Ash Wednesday

And so Lent begins again.

It's a season I love and hate sort of equally.

For me it tends to be one of the deepest seasons of the liturgical year.  The most significant. 

It also tends to be one of the most painful.

It feels odd to wake this morning and not be fasting.

I've always fasted from something during Lent.

This year is different, though.

303 days ago I rather forcefully came face to face with the fact that the immense stresses and challenges of my life had essentially led to the development of an eating disorder.  I'd lost around 25 pounds, rarely ate more than one meal and a few snacks a day, and it wasn't unusual for the nausea I was experiencing to get out of control, and for me to go several days without eating at all.

So, I started counting, and tracking.  For 303 days I've been faithful in taking a large number of supplements to restore the things I'd depleted in my body.  And for 303 days, I've eaten three consistent meals a day.

I would normally do a juice fast at least once a week during Lent.

That's not an option this year.

I need to eat three times a day to make it possible to take the supplements that manage my energy levels and anxiety issues.

I thought about giving up chocolate, and I may yet do something along those lines.  But this year as I prayed through that thought, the feeling that came was that I would be "fasting" simply for the sake of doing something, rather than because I'd been led to it.

I talked earlier this week about the in-between.  I'm trying conciously not to rush that process.  Not to jump to the next thing, even when it is clearly in sight, but to be patient in the waiting.

It's not easy.

And so Lent begins, and I am waiting, listening, praying.

Perpetual Winter (will spring come?)

Sometimes I feel like the season my heart has been existing in this last while is the season that Lucy found when she stumbled through the wardrobe into Narnia. Always winter, but never Christmas. Just the frozen deadness, without the celebration of new life.

The climate in Calgary and the Lenten season aren't helping with that. March is a teasing sort of month here, where we can easily have snow storms well into May. But in March, the temperature will begin to rise. We'll have a few days above zero, and then we'll be plunged back into the depths of the frozen climate that comes with our somewhat Northern location on the planet. It was -25 below zero this morning when my roommate and I left our house, without the windchill factored in. (I was so not made to live in this climate!) And Lent is a season that moves steadily towards suffering and death. A season that culminates in Easter, but must first traverse the pathway to the cross. A season that the early Christians marked as a way of preparation for baptism, a death of a more symbolic sort I suppose.

And so I find myself existing in a sort of perpetual season of winter, and I alternate between moments of calm acceptance and waiting for the restoration of spring and life, and moments of railing against it. Kicking and screaming as if my own discontent could somehow speed the healing work of God and match it and the changing of the seasons to my own preferred timetable.

I heard someone say the other night that "fasting teaches us that if we don't immediately get what we want, the world won't end." How's that for a challenge in a culture where instant gratification is king? And how much does my instant gratification need for "stuff" also extend to a demand that Jesus work and gratify on my instantaneous timetable as well?

I have watched these last few weeks as it has seemed that spring has begun to arrive in the lives of a few different dear friends. People who I know have walked long paths of winter and suffering. And I'm truly happy for them. But struggling at moments, too, with jealousy of them and anger at God. Wondering when my own spring will arrive.

On the other hand, as I mentioned to my roommate last night, I feel like these last few weeks, though it may not show on the outside of my life yet, I'm beginning to find my footing again. To find myself walking with Jesus, in the midst of the storm.

So maybe, just maybe, there is a hint of spring, far off in the distance. And that is just enough of a tiny hope to rest in.

Lent. Morning. Day 2.

I've sorted out, at least a little what my observance of Lent will look like for this year. What things will be added, and what will go. I know from experience that that will shift and change as the season moves and deepens.

I marked Ash Wednesday in my own quiet, private way late last evening. A simple but deep time of prayer. The mixing of incense and oil. Wrapped in a shawl that has come to symbolize those deeper moments of prayer. Lifting my own heart and lenten season and the hearts and seasons of those I love before the Savior who increasingly owns my heart.

Deep cold and snow have set in again this week, feeling somewhat oddly appropriate for this season in the church calendar. Yesterday was a particularly grey and gloomy day, oddly appropriate for a day celebrated with ashes. It was -36C with windchill factored in here this morning. And snowing.

But there is somehow hope in the midst of that. Both of the last two days, as I've brushed the snow off of George in the greyness of semi-dawn, in the bitter cold, I've noticed the song of some intrepid sparrows and chickadees singing in the trees that line my street. Calling out about warmer times coming. About spring and new life.

I told a friend last night that while I'd dreaded the deepening arrival of Lent this year, with it's coming, my heart was somehow ready. Ready for the season. Praying for change and restoration and freedom. That somehow, overnight, between Shrove Tuesday, and Ash Wednesday, Jesus moved in my heart, and replaced dread with a peaceful, purposeful acceptance. That though I'd worried that I hadn't yet heard from him how to observe the Lenten season this year, he spoke quietly to my heart and made it clear through the day yesterday.

I wonder sometimes if I don't waste a lot of time worrying about what is ahead when it seems so clear that right now Jesus usually waits until just the moment of necessity to speak his clarity and direction into a situation.

I suppose it ties back to the quote from Teresa of Avila that I shared last night, and the lyrics from dcTalk that I shared this morning.

"I'm learning to give up the rights to myself." Right now that means the right to know what is coming. The right to understand. The right to see much beyond the moment in which I am existing. It means learning to trust in a radical new way. A way that is painful and stretching.

As I said yesterday, I'm committed to waiting and fasting and praying and listening and letting my heart be changed.

Almost Over

I'm nearly at the end of a commitment I've made. A period of time set aside specifically to pray and fast and wait. There are 3 hours left. I'm glad I've done it, but I'll be glad when it draws to a close as well.

When it ends, I'll still be committed to praying and waiting. I'll actually still be doing a fast of sorts. So, in that way, I guess not too much will change.

But it's been a unique few days, and I'm glad for them in a way. I'm glad for the slowing down and the focus that this time demanded. I'm glad for the draw to focus and pray for some of those I love deeply.

And yet, I'll be glad that it is drawing to a close.

I'm praying still for a change of season. A shift to come. I pray that it draws closer and comes quickly.

Saturday Morning Thoughts (With an Advent Tangent)

It's Saturday morning again. I seem to write these posts on a regular basis.

I'm in the midst of a couple of days of fairly intentional quiet and prayer.

Still in a season of fasting and waiting and praying.

But today, though I'm moving a bit slowly, conscious of my energy and the demands of what I do on my body, I'm going to find things that are joyful.

I'm going to start my Christmas shopping, and go with my roommate to do some of her Christmas shopping. I need to find birthday gifts for three separate people who all have birthday's before Christmas. I may even put up my Christmas tree.

That seems like a lot of Christmas for one day.

I'm sort of one of these people who really likes Advent. I don't tend to get into the "Christmas Spirit" until Christmas Eve. There's something for me in the darkness of Advent, the waiting and longing for light to enter the world, for the birth of the savior.

So, I do all the Christmasy things that are necessary before Christmas eve, but I'm not really feeling it until then. Until it's the moment of arrival. The birth of the child.

I used to feel bad about that. Like I was some sort of Christmas spoil-sport. But this year, in the midst of the season of life I've found myself in, I've told myself that it's okay to simply embrace this. To wait and long for the birth of a savior, for the arrival of light in the world. To move slowly and quietly through the darkness, preparing (buying gifts, decorating, etc.) for the coming of Christmas, but not hurrying the process, or feeling bad for not yet being ready to celebrate. Anticipation and longing, I've decided, are not unhealthy things.

And, with that unexpected Advent tangent, I'm off to do laundry, and head out to do things that prepare for the coming celebration of light and birth.

Friday Night Bullet Points

Random Friday Night Musings:

• I'm wearing a favorite pair of navy blue sweats. They are a hand-me-down from my best friend, during one of her recent moves, and I've worn them around the house, and occasionally as pajamas ever since. I've been missing her a lot lately (what with her being on the other side of the world in an unstable country and all) and it brings a smile to my face to curl up for a quiet Friday evening in her sweat pants.
• Last night I got a couple of hugs from a very dear friend. I'd been looking forward to them for a few weeks, and it was so nice to get them. Even though our time together was short, I was so glad we got even the few minutes we had.
• I bought myself a single red rose today. It's sitting in a bud vase on my dressing table, reminding me of many special moments from this year.
  
• I read a passage in a book tonight that made me laugh. Mostly because the author made a point that a friend of mine has been trying to make to me for at least a couple of months.
• I think I'll start my Christmas shopping tomorrow.
• And put up the Christmas tree.
• I think I'll write a blog post in the next few days with the title "Why I Watch Grey's Anatomy"
• I'm curled up on my couch, enjoying a quiet Friday evening at home. This is definitely my favorite way to spend a Friday evening.
• I'm still loving the scents of Frankincense and Myrrh. Oddly seasonal, and yet just odd. Burial spices.
• I'm still reading Jeremiah. Stuck in chapter 31 at the moment, reading it over and over.
• I'm thinking about a Lauren Winner quote in regards to fasting. "Fasting reminds us that our truest hunger is for God."

And that, I think is pretty much it for my Friday night random musings. I'm off to read a bit, and watch a movie or something in bed.

Unsettled.

I remain in a space of feeling unsettled. I'm working to be okay with that, but am having a harder time than usual tonight.

I remain in a space of fasting and praying, waiting and watching.

I remain strangely attracted to the scents of the burial spices that the wise men brought as gifts to the baby Jesus. To frankincense and myrrh. I burn them in my home, cover my skin with lotion scented with them, and today I wore oil of myrrh as my perfume.

How can a season of death also be one of birth?

And what does it all mean?

I found a website with daily scripture readings for advent. This was tonight's:

Mark 13
33 Take heed, watch; for you do not know when the time will come.
34 It is like a man going on a journey, when he leaves home and puts his servants in charge, each with his work, and commands the doorkeeper to be on the watch.
35 Watch therefore--for you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or in the morning--
36 lest he come suddenly and find you asleep.
37 And what I say to you I say to all: Watch."


And so, I wait and watch and fast and pray, and hope and dream, and try to trust that eventually the unsettledness will pass, and the season will change, and rest and peace and healing will be fully and deeply restored to so many whom I love.

I want to have nice words...

I want to have nice words for you all, challenging and inspiring thoughts to live by, but the truth is, today I don't.

I don't even have nice words for me.

I'm tired of telling you that I'm struggling. I'm tired of struggling for that matter.

My roommate asked me this morning as I drove her to the train if I was okay. I laughed at the question and told her that I'm so far from okay right now that I'm not even sure how to begin the process of picking up the pieces this time and getting back there.

I wonder some days if the tug of war with God ever gets any easier.

I wonder some days why it isn't granted to me to understand the bigger picture. I'm so much more at ease when I understand what is happening around me, and in me and through me.

I'm struggling with the ongoing "recovering pastor's kid" battle today. The lie that says that being all things to all people is absolutely key, and that measuring up to their expectations is central to my own self-worth. That measuring up to God's expectations is central to receiving his love, his joy, his peace.

And I'm having a bit of an argument with a dear friend over the space in life that I'm occupying. Which is actually kind of funny, since there's been the perception that at times that I idolized this particular friend. No one who'd been privy to the conversations we've had in the last while could think that. I'm grouchy because she's usually right, and I think she probably is again this time, though for the life of me I can't figure out how that translates into choices and real life.

The good news in the midst of all this?

Well, I'm not depressed - that's still a victory to celebrate. And despite another absolutely brutal night of dreams, that caused me to wake up quite ill this morning, I didn't puke - that's good news these days. I can tell you that the whole expectations game is a lie now, even though I'm not always particularly successful at combatting it's effects. I have a job that (mostly) pays my bills. I'm living in a place (as far as I know) of obedience to everything God is asking, even though some of it really sucks right now. (I'm still working on the joyful obedience part.) Even though I'm arguing with a friend, I'm not worried that her love is conditional - that's pretty huge for me too. I can't think of anyone else in my life (except maybe God, and even that can be a bit of a wobbly assurance at times) that I can say that about.

So.

On with the day.

On with the conversations that may or may not happen.

On with the crazyness of my office in renewal season.

On with prayer, and fasting, and obedience, even when it hurts like crap.

On with trying to find joy.

On with identifying the lies, and working to combat their presence and influence in my life.

On with remembering to be thankful for little blessings like warm boots, and not throwing up, and a friend I can argue with and know she won't stop loving me.

On with the day.

On with choosing life.

Hungry and Thirsty

My body can’t seem to decide which way it wants to go some days.

There will be days and weeks on end where my appetite is limited, and I feel ill every time I eat.

And then, then there are days where I eat everything in sight, and still find myself hungry.

Today is one of the latter sort of days.

I’m ravenous.

I ate breakfast. And a snack. And lunch. And a snack. And a snack.

I’m also ridiculously thirsty. I’ve gone through something like 5 half-litre bottles of water today, as well as a cup of tea.

I’ve run out of food and there’s still an hour left in the workday. The only things around the office that could be pillaged are candy and chocolate. I’m still fasting candy and chocolate.

So, I guess I’ll go with hunger until I get home from work. Two more hours seems a long time.

I’m reminded of Lauren Winner’s statement about fasting as I sit here and try to convince my stomach that we’ll make it until I get home just fine without food. She says “Fasting reminds us that our truest hunger is for God.”

I guess I’ll keep reminding myself of that too. Jesus the bread of life, and Jesus the living water.

Restoration Coming

A long hug from my roommate - mutually needed.

A few shared tears.

Conversations long distance with the people we trust.

A declaration of a temporary feast in the midst of a lengthy fast.

A quick trip to pick up cheesecake. Chocolate chip cookie dough for me. Mocha Kahlua for her.

A stupid movie, designed to make us laugh.

Hints of restoration coming.

So thankful.

A Day for Pushing Through

This is a mixed up sort of day.

Maundy Thursday. The day we mark the washing of the disciple’s feet, the institution of the Eucharist, the agony in Gethsemane, and the betrayal by Judas. A bloody day, filled with questions.

My baby brother is having surgery today, to hopefully correct a wrist injury he’s suffered from for nearly two years. An injury I’ve written about here before. T. has taught me so much as I’ve watched him struggle through this season. He truly felt it was God’s will to study worship and music, to major in guitar. He’d spent a year seeking the heart of God for his life after high school, and made the decision to pursue music. Within months of beginning school, he was forced to give up playing the guitar because of this injury. Over the last year and a half he has asked Jesus the hard questions, he’s struggled with the pain, and he’s walked into increasingly deep sensitivity to the word and spirit of God. Today the surgeon will shorten one of the bones in his wrist, in the hopes that the pressure that the bone creates will be alleviated, and that T’s ability to use his arm without pain will be restored. I have seen patience and depth sprout in him through this season, and today, as I mark again the body broken and the blood poured out, I am praying that God will restore wholeness to my brother’s body, because I know that the glory will be given to God alone.

March 20, 1212. The day Clare of Assisi left behind her riches and went to St. Francis to be blessed, to assume a life of poverty and devotion to Christ. I’ve been reading about Clare lately, talking about her a bit with a friend. She is the patron saint of eyes – significant in a season that has been about “seeing” with the eyes of Christ. One of only three female saints to be depicted carrying the host – the body of Christ – significant in a Lenten season that has time and time again driven home the idea of the body broken and the blood shed.

This is a day for pressing through. For remembering the verse in Hebrews that reminds us that joy comes after the suffering. “For the joy set before Him he endured the cross…”

I’ll go home from work tonight, and break a fast I’ve engaged in for the last week with bread and maybe with wine. Remembering the body broken and the blood shed. I’ll eat, and I’ll read, and I’ll pray, and I’ll rest. But until then, I’m pushing through, and the slogging feels slow and heavy.

Plans - Dashed and Future

I had great plans to hole up tonight, enjoy a quiet house and rest.

I came home to discover that the bible study my roommate usually hosts on Thursdays had been move to tonight to accomodate some scheduling changes.

It was loud in my house. Five women laughing and talking loudly, discussing, then cooking and eating together.

I wanted to spend an hour or so in the bathtub, soaking, and resting. That didn't happen either.

I'm tired. This week has been full. Full of pressing in, of reading and thinking and way too many people. I need a break. It's a good thing that this is a short week of work. I don't think I'd make it two more days. One will be enough of a challenge.

Here's my new plan. My roommate, and our houseguest will be out tomorrow night. I'm going to enjoy a silent house. I'm going to quietly break bread tomorrow night. I'm going to read, and to rest.

Tomorrow, I'm finishing out a fast, and beginning a new one of sorts. I'm praying and working and listening and reading.

Those are my plans. Quiet. Books. Prayer. Jesus. Bread.

Fasting, Lamentations, and Surely We Can Change

Today is another fast day during Lent for me. Liquids only. Fruit juice, tea, water. (I get severe headaches if I don’t add the fruit juice thanks to the fluctuations in blood sugar.) Today’s fast wasn’t scheduled, it just seemed to flow naturally from the time of prayer and meditation I had last night, a time that seemed to carry itself right on through my sleep. A place of talking to the Lord about my own life, and the lives of those I love. Of standing in the gap and crying out.

I read Lamentations last night. Was caught by it once again. The words of the weeping prophet, crying out to the Lord for the nation and people he loves. The words from a pit, and yet the hope that remains.

The thought of my suffering and homelessness
is bitter beyond words
I will never forget this awful time,
as I grieve over my loss.
Yet I still dare to hope
when I remember this:
The faithful love of the Lord never ends!
His mercies never cease.
Great is his faithfulness;
his mercies begin afresh each morning.
I say to myself, “The Lord is my inheritance;
therefore, I will hope in him!”
The Lord is good to those who depend on him,
to those who search for him.
So it is good to wait quietly
for salvation from the Lord.
(Lamentations 3:19-26 NLT)

I’ve been listening rather constantly the last few days to David Crowder Band’s latest album “Remedy”. There is something about their music that always speaks to the deepest places that my heart is occupying. I’m caught by the whole album, but this morning, particularly by this last song (Surely We Can Change), and the way it speaks to the themes I find myself thinking and talking about through the course of Lent, and the things I find myself talking with the Lord about on this day of fasting.

And the problem is this
We were bought with a kiss
But the cheek still turned
Even when it wasn’t hit

And I don’t know
What to do with a love like that
And I don’t know
How to be a love like that

When all the love in the world
Is right here among us
And hatred too
And so we must choose
What our hands will do

Where there is pain
Let there be grace
Where there is suffering
Bring serenity
For those afraid
Help them be brave
Where there is misery
Bring expectancy
And surely we can change
Surely we can change
Something

And the problem it seems
Is with you and me
Not the Love who came
To repair everything

Where there is pain
Let us bring grace
Where there is suffering
Bring serenity
For those afraid
Let us be brave
Where there is misery
Let us bring them relief
And surely we can change
Surely we can change
Oh surely we can change
Something

Oh, the world’s about to change
The whole world’s about to change

I am hungriest for God

“I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry again. Whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.” (John 6:35)

I woke up this morning, crawled out of bed, and realized, with a sinking sort of feeling, that this was the day I’d set aside this week to observe a fast of some sort. I generally work to avoid the idea of fasting, and particularly fasting related to the consumption of food, but during Lent, I try to set aside one day per week where I in some way abstain from food.

This morning, I decided on what I thought would be the easy way out. I would do a fruit and vegetable fast. From the moment I woke up, until the moment I woke up the following day, the only food I would consume would be fruits and vegetables. I could give you all of the justifications for choosing this over a complete abstaining from food (I was exhausted, and would need energy for work etc.), but I’ll be really honest. I wanted to be able to say that I’d practiced the discipline of fasting this week, without really giving up food. I like fruit and vegetables – I eat them in fairly large quantities on a daily basis. It seemed like a healthy idea to eat only fruits and vegetables for a little over 24 hours. What I neglected to take into consideration in my bleary eyed morning decision making process was exactly how much starch and bread based products are also part of my daily diet. How many things I eat for the quick “energy boost” or “sugar fix.”

At about 1:00 this afternoon, as I was sitting at my desk, waiting patiently for our bookkeeper to return from her lunch hour and take over answering the phones, giving me my own lunch hour, it hit me. I didn’t want carrots, or snap peas, or a kiwi fruit or mandarin orange. I didn’t want another glass of water, or a cup of roiboos tea. I wanted bread. Badly. Or maybe a cracker. Something in the starch and grain based food category.

I couldn’t shake the thought. I “needed” bread. Now. There would be no waiting until tomorrow morning. It must be now.

I tried reasoning with my body. “you don’t really ‘need’ bread. You just want it, because you’re used to it. Because you love it, and I indulge you by feeding you the thing that you love on a regular basis. You can live without it for another 18 hours.” Nothing doing. My body would not be satiated with rational arguments.

I tried to distract it by feeding it other things. “Here’s some baby carrots and snap peas, fresh from the farmer’s market. Or maybe a kiwi, would you like a kiwi? An orange? A sip of water, or a cup of tea?” It wouldn’t be distracted.

And somewhere, in the midst of the reasoning, and the attempts at distraction, I became aware of a voice whispering in the background, “I am the bread of life…”

Lauren Winner, author of Girl Meets God and Mudhouse Sabbath, and a convert from Orthodox Judaism to Christianity, describes a conversation she’d once had with her rabbi, arguing that she was more likely to focus on God on a high feast day if her stomach had be satiated. She writes:

Rabbi M. did not roll back thousands of years of rabbinic instruction and tell me to eat a bowl of Chex on the morning of Yom Kippur. Instead, he said the hunger was part of the point. “When you are fasting,” he said, “and you feel hungry, you are to remember that you are really hungry for God.”

And that has become my litany, my chant. When I sit at my desk on a Friday afternoon and wonder whether one little blue corn tortilla chip with a dab of black bean spread would really hurt, I say the words out loud: I am hungriest for God, my truest hunger is for God…

Rabbi M.’s words make clear that, like the liturgy, the fast accomplished a repositioning. When I am sated, it is easy to feel independent. When I am hungry, it is possible to remember where my dependence lies.

And so, I began to pause and listen to that voice. “I am the bread of life.” A friend and I have been having an ongoing discussion this Lenten season about hungering and thirsting for God, for deeper things of God.

I chose a fruit and vegetable fast this morning out of laziness and obligation. A desire to say I’d practiced a discipline, without the sacrifices that should generally accompany the practice of a discipline. I spent my afternoon realizing a deeper hunger. A desire for bread.

The craving for bread remains. I am anticipating with great eagerness the moment tomorrow morning when I will break my fast with a hot crossed bun from an excellent local bakery. But as I passed through the afternoon, and my body continually reminded me that it would really appreciate it if I would stop ignoring it’s request for bread, I was reminded of my own, much deeper hunger for God, for the satisfaction Jesus promised when he said, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry again. Whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.”

Convicted to Study

I’m becoming increasingly convinced that I need to carve dedicated time out of my daily schedule for study. While I have found it very helpful and encouraging over the years to spend 10 or 15 minutes devotionally reading scripture before going to bed at night, and have no intention of changing that habit, in the last while I have become convinced that I need to spend far more time working my way through the word of God.

It has become clear to me that to continue to walk into the things God is calling me to, I must devote greater time to study, to seeking him in his word, and in the works of other believers through the centuries, to prayer and meditation.

I am particularly convicted that in order to continue building relationship with the young people that I work with at church, to continue inviting them into deeper things of the Spirit, I must cultivate those deeper things in my own life, via my relationship with Christ, and with time spent in study and contemplation.

Especially in these next few weeks, I am feeling the pull to study. We are holding our first ever church youth retreat on the weekend of May 11th and 12th, and while I don’t yet know if I will be doing some of the teaching, I feel very convicted of the need to prepare myself for that time. I am sensing that it could be a quite significant time in the formation of our group of young people, and I want to spend the time over the next two weeks listening to the Spirit of God, and preparing my own heart in order to be available as the Spirit leads over the course of that weekend. I think I may fast for a few days leading up to the retreat, and possibly over the course of the time away as well.

All of this seems foreign to me. Not so very long ago I would have described a dedicated amount of study time, and fasting as a very legalistic method designed to try and manipulate God into providing what I want. And yet, I am suddenly pulled by the Spirit to do these things.

So, what this amounts to in my life is a determination to set aside a minimum of an hour for study and prayer, at least five times over the course of this week, and five times over the course of the next week. If this means I need to change some of my daily scheduled activities, or curtail some social activities for a few weeks, I’m okay with that. If it means that I have to get out of bed earlier, or stay up a bit later and sacrifice sleep, I’m okay with that, too. Pray for me as I work to prepare my heart for the time away with our youth. Pray for me as I meet with the pastor I work with tomorrow night to determine the topic and details of the weekend, and to make the decisions surrounding which of us (or both of us) will be doing the teaching.

The surprising sacred moments

I'm thinking, just now, about finding the sacred in the most commonplace of happenings, even in the things that are disappointing.

I was supposed to be fasting today, part of a commitment to seek God's face through this Lenten season. I'd already planned to make it shorter than normal, because of some health and physical energy issues I've been having lately, but ended up having to break the fast by noon, instead of at dinner as planned. I was developing a fairly severe headache, and the fruit juice I was drinking to bring my blood sugar wasn't putting a dent in it. But, you know, I found God anyway, in little ways through the day.

In conversations, in enjoying the food, since I knew it was a treat to be consuming it. In dinner out with my best friend. In chatting about the stuff of life, her hospital stories (she's a nurse), a few of my recent "blond" moments at work. In flipping through some pictures she hadn't seen from a road trip we took together last fall. In the book I'm reading. In the U2 I was playing at work today. In a compliment from my boss.

I met Jesus in lots of little places today, and I'm grateful for the surprising sacred moments.

Restored Perspective?

I am generally experiencing a sense of relief at the moment.

While I am still concerned, and wrestling with a number of the issues I mentioned in yesterday's post, I am feeling a sense of renewal, and (perhaps the best word would be) eased perspective.

Church today was not a complete washout. I had the chance to chat with some of the girls, to simply giggle inappropriately at all the wrong moments with them, and to enjoy their company. I sat with a number of them during church.

I came home and took a nap on the couch while watching curling on television with my dad (does it make me weirdly Canadian that I actually ENJOY watching curling?).

We had a meeting with the youth leadership team tonight. It consists of the pastor and I, and three kids from the group in whom we've identified leadership potential, and already existing roles of leadership within the group of young people that we work with. Together, the five of us plan the events, and evaluate the things we do as a group. It helped me to hear their perspective. They saw things quite differently from me in some ways, and it helped me to see the positives of the group of young people we work with through their eyes. It helped me to hear the things they're excited about, and the ideas they presented for ways we could better meet needs.

I feel a bit relieved.

It's not even 8:00pm. and I'm already wearing my pyjamas. This is indicative of the level of exhaustion I've been feeling lately. Tomorrow is another day of Lenten fasting for me, and back to the extreme busyness of my job these days. So, for the rest of the evening, my plan is to hide out, to watch some TV, maybe do a little reading, send a couple of emails, maybe do some crocheting, and just generally breathe and relax, and prepare my mind and heart for the week to come.

filling time

It hit home for me today how much I have always used novels to hide from the messier or more stressful realities of daily life. As I was taking the train home, I was contemplating how much I'd like to curl up in a hot bath and read the evening away. And then I realized that I don't even have any novels around, because I've given them up for Lent, along with a weekly bout of fasting.

So, tonight I made a trip to the craft store. I've taken up crocheting, and I'm making a scarf just presently. Something to do with my hands while I watch a bit of TV, listen to music, or a sermon.

I like the feeling of creating, of watching something appear where there wasn't anything, of making something beautiful and practical.

I miss the novels, particularly after a day like today, which was full of stress, and created a knot of tension that took quite a lot of crocheting (and a liberal dose of chocolate) to loosen.

But this might be a good alternative... we'll have to see.

Lent, two weeks in

I realized tonight that I am enjoying this season of Lent, that it is doing things in my heart yet again, that God is working, even where I didn't expect him.

I'm fasting once a week, and I've stopped reading fiction for the course of this season. Both things that I felt God was asking me to do without for a while, in order to more fully listen to his voice. Both food and novels are ways I hide from the world, and often from the more painful realities in my own life, and the painful things God is doing.

Here's the thing, while the fasting isn't that easy, and I can't quite figure out what to do with my time now that I'm not reading two or three novels a week, I feel certain things shifting in me. I feel parts of me coming alive again, in ways they haven't been alive for a quite a while now. I am listening more, instead of filling the space in my head with false realities. I am hearing God, and voices of people I trust. I'm checking out sermons, reading works of theology and biography, and watching things that challenge me. I am feeling inspired to create again, and to write. I haven't particularly wanted to write this last while - not the blogging sort of writing, but essay writing, and working on a book project I started last fall. I want to create beauty again, rather than just enjoy other's creations from a distance.

Today, as I took the train to work, I was writing in the journal that has rapidly become my c-train book (it's smaller than my other journal, more portable, and pretty - orange silk with a cool decoration - a gift from a friend's trip to China last year). As I was writing, I began to reflect on the various things I'd learned in four weeks of fasting on Mondays. I'm not going to share those things here, yet, and maybe never, but as I wrote I came to the conclusion that even if God does not provide the clarity and direction I'm seeking over the course of this fast, I won't regret it. I value the things I am learning about myself, about God, and about my relationship with God.

Sometime in the next few days I'm going to post some "Jesus stories" here. The latest discussion topic on Marty's blog has got me thinking, and I definitely have some stories to tell - some I'll tell there, some I'll tell here.

See you then!

Just Thinking About... (Take 2)

Startled Awake
I had a rather odd moment this morning. I’m not sure what it means.

At around 5:00 I startled awake quite suddenly. My instinctual response as I woke was to quote the child Samuel, “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.” And then I lay there for a moment or two before drifting back to sleep.

Nothing spectacular followed in the hour and a bit of light sleep that came before waking more permanently to prepare for the day. I didn’t have any kind of divine revelation, nothing spoken that I’m aware of. Just this moment of waking and having my instinctual response be a prayer that created a posture of listening and invitation.

Interesting way to start the third Monday I’ve fasted.

Voices
In this current season of seeking direction and intense awareness of the spiritual realm, two voices in what I’m reading and listening to have stood out in the last while – the first is Jason Upton (both his music and some recordings of talks he gave at a conference in November) and the second is Rob Bell (particularly the chapter of Velvet Elvis titled “Tassels”.) I love this line from Rob Bell (paraphrased as I don’t have the book in front of me), “Your job is the relentless pursuit of who God has called you to be, and anything else is sin.”

Fasting
I’m not good at fasting intentionally. It felt easy that first Monday, the one right after I nearly died driving home from Marty and Kari’s. Such a strong sense of divine calling that day (and the queasy stomach from the leftover nerves helped too!). Last week was okay, and I ended up breaking the fast early to join my family and some guests in a meal, but this morning I keep having to remind myself that I’m not eating today. The chocolate bowl on my desk for our staff is mocking me. We (or should I say they) had cake to celebrate a co-worker's birthday, while I watched.

I’ve discovered that I eat out of habit – it is a way to fill time, to take up space that feels empty. When there's nothing else to do, when there's a pause in the action, I eat - some quick snack, often something fairly healthy, but I eat simply to fill space. I’m not sure that this is a particularly healthy method of eating, and it is probably good to discover these things about my appetites. This fasting has created a regular, forced reminder in my day that I am supposed to be focusing on God to fill me.