Another thought from Henri Nouwen
Jesus' Self-Portrait
Jesus says: "Blessed are the poor, the gentle, those who mourn, those who hunger and thirst for uprightness, the merciful, the pure in heart, the peacemakers, and those who are persecuted in the cause of uprightness" (Matthew 5:3-10). These words offer us a self-portrait of Jesus. Jesus is the Blessed One. And the face of the Blessed One shows poverty, gentleness, grief, hunger, and thirst for uprightness, mercy, purity of heart, a desire to make peace, and the signs of persecution.
The whole message of the Gospel is this: Become like Jesus. We have his self-portrait. When we keep that in front of our eyes, we will soon learn what it means to follow Jesus and become like him.
Friday, May 23, 2008
3 Stones
I have three stones sitting on my desk this morning, each with a word etched into it. Physical reminders of the things I'm clinging to.
One was a gift from a friend. A red stone, heart-shaped, with the word "loved" etched into it.
The other two I purchased at a local fair-trade shop called 10,000 Villages.
The first is smooth and round and simply bears the word "courage".
The second is also somewhat heart-shaped and has the word "hope" carved into it's surface.
I need the reminder that I am loved, that I am "not alone" this morning. I need the ability to cling to courage, to physically hold it in my hand. And hope. Hope has been the word for this season. The thing I've clung to. The thing that has at times seemed to be slipping from my grasp. Especially this week. So I roll it through my fingers as well, and let my heart talk to Jesus a little. Thanking him for loving me and going with me, for sending a few dear friends who can do the same. Asking for courage in the face of immense and overwhelming fears, and for hope in the midst of the hopelessness.
One was a gift from a friend. A red stone, heart-shaped, with the word "loved" etched into it.
The other two I purchased at a local fair-trade shop called 10,000 Villages.
The first is smooth and round and simply bears the word "courage".
The second is also somewhat heart-shaped and has the word "hope" carved into it's surface.
I need the reminder that I am loved, that I am "not alone" this morning. I need the ability to cling to courage, to physically hold it in my hand. And hope. Hope has been the word for this season. The thing I've clung to. The thing that has at times seemed to be slipping from my grasp. Especially this week. So I roll it through my fingers as well, and let my heart talk to Jesus a little. Thanking him for loving me and going with me, for sending a few dear friends who can do the same. Asking for courage in the face of immense and overwhelming fears, and for hope in the midst of the hopelessness.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Reasons to Keep Going
I'm feeling pretty buried by life tonight. Really reaching for reasons to smile. I'm looking into booking a hotel room or figuring out a way to get away by myself for a few hours this weekend... just time to hash some things out... with God, with myself... I'm pretty much taking life 24 hours at a time these days... It's all I have energy to handle right now...
Here are a few of the (rather weak, I know) reasons to keep going - the little things that are bright spots, the things I'm looking forward to right now:
Here are a few of the (rather weak, I know) reasons to keep going - the little things that are bright spots, the things I'm looking forward to right now:
- tomorrow is casual day, and I get to wear jeans to work
- it's Friday, which means there's a weekend coming, and hopefully a little bit of rest
- I'm watching the Grey's Anatomy season finale as I write this
- I'm having Subway for lunch tomorrow with a friend
- On Sunday, I get a break from fasting again, and I can eat chocolate, and dessert, and pastries from this fabulous little bakery we discovered last weekend
- one of my roommate's is out of town, and I have her car, which means I get a day off of taking the train to and from work, and a day without being cussed out by random mentally ill people (which has been happening a lot lately)
- the fact that my dreams are continuing to get more intense and vivid must mean that this whole mess is climaxing, and will have to end soon
- in a few weeks I'm going to visit a very dear friend for a weekend
- next week I'm getting a much needed haircut, and my once yearly splurge on highlights (red AND blonde)
- I'm hanging with a couple of very good friends in the coming week
- I DON'T have to teach Sunday school this week
- I'm going to make time to go to the park, even if it's pouring rain
- I'm going to buy special gifts for some friends this weekend
- I'm going to pray (or try anyway...)
- I'm still alive
- and breathing
- I'm loved
- by Jesus
- by people who I love deeply in return
Lessons in the Midst of Darkness
Drew raised a question on his blog the other day about the ways depression can “minister”. I’m not particularly sure how to answer that, because “minister” is a bit of a loaded word for me right now, but it did get me thinking about some of the things I learned in the midst of the seven years I suffered from depression.
A few months ago another friend, as a way of illustrating a point in a much longer conversation asked me “Do you regret your experience with depression?” I answered her in the following way, “I regret sometimes that I lost what is at this point nearly a third of my life to that place of despair and hopelessness, but no, I don't generally regret the depression. I experience hope and joy more deeply because of it. It's opened so many doors into the broken hearts of others - doors that not many with my "super-christian" background can walk through because of the stigmas attached to mental illness. It taught me how deeply a word of encouragement can be needed, and how important it is to speak those out whenever possible. I could go on I suppose...”
And so, these last few months, as I’ve once again skirted the edges of darkness (managing, for the moment to remain above the abyss), I’ve been thinking again about the things I learned in the midst of those years where there was nothing but darkness, and I thought I’d share some of those lessons…
I learned that you have to honor the questions and the lack of resolution as much as you honor the answers and the resolution.
I learned that you shouldn’t make decisions or take strong actions on the really bad days. And that you can’t let all the bad days become completely paralzying - because if they're all bad days and you're not making decisions on the bad days, you get stuck in a hellish sort of cyclical rut.
I learned that God is sovereign, and even in the darkest of spaces He is absolutely, completely and totally worthy of my worship.
I began the (ongoing) process of learning that it is okay to be honest, and even angry with God, and that he doesn’t generally “smite” you for your honesty or anger.
I learned that light and darkness are far more intertwined than most people would care to admit, and that, in the words of Bruce Cockburn, sometimes you take “another step deeper into darkness, closer to the light.”
I learned that in those moments when you are the most spent, when you have absolutely nothing left to offer, and more is still required of you, God is faithful, just in that moment, just as you need it, to provide the more that is required.
I learned that sometimes just sitting and sipping a cup of tea can be a prayer.
I learned that suffering, despite the “re-assuring” words of many, is rarely beautiful when you’re in the midst of it, but that beauty really is offered for ashes, and you just may not see that until you reach the other side.
I learned that if you find friends who can love you deeply in your darkest spaces, you should hold onto them – they’ll be some of the best people to be around when you’re no longer walking in the dark.
I learned that if there is something or someone who can make you smile or laugh, even if the smile or laugh only penetrates your head and doesn’t make it to your heart, you should spend as much time as possible with that person or thing.
I learned that if someone offers to pray for and with you, even if that someone makes you cringe inside, you should probably let them. Sometimes the prayers of someone outside the darkness can push the edges of the darkness back for a little while.
I learned that a hug is truly one of the greatest gifts.
I learned that sometimes, just having someone who will sit with you and listen as you empty your heart, and hold you as you cry, is the most healing thing possible.
I learned that even in the midst of darkness, creation cries out the name of Jesus. And that you should spend time in that creation, because it lets light in.
I'd imagine that there are more lessons... in fact, I'm certain there are, but these are some of the ones that spring immediately to mind.
A few months ago another friend, as a way of illustrating a point in a much longer conversation asked me “Do you regret your experience with depression?” I answered her in the following way, “I regret sometimes that I lost what is at this point nearly a third of my life to that place of despair and hopelessness, but no, I don't generally regret the depression. I experience hope and joy more deeply because of it. It's opened so many doors into the broken hearts of others - doors that not many with my "super-christian" background can walk through because of the stigmas attached to mental illness. It taught me how deeply a word of encouragement can be needed, and how important it is to speak those out whenever possible. I could go on I suppose...”
And so, these last few months, as I’ve once again skirted the edges of darkness (managing, for the moment to remain above the abyss), I’ve been thinking again about the things I learned in the midst of those years where there was nothing but darkness, and I thought I’d share some of those lessons…
I learned that you have to honor the questions and the lack of resolution as much as you honor the answers and the resolution.
I learned that you shouldn’t make decisions or take strong actions on the really bad days. And that you can’t let all the bad days become completely paralzying - because if they're all bad days and you're not making decisions on the bad days, you get stuck in a hellish sort of cyclical rut.
I learned that God is sovereign, and even in the darkest of spaces He is absolutely, completely and totally worthy of my worship.
I began the (ongoing) process of learning that it is okay to be honest, and even angry with God, and that he doesn’t generally “smite” you for your honesty or anger.
I learned that light and darkness are far more intertwined than most people would care to admit, and that, in the words of Bruce Cockburn, sometimes you take “another step deeper into darkness, closer to the light.”
I learned that in those moments when you are the most spent, when you have absolutely nothing left to offer, and more is still required of you, God is faithful, just in that moment, just as you need it, to provide the more that is required.
I learned that sometimes just sitting and sipping a cup of tea can be a prayer.
I learned that suffering, despite the “re-assuring” words of many, is rarely beautiful when you’re in the midst of it, but that beauty really is offered for ashes, and you just may not see that until you reach the other side.
I learned that if you find friends who can love you deeply in your darkest spaces, you should hold onto them – they’ll be some of the best people to be around when you’re no longer walking in the dark.
I learned that if there is something or someone who can make you smile or laugh, even if the smile or laugh only penetrates your head and doesn’t make it to your heart, you should spend as much time as possible with that person or thing.
I learned that if someone offers to pray for and with you, even if that someone makes you cringe inside, you should probably let them. Sometimes the prayers of someone outside the darkness can push the edges of the darkness back for a little while.
I learned that a hug is truly one of the greatest gifts.
I learned that sometimes, just having someone who will sit with you and listen as you empty your heart, and hold you as you cry, is the most healing thing possible.
I learned that even in the midst of darkness, creation cries out the name of Jesus. And that you should spend time in that creation, because it lets light in.
I'd imagine that there are more lessons... in fact, I'm certain there are, but these are some of the ones that spring immediately to mind.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Almost Done
The workday ends in 3 minutes.
I'm going back out into the soggy weather.
My mom is feeding me dinner. My parents have company staying with them - a long-time friend who works as a missionary in West Africa. So, I'll eat and visit for a while.
Then home.
Sleep was nearly non-existent again last night. Another attempt is forthcoming.
These days I'm still surprised that the vivid intensity of my dreams can still surprise me.
1 minute to go.
another post later perhaps.
good night.
I'm going back out into the soggy weather.
My mom is feeding me dinner. My parents have company staying with them - a long-time friend who works as a missionary in West Africa. So, I'll eat and visit for a while.
Then home.
Sleep was nearly non-existent again last night. Another attempt is forthcoming.
These days I'm still surprised that the vivid intensity of my dreams can still surprise me.
1 minute to go.
another post later perhaps.
good night.
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