Leaning In

Some thoughts from an email to a friend, and my journal, describing the experience of last evening:

I'd felt strongly all day that I really needed to make the effort to go to Centre Street tonight, to hear my brother’s choir, and for worship and whatever... almost didn't... after church this morning I slept for much of the afternoon on the couch, in and out of consciousness... so exhausted... but decided to go.

glad I did. I needed to be in that space. to be alone. to be someplace anonymous and let the music simply wash over me. to enter into worship (not completely freely but to at least enter in with my heart and begin to hear Jesus a little)... I needed to hear the sermon that the interim president of the college preached. I needed several pieces of my day to come together and make sense just a little. And I needed to talk with T. driving home, and have him "see" me in the midst of the messy and painful space I've been occupying these last months, and particularly this last week.

The sermon was from Acts 16 - where Paul and Silas are directed in a dream to go to Macedonia, and they land in Philippi, and then Paul casts the demon from the servant girl, and lands them ultimately in court, and then beaten and jailed. The challenge the speaker gave was to recognize these "interruptions" as things to lean into. God sent them to Macedonia through a dream. They went in obedience, and then they landed in jail. And in the midst of that, a jailer, his family, and many others were saved.

The speaker quoted someone (I missed the name) who said something like the following, "our spiritual life is always a frontier and we who live it must accept and rejoice that it remains untamed." Ouch. Not so much a fan of the untamed lately.

Anyway, came home and talked with Jesus for quite a while, and did some journalling... wrote the following:

I needed to hear the sermon tonight. I needed the reminder of the sudden change of direction that landed Paul and Silas in jail after they heard from the Lord so clearly to go to Macedonia, and after they did what would have seemed to be a good thing by casting the demon out of the girl. I needed the reminder to "lean into" the "frontier" experiences.

My tendency has been a bit to resent the havoc that has been wreaked in my life, and in so many relationships, by certain events in this season, despite the fact that I knew so clearly from the Lord that He'd directed me to be a part of them. It has been hard to trust the Lord to work things of beauty out of the midst of this experience. I have fought against the experience instead of leaning into it. I am being reminded on a regular basis at the moment of how truly bad I am at trust and surrender.

It's what Jesus was saying to me so incessantly in Jasper last weekend too, "My word does not return empty. Trust me. Rest in me. I sent you out and I will honor your obedience."

I can't see past this, or through it.

I taught a Sunday school lesson this morning on Judas' betrayal and Peter's denial. I am not a person who trusts easily, and it was a huge challenge to trust and be obedient to what the Lord was asking of me and I've felt a sense of betrayal as things have been so very difficult. At the same time, I've been guilty of a denial of Christ. Of denying my commitment to trust Him. Of denying that He will work in the ugly spaces - that He will give beauty for ashes, that His word will prosper, and won't return empty.

I was just looking a bit further in the Paul and Silas story that was preached tonight, and this line caught my attention, "Even at that hour of the night, the jailer cared for them and washed their wounds..." There is something hopeful to me in that. There is something hopeful in the idea that the man who imprisoned and was responsible for beating them had his heart so changed that he "cared for them and washed their wounds."

I started this morning sitting in a service at Hope for Life, and reflecting on the lines to the old hymn, "Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus" that go, "Turn your eyes upon Jesus. Look full in his wonderful face..." I was thinking about seeing Jesus in a powerful dream last fall, and being unable/unwilling to look Him in the eyes.

Eye contact is not something I do lightly. It is always carefully considered, and I only meet the eyes of those whom I trust deeply for more than a moment. I hide my eyes quite deliberately, because to allow others to see into them makes me feel vulnerable and afraid.

I couldn't meet His eyes. But I want to.

I've sat here, confessing my denial, my lack of trust, and asking to start again. To enter His presence and show Him my eyes, even as filled with pain and tears as they've been lately. I want to meet His eyes, because I think that He is offering me comfort and healing there. A promise I can trust in the midst of my pain and confusion. Beauty for ashes. That his word will prosper and not return empty. That He really will hold me. That He really does love me. That I truly do belong to Him. That my heart, my life is safe in His hands. That in His presence there is freedom and healing and all my fears really are washed away.