Between Old and New

At the suggestion of a friend I've been re-reading a book by Henri Nouwen. "The Inner Voice of Love." What's funny about this whole situation is that the friend who suggested it is one who doesn't particularly enjoy Henri, and is reading that book herself partly as my suggestion. When she suggested that I work my way back through it, I wasn't expecting to be caught and convicted by nearly every page.

I read this section tonight, called "Enter the New Country"

You have an idea of what the new country looks like. Still, you are very much at home, although not truly at peace, in the old country. You know the ways of the old country, its joys and pains, its happy and sad moments. you have spent most of your days there. Even though you know that you have not found there what your heart most desires, you remain quite attached to it. It has become part of your very bones.

Now you have come to realize that you must leave it and enter the new country, where your Beloved dwells. You know that what helped and guided you in the old country no longer works, but what else do you have to go by? You are being asked to trust that you will find what you need in the new country...

Trust is so hard, since you have nothing to fall back on. Still, trust is what is essential. The new country is where you are called to go, and the only way to go there is naked and vulnerable.

It seems that you keep crossing and recrossing the border. For a while you experience a real joy in the new country. But then you feel afraid and start longing again for all you left behind, so you go back to the old country. To your dismay, you discover that the old country has lost its charm. Risk a few more steps into the new country, trusting that each time you enter it, you will feel more comfortable and be able to stay longer.

I wrote the following line in my journal tonight, just after recording that quote...

I'm living most days right now in some sort of bizarre no-man's-land between the old and new countries - completely dissatisfied with the old country, and yet very much afraid of the trust and risk that the new country requires for me to fully inhabit it.

I'm between old and new, and it kind of sucks, but I'm working to trust that it will be okay.

Living Sacrament...

I loved this blog post today... for a variety of reasons, most of which I can't really explain...

But the photos are great, and I love her definition of sacrament.

Sun Kissed

I went to the farmer's market first thing this morning to buy raspberries and blackberries. Then a quick trip home to pick up my roommate, L., and we headed out to do a couple of errands and go to Shakespeare in the Park again.

After the park, we went to the river, and laid on the banks in our bikinis, enjoying the sun, and the quiet. A quick dip in the river and we headed home, sun-kissed (but thankfully not burnt) and rather thirsty.

Now we're crashed on the couches in our living room, watching olympic coverage (we cheered as the kenyan woman beat out the chinese woman for the silver medal in the women's marathon, and we're presently watching swimming) and relaxing.

I have a headache from being out in the sun - pretty normal for me, but one that should be easily drugged into submission.

It's been a good day.

Peru in the news...

Thousands Join Peru Quake Protest

thoughts circling (can't avoid)

It’s finally Friday.

This has been a long, and weird sort of week, and I’m glad it’s ending.

There are dozens of things circling my brain.

I’m the queen of avoidance techniques, and even those are no longer working.

I’m hoping to go to my favorite park early tomorrow morning. There is a strong pull to be there. I need to walk, and pray. I need to throw stones, and leave some things behind. I need to stand by the water, and maybe dip my feet in it. I need to spend some time surrendering.

I’m thinking about poverty and provision, and my lack of ability to trust (though I’ve seen it over and over through the years) that God will provide.

I’m thinking about how easy it is to say that everything I own is God’s, even my money, and my things, and how hard it is to actually live that out.

A favorite bookstore begins their final close-out sale tomorrow. And I want to go and shop. And yet, this week I’ve realized that spending money is just another avoidance technique. That sometimes I shop with purpose and direction, but sometimes (often lately) I shop because I want to forget, or to avoid. And, as I think of visiting the bookstore, I realize that the pull is the sale prices, rather than the need for books. There are probably close to fifty books on my shelves that I have not yet read, and the list would likely balloon to close to one hundred if we counted the books that I’ve started and never finished. So I’ll probably skip the bookstore, and curl up with one of the many books I already own.

I’m thinking about Christ as the suffering servant. How that is both a completely comforting and totally discouraging image right now. How, as I tried to pray on the train this morning, I was essentially complaining about the rejection, the hurt, the things in my life, and I kept being reminded that Jesus suffered too. And that’s comforting, but not. Because He suffered, he understands. But He also said that because he suffered and was rejected, how can we as his followers expect any less? It doesn’t paint a particularly rosy picture for the future.

I’m thinking about trust, and how that’s still absolutely one of the hardest things for me to do.

And about how conquering fear is maybe the only thing that is equal in difficulty to trusting.

I’m thinking about the advice of a friend last weekend, not to pray for others until I myself had been filled and satisfied. About how hard it is for me to enter into the presence of Jesus and be satisfied. About how much easier it is for me to come to God on behalf of the needs and cares of those I love, than it is to come to him with my own needs and cares. About how much easier it is for me to believe that he loves other people than it is to believe that he loves me. About how I tend to feel that they’re more deserving of his love and his presence than I am. And about how I then have to battle jealousy that he is meeting and healing those I love, while I find myself broken and alone. And then I need to remind myself that as often as not I seek to avoid his presence, and I refuse to meet his gaze, or answer his call, because I don’t trust him to be gentle, I expect to be hurt and rejected.

And I wonder if the fact that I’m aware of all of these things is the first real step to the freedom and healing I long for?

I’m hoping to go to my favorite park tomorrow morning.

To walk and pray and meet with Him.

He’s calling me there.

And the word I keep hearing is “surrender”.