Taking Back Ground

It hit me last night that this trip to Mexico is a lot about taking back some ground in my life. And here's the thing - I'm not naturally too much of a warrior personality when it comes to my own life. I will fight to the limits of my ability and strength for a friend or family member who is broken or hurting, but I am not so good at fighting for my own life and soul.

But this trip is about taking back ground. It is about fighting the fear that has kept me from doing so many things over the course of my life. It is about recognizing that I can serve God and even call it missions, and that it doesn't have to look like what my dad calls missions, or what he would necessarily approve of 100%.

God has reminded me over the past couple days of how closely His provision and calling for this trip resembles his provision and calling for a camp that I staffed approximately five years ago, right out of high school. I was terrified to make that trip, too. But God sent the money my way, and the time off work came through. I wasn't even supposed to be allowed to staff that particular camp, because I'd never attended as a camper. But everything came through, and I found myself living at "Malibu" - a gorgeous Young Life camp on the West Coast of Canada, accessible only by boat.

And it was a difficult three weeks. But looking back, I can name one specific moment when I knew that I had been right in obeying God's calling.

I walked into our staff lounge one afternoon to find a co-worker sitting on the floor and crying. I sat and talked with her, and she was going through a really rough time. She had left a pretty rough background to come and work at camp, was in nicotine withdrawal because staff weren't allowed to smoke, and she'd quit cold turkey to come and be a staffer. There was a list of stuff going on. And as I sat and listened to her, this thought kept playing through my head, "you need to tell her your mom's story."

Now, keep in mind I am a conservative pastor's daughter. And this was five years ago, and God just didn't "speak" to me. But I couldn't shake the thought, so I kind of looked at her and said, "I don't really know why, but I think I'm supposed to share my mom's story with you."

So I told her that my mom comes from a very abusive background, that from the age of 2 or 3 on she was sexually abused. That emotional and physical abuse where also common in her home. I told this friend that my mom had gone on a date once in junior high school, and once in high school, and both times experienced date rape. I told her that God was healing my mom, that He was faithful, that He found my mom, and that He brought my dad into her life.

And then I left the room. Our conversation was over. Later that day, my friend came and found me. "I know why you were supposed to tell me that story."

"Oh yeah? why?"

"Because that's my story - the abuse and the rape."

And all I could do was hug her, and later I wept. Because God had ordained something I never expected. And all these years later, I can't name one good reason that I worked at that camp that summer other than that moment. Quite honestly, I was pretty miserable while I was there, fighting a lot of the same fear battles I'm anticipating entering into again this trip. But God intervened that day, and placed me there to encourage this girl. I haven't spoken with her since - never heard from her again after the day we all left the camp to go back to our respective cities. But I have known clearly for five years that I met God and heard His voice that day.

And as I've prayed and worried over this trip to Mexico this week, God keeps reminding me of that last trip. Of the fact that I was reluctant and terrified, but that I chose to obey, and that He spoke because of it.

I know God in a so much deeper way now. Five years of depression and an experience of healing that is undeniable can do that to a girl. I'm still afraid to make this trip, but I feel like God is telling me that it is about taking back ground. That much in the same way He showed up five years ago, He will show up for me again. And I can rest in that knowledge - in the truth of His faithfulness.

A million and one...

This is going to be one of those "deeply profound" posts that masquerades as a random bullet point list of thoughts. No. Really.

Okay, I'm done with the sarcasm now. I just need to make a list. Lists are comforting to me, and I thought that if I promised it would be profound, you'd all read it too! (Ooops...guess I wasn't quite done with the sarcasm...) I feel like I've been running around this week like a chicken with its head cut off - with a million and one things to do and a million and one things on my brain, and in an effort to bring order, I'm putting them in a list.

• I need to phone my aunt. I need to borrow a money belt from her to keep my passport and money for the trip in.
• I need to photocopy my passport, and leave a copy of it with my parents. Our family learned the value of this precaution the hard way a couple years ago when all of my dad's bags were stolen from the trunk of a car within hours of his arriving in West Africa on one of the teaching trips he made. It helped greatly in the replacing of his passport on short notice that we had the a copy of the passport and passport number sitting in a file here.
• I need to email three friends. Dana. Sheri. Kari.
• I need to do laundry.
• I have to work for four hours tonight with my least favorite coworker.
• I need to start packing.
• I need to drive my brother to work at noon.
• I need to stop and spend some God time - praying for the next couple days, and for the trip.
• I need to do a bit of journalling, and possibly send another email setting up a time to sit down and chat about some stuff with a new friend when I get back.
• I need to remember that God is faithful. That I have slept somewhat more restfully these past two nights, and that He will be faithful even if it feels really awful while I'm away.
• I need to tell you that while I'm gone, you can read about our trip on this blog. I probably won't be writing there, but you'll get at least a bit of an idea of what we're up to.

a trust thing

I'm sitting here, staring at my computer screen, and thinking, "I should write." I'm really unsettled still, although I did sleep a bit better last night, thank God. I have a mostly instrumental jazz album, put out by a really talented pianist named Mike Janzen playing on my stereo, and I'm sitting here and thinking, and staring at my screen, and trying to wrap words around thoughts I can't pinpoint and ideas I don't understand.

Last night was interesting, I suppose. It was, well, church. To be honest, in retrospect, I wish I'd gone to the Steve Bell concert with my brother instead, but it seemed important to be at the "family meeting." Long. That would be a good word to describe it. And there were faces missing in the group - people who've been around for a long time who couldn't make it for the evening, or are now heading in other directions, and that made me sad in some ways.

I had the chance to chat with Nolan and Faye, and that was fun. Showed a few people my art piece from this week, and that was kind of fun too.

The pub afterwards was good - just four of us girls, talking about life and work and God and boys and telling stories. Why was an hour in the pub far more meaningful and significant to my evening than a five hour "family meeting" at church?

I drove a friend home, and she told me something that made me smile and laugh and feel totally uncomfortable at the same time. God wants her to share her story. Which doesn't surprise me, because her story is great. What grabbed me is that God asked the same thing of me a couple months back, and I started to do it - but then I told someone who had journeyed with me fairly closely at times over the space of a couple of years, and that person very much minimized my experience of healing, destroyed any trust I had in them, and has left me questioning a number of things about my relationship to the church I have been calling home for the last three years. And, when my story of healing was minimized, I was silenced. I lost the desire to tell others - yeah, I've told good friends here and there, but I am afraid to tell the world at large - it's easier to sit in silence than to face the rejection of unhearing ears. And yet, at the same time I want to shout from the rooftops this thing that God has done in my life. I want to stand and give testimony to the healing love of Jesus. I want to tell the world that He was faithful through years of depression, and one night, He reached down and rescued me from that pit. I want to tell them that healing doesn't necessarily mean tidiness - that my healing has resulted in a life that is completely off balance, totally messy, and worth every second.

I'm thinking a lot about Mexico. Praying a lot for this trip, because I'm really scared to make it. It's a trust issue. In a whole lot of ways. Do I trust some people who've hurt me, but are playing a leadership role on this trip? Do I trust God to uphold me and help me combat these fears?

There are a lot of issues involved in this trip for me. I've avoided anything that could be labeled "missions" for a lot of years. Because short-term missions is really tied up in my relationship with my dad, and that's not always such an easy thing for me. He has definite opinions, is disappointed that I felt God calling me to Mexico, instead of on a team to Ukraine with my dad and brother and another man from my dad's church. When you add to that mess my fear thing - this thing that I can't explain and don't seem to have a lot of skill at combating, it could be a crazy trip. And one of my very "messy" friends is traveling with us, and that scares me too. Because I can't help wonder how much she'll need me, and how much of my emotional, physical and spiritual energy will be tied up in fighting my own battles for freedom on this trip.

I came home last night and found the CDs my brother purchased at my request at the Steve Bell concert. I lay in bed (avoiding sleep - and the unsettled awakenings) and listened to the music and read lyric sheets. Steve's latest album is covers of Bruce Cockburn's music, and I was caught by the following lyric (incidentally, if you love liturgical, reflective music, with a strong scriptural component, you must check out Steve's music):

Gone from mystery into mystery
Gone from daylight into night
Another step deeper into darkness
Closer to the light

God, I feel like I'm stepping into darkness as I make this trip. My heart's cry is that the step will be on that is closer to You.

to us who are being saved...

The "watchword for the week" from the Moravians arrived in my email this morning and grabbed at me.

For the message about the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God. 1 Corinthians 1:18

God has been speaking to me about the power found in the suffering Christ lately. The messiness and beauty that it contains. And I have met those who have dismissed this aspect - who have denied the messiness of Christ's life in order to continue to live their day to day lives without acknowledging that God can be found in the messiness that they encounter in themselves or in others.

But to me, it has been an incredible release to realize the messiness of Jesus life - the messiness that culminated in his execution as a criminal - the messiness that means He bore the weight of my own messiness in order that I can be redeemed and changed. "...to us who are being saved it is the power of God." YES!

An obvious confession

Some bloggers I know are really good at only talking about God stuff - theology, what God has recently been doing in their life, things God is speaking to them and others, challenges, stuff they're reading in Scripture. I have a confession to make. It's a fairly obvious one if you've hung around my blog at all. I am not one of those bloggers.

I do like to talk about God stuff. In fact, my life is so shaped at the moment by the God stuff that I can hardly help but talk about it. The thing is, every once in a while I need a break from the headier stuff, and need to just talk about my day.

So, here it is. Yesterday was a good day. It was a nothing sort of day. I've had a lot of those this week since I haven't had any hours at work. But yesterday was a particularly good example of one. (A friend emailed me a month or so ago and spoke very strongly to me that I needed to find ways to relax and destress other than writing. Incidentally, I've had very few work hours since then and have had lots of chances to practice what she was telling me!) I was tired, and unsettled, because of the sleep issues I mentioned when I posted yesterday, but that didn't really affect my day too drastically because I didn't need physical energy for anything in particular. (On a side note, I slept very poorly again last night, and I do need energy today, but that's a whole different thing.)

I got up in the morning, realized there was no particular reason for me to be up, and crawled back into bed with a novel. I read for a while, and then my mom came home and handed me an envelope from my nana. Nana is my adopted grandmother - a fun British lady who has attended my dad's church for years, and lives across the back alley from our house. She had sent me a note, and a cheque for my Mexico trip, but had forgotten to sign the cheque. So, I got out of bed and got dressed, phoned her and popped over to her house. We had a great visit. I love hanging out with her. She may be the coolest elderly lady I know!

I came home, decided to go back to my novel - only in the bathtub this time. So, I ran a hot bath, and read my novel for another hour or so in the tub. This is also one of my favorite ways to pass an hour or so. I'm a sucker for anything warm - you will rarely find me curled up to read without a blanket wrapped around me, or a hot bath in which to immerse myself, or without being curled up in my bed.

After reading I decided I'd better fulfill a promise I made to my mom to bake something this week. So, I made chocolate chip cookies. Fantastic.

While I was baking a friend called and asked me if I wanted to hang out with her. She was going to a Christian bookstore and wondered if I'd like to meet her there. I'd been thinking that a trip to the bookstore was in order to buy something to read on the bus to Mexico, and quickly agreed. We passed a solid hour and a bit in the bookstore, with the love that only two readers and writers can have for that kind of pastime. We handed books back and forth, were slightly catty as we discussed the overabundance of titles on topics that seemed to be straightforward, laughed at some truly bad merchandise (The Praise Workout DVD - The Christian Alternative to Yoga - I'm not kidding, that's what it said on the case!), and then decided that coffee was in order. But, it was Friday night, and the coffee houses were busy, so we went to the lounge of a local restaurant, had dinner, and talked about how God had showed up in unique ways in both of our lives lately. We share a mutual healing of depression that continues to amaze both of us.

I came home, did a little blogging, a little more reading, finished my novel, started a new one, ate some cookies, and headed for bed.

This is my kind of day - warm, inviting, filled with good pastimes and good friends. And really, when I think about it, it was a God kind of day. I spent a lot of time with Him - asking some questions that my novel raised. I worshipped Him along with a CD while I did my baking. And then I shared the things He's doing in my life, and listened to the things he's doing in my friend's life over dinner. It was good.

Now if only I could figure out how to start sleeping restfully...