were married, I cried a lot.

How do you live with someone? It’s weird and awkward!

Right now I am wrestling with this blog, with writing, with discerning God’s call on my life. I’m great at figuring out other peoples “things”. Never so astute on my own issues.

Brad is currently preaching through Exodus and last week was all about Moses’ excuses when he met God at the burning bush and was being called to lead Israel out of Egypt. 

“But, but, but”

Was basically the gist of it.

And God was all,
“I will do, I will do, I will do”

And Moses was all,

“but I can’t speak goodly - lkdhfnsdoihfn - See?”

And God was all,

“fuh-cryin’out-loud”

I have met God at a burning bush and he is telling me to do something and I have been all but, but, but and he has been “Ok, I will..” and I keep stalling and he keeps loving and I keep hiding under my failures and self doubt and he keeps pulling away the layers and showing me how big he is..

So, um, I think right now God is all like,

“Colleen… fuh-cryin’out-loud. What’s it gonna take?”

I don’t know God. Just, I’m scared ‘cause I’m little and you’re big and you know things and I don’t and the voice in my head telling me I can’t is somehow easier to listen to then your voice telling me I can and I have a history of not following through on things and I don’t want to fail you and as much as I want this I also feel totally unequipped (good christian jargon) for what you are telling me to do.

And on Sunday when Brad was preaching (which, by the way, I told him he was a big stinky poo head for preaching this) God said to me:

“Who makes a person’s mouth? Who decides whether people speak or do not speak, hear or do not hear, see or do not see? Is it not I the LORD? Now go! I will be with you as you speak, and I will instruct you in what to say”

Now, go ahead and argue with me that I am using this scripture out of context. That God was speaking to Moses, and Moses only.

And I will say,

How dare you confine the living word to that one time and space. Your God must be pretty damn small. 

And I will realize that I like the fact that my God is so big, strong and mighty that there is nothing he cannot do.

There is nothing he cannot do.

And the sparrows are smaller than me.

And the Israelites didn’t do as God called them and they wandered in a desert for 40 years.

So, I am starting. Even though I’m scared and doubt my ability and don’t even know how to go about starting what it is I’m supposed to do. I mean, he’s really got me out on a limb here, and I’m afraid of heights. 

The ministry of snails..

     Why am I always so surprised by the requirements of marriage, the demands of parenting. This is the life of commitment after all. You stick it out, you’re present for the hard stuff. You always hold hands so when one of you slips the other is there to help you back up. But, every.damn.time it goes hard, it catches me off guard and I shrivel or retreat or both… or at least, that’s what I feel like doing.

     Our home life has gone through a bit of a wringer these past few months. I mean, I can cope with the daily battles, the personality clashes, the need for space. We are coming to the end of the school year here. Mom is emotional over her babies growing up, dad is pulled thin coming to the end of a ministry year, kids are just done with sitting and listening and schooling. Just give me a chance to breathe. 

“well, this is what we have for lunch for you so you’re going to have to make do.” 

“How long has this math homework been in your bag? when was this due?” 

“what math homework?”

Last year we got to the last month and my oldest came home saying he had to make an ugly stick. And my first thought was “Are you planning to beat someone with it?” ya, that level of fried man.

     In our house these last two months has been coxackie virus (HFM) or strep. Well, definitely strep for me. What the boys all had went undiagnosed because we have no GP here because, Northern problems, so it’s whoever you can get and one car and kids in school and having to call right at 8am to make an appointment for the doc on call and hear a busy signal for 45 minutes is really discouraging.

     But then the throats clear and we are out of the woods and then the bums go offline. No, that isn’t a euphemism for something. 2/3 of them got a rash on their butts. Help me Jesus. You haven’t lived until you have to put cream on your 8 year olds bum. “Truly I am alive, this is exhilarating" was a thought I had, never. And a misdiagnosed rash to boot. Have you ever had to fight for a doctor to properly treat your child? It’s exhausting. But we finally won that battle and just as he finished a week of antibiotics, the very next day, THE VERY NEXT DAY! he erupted in a rash all over his body. COME ON! Back to whichever doctor is on call that day and he is diagnosed with scarlet fever. I didn't even have the energy to question it. I am battle weary. Ok, more antibiotics. It’s not like it’s going to kill him if it’s not SF. Of course, then it felt like everybody and their monkey was questioning the validity of the diagnosis and thus my parenting choices which, I mean, makes me say all the bad words in my head.

     In the midst of all this medical happenings we had a kid with a new haircut that mommy did not want but gave anyways, an eye appointment with THE DROPS for another kid that is going to need glasses, and a kid getting picked on at school and having challenges connecting with other kids his age.

Me: Nah man, give me one of these things, just one. We can do one thing.

God: Actually, you’re getting all those things and each of them are going to touch a tender part in you and just as you think you’ve survived, your wounded heart from childhood is going to slap you in the face and I’m going to use your marriage to do it.

Me: I said pardon?

God: Waiting on me isn’t passive work my child. I am sifting you. Are you going to work with me? Or am I leaving you on the threshing room floor?

Me: Ok, but couldn’t you have given me a heads up before this all happened?

God: WHAT DO YOU THINK “CHRISTLIKE” MEANS? Is is something that happens only when you are ready?

Me: but

God: My child, these are the things I have for you. And you asked for them. You know you asked to know me more.

Me: yes, I did. I just don’t want it to hurt, I don’t want hard

God: no one ever does

Me: forgive me

God: I already did, remember?

     And I can breathe again. And again He calls me to wait. Six months I have prayed into wait. Not knowing the why’s or when’s or how’s. But, God called me to wait. What have I learned so far is that he wants me to slow down my spirit. We can live our physical lives in a hurried state, but our spiritual lives must be slowed, ready for deep breaths. Ready to hear Him. If our soul is hurried, if our spirit feels rushed our focus lands on anything but God. Our desires prove ill. 

     Before the end of the week that finished with a flourish of hurt, I went outside to plant some sprouts that had been gifted to me by our neighbour. I had neglected them and they were in danger of dying. Tomatoes, peppers, tomatillos, herbs, given in a slowed moment. While our kids were running around screaming, we had a moment to breathe and connect and my soul rested. So I got to work in potting these treasures and about half way through, I lifted a pot from the ground and hiding underneath was snail. One of the biggest I had ever seen in person so it would have been hard to miss. My hands were already filthy, black potting soil crammed under my nails, earth rubbed into the dry cracks in my knuckles and calloused fingers. I bent over and did something I have never done before. I was compelled, as if something -  someone was making me do it. I picked up that snail, by the shell I pinched it with my fingers and my world stopped. I stood there watching it, studying it as it stretched it’s body out. It’s eyes reaching beyond explanation to find it’s place, to make sense of where it was. It was so slow. So slow. And methodical. And plodding. And almost hypnotic in it’s movement.

A snail is in no need to rush, it knows nothing of time.

     Yes, I know snails are slow, this isn’t some witnessed miracle. The miracle here is that I witnessed it. I was really noticing a snail for the first time. God wanted me to stop and see what slow looks like, and do you know what? It looks like faith, it looks like calm, it looks like trust, it looks like doing, it looks like going. In that moment, everything slowed for me, my breathing, my heart, it was as if all around me was playing in a slow motion video. Then, without warning I was snapped out of it and the speed up returned as the boys were bouncing all around me. Iain touched the snails eyes and I told Carlon to tell daddy to get his camera. 

I can’t ever forget this moment.

     It is in those slow moments that go by fast where God has revealed more of himself to me. But only if I have the eyes to see, only if my heart is his. We’re always complaining about God’s timing but then chide ourselves and chant “God’s timing is perfect” and lo’ it is, it is. But if we’re going to be honest with our feelings and stop spouting Sunday school answers then maybe our honesty will get us to the sacred place. The real place. The place where blood dripped down. The place where sight is restored, legs made straight, dead come to life. We’ll admit we are in the valley of the shadow, or we’re on the mountain top and we can no longer hold our arms up, or we are bent over in laughter at God’s promise in our old dry-womb days.

Then, since he is holding our hands, he pulls us up to his timing, the slow faithful place. When we slow our hurried spirits, don’t we come more in step with his pace? Isn’t admitting God’s timing a cue for us to get in step with him? Call out to him, tell him your struggles, ask for more of him. 

Look for snails.

three..

I have been obtusely aware we are coming up on 3 years in Terrace. I can’t escape it actually, Facebook has been assaulting me for weeks with “memories”. I have been shown pictures of “last time” and “moving in” and “living with”, and I recall what is was like to pack under a cloud of denial, weeping and angry of the financial hit we took in selling our townhouse. Deep breathing at living with my sister and her family for 3 weeks while navigating the long good-bye. We weren’t homeless but we also weren’t really “living” anywhere. Neither here nor there, we were in subspace, limbo, wait, wait, wait.

It was - not easy. It was emotionally exhausting. And even when we finally got here we discovered a lot of us - what made us US was still in Vancouver. I had no idea my identity, or my perceived identity of us was wrapped up in where we lived, where I came from. Part of us, most of me, was still in Vancouver. Partly because our family is there but also because we hadn’t fully embraced living here.

I have not been able to let go of how things were and how those things, and only those things could identify me. 

Clearly I am still working through this because I began to weep as I wrote those words. 

While I still am holding onto the breath of those feelings I am finding my way through feeling the subspace tension again. Looking at 3 years here, it is no longer new. Brad is no longer in the “honeymoon” phase of ministry. There is this twist of “We’ve only been here three years” - wow, that went by fast, and “You’ve been there three years already?”, as if to say - what do you have to show for it? It’s akin to the half filled half empty glass. I’ll be honest, I had some expectations for myself and the church and Brad and I know they haven’t happened because I have dragged my feet, emotionally speaking. I hunkered down to ride out the storm instead of climbing to the deck and turning my face into it. I know if I had embraced things quicker I’d be in a different place. It’s hard. 

No. 

It’s impossible to receive the blessings of God when you have your back turned to Him.

This new level of subspace comes with changes for our family in the next few months that will have a profound impact on our household rhythms, challenge our emotional capabilities, stretch our patience with each other. spread our grace thin. It has already begun. Iain started pre-school this year and heads to Kindergarten in the fall. Carlon has struggled with social skills at school and church even and has not really been able to connect with anyone the way he’d like. Noah the introvert has had to navigate being at school every day all day. And I am battling the questions of “what’s next for me?” and “where do I fit in?” The boys at least have the benefit of not generally sitting on their asses questioning the in between.

I guess I have been holding my breath the last three years. I took a deep plunging breath of home before we left and I’ve been holding it in all this time. But now it feels like I’m slowly exhaling. And now I’m already thinking, do I need to take another deep breath to hold? Or can I just go to measured breathing. I am still in the neither here nor there, but I think this time it is because there is nothing before me that needs to be tackled. No mountain to climb, no puzzle to solve, no jungle to machete through, at least not obviously. Earlier this year God called me to wait on him, and it has been my life experience that whenever he has called me to wait it precedes a big life change or upheaval. Maybe that’s why I don’t know how to breathe. I am discovering how difficult it is to wait. Maybe I’m doing it wrong.

undignified

As the Ark of the Lord was entering the City of David, Michal daughter of Saul watched from a window. And when she saw King David leaping and dancing before the Lord, she despised him in her heart. They brought the ark of the Lord and set it in it’s place inside the tent that David had pitched for it and David sacrificed burnt offerings and fellowship offerings before the Lord. After he had finished sacrificing the burnt offerings and fellowship offerings, he blessed the people in the name of the Lord Almighty. Then he gave a loaf of bread and a cake of dates and a cake of raisins to each person in the whole crowd of Israelites, both men and women. And all the people went to their homes. When David returned home to bless his household, Michal daughter of Saul came out to meet him and said, “How the king of Israel has distinguished himself today, disrobing in the sight of the slave girls of his servants as any vulgar fellow would!”

David said to Michal, “It was before the Lord, who chose me rather than your father or anyone from his house when he appointed me ruler over the Lord’s people Israel - I will celebrate before the Lord. I will become even more undignified than this, and I will be humiliated in my own eyes. But by these slave girls you spoke of, I will be held in honour.” And Michal daughter of Saul had no children to the day of her death. 

2 Samuel 6:16-23

Praise God in his sanctuary,

praise him in his mighty heavens.

Praise him for his acts of power,

praise him for his surpassing greatness.

Praise him with the sounding of the trumpet,

praise him with the harp and lyre,

praise him with tambourine and dancing, 

praise him with strings and flute,

praise him with the clash of cymbals, 

praise him with resounding cymbals.

Let everything that has breath praise the Lord.

Psalm 150

I am always stunned by these two passages. I have heard them many times in my growing up years and since I am still growing up, I am still hearing them; I am drawn to them, I am tormented by them, I receive joy when I read them and weep when I read them too. 

David, the man after God’s heart. The only man in the bible to attain that status, that badge. Imperfect David, murderer David, adulterer David. Good ol’ Davey had his challenges, he had lapses, as we all do. How can such a blatant sinner be called a man after God’s heart? Who knows why Michal was so full of anger for him at the sight. Maybe she was jealous, maybe she felt resentful that she was not royalty. I think it most likely that she did not understand what it meant to know God, to be in relationship with him. More’s the pity. Oh what an emptiness we harbour when we don't know the Lord. A hole that can be filled with anything. Anything. 

To be honest, I probably would have been shocked to see my king dancing… and then to see my king dancing in front of slave girls and servants.. and then to see him dancing, in front of slave girls and servants scantily clad. But, have we lived in David’s skin? David has experienced God’s grace on a level that is beyond anything. When I read about David’s life, I imagine he might have had moments of great depression. Severe depths. But. He. Always. Sought. The. Lord. He refused to let go of God. Even in torment, even in sin, even in betrayal, even while being pursued by his enemies, even when his best friend was killed, even when his son died. There was no turning away from God. And this celebration for the ark was before his adultery, his murder of Uriah, the death of his son from that adultery. 

David was determined to love God, to seek God, at any cost to his own image. He put himself aside for the Lord for this. Granted, not always. But of course, then what is the need for Christ. If we are perfect - where does Jesus fit into the equation? David would be the first to admit that his choice of worship style would not be perfect but it was pleasing to God because he did not regard his desires above the Lord’s.

I often struggle with feeling imperfect in my worship, I’m distracted by the boys, I’m distracted by the wrong chord, or maybe it’s a song I’m not crazy about. Sometimes my heart just isn’t into it. Sad to say, my heart, just isn't into it. Maybe it’s the expectation of perfect worship that I can’t live up to. Maybe it’s that sometimes I forget what God has actually done for me. I imagine if I was physically present at Christ’s crucifixion I wouldn't have to worry about my heart being into it. 

When I was younger, there were times when I identified with Michal. I would be distracted by someone else’s style of worship, how they behaved, no regard for their own humility. And I resented them. That they were distracting me. Me. ME. MEEEEEEE. It’s all about ME didn’t you know? Worship of our King is all about how it makes ME feel. And order. We must have order. and it must all be in the same key and it must be all on beat and heaven help us make it a song I like and make me feel something but don't make me feel like you are manipulating my feelings. This is about me dammit. I want to come away from church feeling better about myself. Like I’m doing pretty good, that God is there for me, meeeeeeeee… wheeeeeeee. I love it when church serves my needs. It must be perfect. 

“Um hello, what about me?” Says Jesus, stretching his arms out wide.

We come to the table to worship with our broken imperfect selves and offer up broken and imperfect worship, and love, and service, and forgiveness and he takes our broken imperfect and turns it into grace. 

And then we hoard the grace, or we try to. But often we find ourselves lacking in any grace at all. Manna was given everyday, fresh and new,. It was not permitted to be stored, it was a lesson to the Israelites about grace - but they didn't get it. They were all about MEEEEE. Do more for us Lord. Pillars of smoke and fire are not enough. Parting the sea is not enough. Give us more, more, more. The grace - the manna, even though it fell every day - a miracle, every day, became boring, became common place, became expected, became.. meh.

And they demanded more.

And he gave

And it was never enough. Because they didn’t see their brokenness, they didn’t see who God was. And they wandered for 40 years and never entered into His rest. And Michal was barren until the end of her life. And David’s son died because of his adultery and sins. Adam and Eve chose themselves over God and saw the garden nevermore. Cain chose himself over God and he was marked. More was demanded. Free us form exile Lord, free us from famine Lord, give us more, and more and more. Until He gave us his Son. And still, is it enough?

When I was young my faith was young. I didn't know what God was capable of in my life. As I have lived I have learned. There is still so much I don't know. But what I do know is we have no clue. We have no regard for what God is actually capable of, what he has done for us. The sacrifice he gave because of his love for us. Does this mean he loved his son less than us? No. It means His Son loved God more than himself. Maybe that’s what stops us form being undignified before the Lord. From truly accepting the call placed on our lives, what it really means to be more like Christ. To lay one’s life down for their brother. Dear Lord, you are not calling us to be crucified to save the world are you? 

I want to insert a bitch face emoji here. 

Get a grip, again we are thinking too much of ourselves.

Put. Yourself. Aside. dear child.

Do not elevate yourself to being Christ. Even Christ did not put himself on the same playing field as God the Father. 

Lay down your life; your desires, your needs, your preferences, your joys, your sorrows, your gifts for your Lord. Put it all at the foot of the cross and see Christ blood drip on it and make it and you whiter than snow. Live with that vision seared into your brain. And the next time you come to the table, to your church to sing, to serve, to pray - think about that. Think about why you are there. Is it for your glory? Or for His. Will you be undignified, celebrating like your life has just been saved? Or will you stand there refusing to sing because you don't like the song?

Or, you know, let the rocks cry out and the trees clap their hands.