The Safety of Fear

I would like to suggest that the Church become a place of terror again; a place where God continually has to tell us, "Fear not"; a place where our relationship with God is not a simple belief or doctrine or theology, it is God’s burning presence in our lives. I am suggesting that the tame God of relevance be replaced by the God whose very presence shatters our egos into dust, burns our sin into ashes, and strips us naked to reveal the real person within. The Church needs to become a gloriously dangerous place where nothing is safe in God’s presence except us. Nothing—including our plans, our agendas, our priorities, our politics, our money, our security, our comfort, our possessions, our needs. (Mike Yaconelli, "The Safety of Fear," found here.)

I love this thought. Actually, I've loved quite a lot of the things Mike Yaconelli had to say. But this one caught my attention this morning. I was particularly captured by the lines I made bold. Wow! Very close to a number of other things and thoughts that I've been bumping into the last couple of weeks.

On my radar this week

• Podcasts.... particularly these two: "Entertaining Ideas" by Rik Leaf. Made me laugh out loud, and possibly even think a little bit! "Untodeep Cast" by Marty Nish. I've listened to it once and will listen again and then leave my response on Marty's blog, but I like the way he's thinking, and it's inspiring some mental wrestling in me.
• Jacob and Lily's new CD "The Cathedral" - arrived in the mail last night, and I've been enjoying it ever since. I've been waiting all month for it to arrive, and was delighted to find it waiting for me when I arrived home from work last night.
• The converstation going on here at Lauren's blog about the things I wrote in my post titled "The Moral High Ground". I'm always excited when people are talking about the importance of love versus the importance of being right. It makes me happy when someone starts seeing people instead of issues.
• Passion tea. I bought a box from Starbucks, and it makes me happy. Plus, it warms me up after the fifteen minute walk in the freezing weather from the c-train to my office.
• The fact that the weather is finally going to warm up a bit. I'm running out of sweaters to wear to work.
• Youth ministry. I suddenly find myself in youth ministry at the church I've decided to settle into for this next season. Totally excited, a little nervous as I spent quite a bit of the last several years being told that I had nothing to say, or nothing to contribute, completely anticipating what God might be doing with this group of young people. I see traces of Him in the fact that a tiny church (like 90 people), that has until about two months ago offered nothing for youth, has 15-25 youth filling the back two or three rows every Sunday. Mostly kids who don't come from a Christian background at all, and met Jesus somewhere along the way, and are hungry to know more about Him. So fun! Planning coffee and tea dates, and thinking about the Bible study I'll be doing in the new year.
• Driving standard. This is not so happy. I think I hate it. I don't particularly like driving to begin with, and the whole standard thing stresses me out. I'm okay as long as there isn't heavy traffic, or I don't have to stop a whole lot. The icy roads have not been helping. I drove to pick up my brother last night, and by the time I got there, and phoned to let him know I'd arrived, the only thing I said on the call was "I'm here. You're driving home." I feel like I have hardly any control of the vehicle on the icy roads, and that makes me nervous, especially since the car is a loan from my best friend who is currently enjoying warmer weather in Nepal.
• Looking forward to the weekend. It's my job every year to decorate the Christmas tree, and I'm going to do that this weekend. I'm also looking forward to going to my brother's Christmas choir concert on Friday night. He may hate the fact that he's in choir, but I do love the majesty of the group of them singing - and I love Christmas music too!
• My brother is still navigating what exactly it means to be a guitar student, in music school, who is not allowed to play the guitar. Choir is a requirement of his program, but he hates it. We were talking the other day about whether he'd continue to work at our church as a worship leader, using just his voice, and his comment, which cracked me us was, "I'd rather lead worship naked, with my guitar, than fully clothed without it." Do all musicians think this way?
• Have a good day!

Why we speak...

I came across these two quotes in Shane Claiborne's book, "The Irresistible Revolution: Living as an Ordinary Radical" and was quite struck by them.

Sometimes we speak to change the world; other times we speak to keep the world from changing us. (p.123)

Our programs revolve around the needs and gifts in our community and are always changing. They never define us, for we set out not to start programs but simply to be good neighbors. (p. 125)

(By the way, if you can pick this book up, I reccommend it. Claiborne simply tells stories, make suggestions, talks about the community he's involved in, and what he believes following Christ should actually look like. My friends Andy and Marty were raving about it after reading only a chapter or two each, so I picked it up and haven't regretted it.)

Moral High Ground?

A month or so back, Kirk put this post up on his blog. It's haunted me every now and then ever since.

When he put it up, I responded to it in this way:

Kirk, thanks for sharing this, and for loving this young man, and carrying him and his story along with you each day.

I have an aunt who is a lesbian - long time committed relationship with her partner. A friend's uncle is gay, and most likely dieing slowly from HIV AIDS.

It's not worth it to me to take a militant stance on gay marriage or really anything else. It's all about people. We are blinded by the issue and stop seeing the people, and then things get dangerous, and messy, and we get video games that depict Christians laughing as people are slaughtered. I just want to love on people the way Christ loved on me and brought healing in my life. I wrote about that this morning on my blog... sharing the love and mercy that was passed on to me.

Gray areas are clarified and intensified in the cleansing mercy of Christ, the mercy that identifies us all equally as sinners and, if we choose to receive it, equally as saints.


I still feel like this. If we lose the people in the midst of the issue, why bother? The person is so much more important than protecting some sort of moral high ground. I'm tired of a Christianity that is so much more concerned about the way it looks, and the power it has in a culture, than it is about the people of that culture (be it North American or elsewhere). I'm tired of the moral high ground. The high ground is lonely, and there is no variety in the people it contains.

I've been thinking about a comment Jason Upton made in the teaching that Marty loaded onto my ipod from the conference we were at a few weeks ago. Upton was speaking about this striving in the church to be relevant to culture, and he made this observation that has caught at me ever since... "Jesus was not relevant. He was common." Wow. Huge difference. Forget the moral high ground, let's become common and really love people. Maybe if we love them, we can introduce them to the reason for that love. And if not, well, we loved them, and that is never something wasted.

-39 Celsius

That's what the temperature is with wind chill. And I'm about to spend the next hour either walking in it, waiting for a train in it, or riding on a drafty train in it. And the forecast for tomorrow is exactly the same. I've thought about taking the chance and driving, but the roads suck, so it would be a HUGE chance just to prevent my freezing to death. So, outside or on a drafty train for the next hour and a bit.

Have I mentioned that everywhere I'm thinking of moving is either coastal or significantly south of Calgary, or both?

Quiet Weekend

I'm thankful for a relatively quiet weekend. I did little things. I practiced driving (by the way - there could not have been a worse week of weather for me to be attempting to learn to drive a standard - freezing cold, snowing, and icy roads.) Tomorrow I will take the train to work again, because I'm not confident enough yet to drive on major roads in icy conditions. It's going to be -25, but -38 (celsius) with the windchill. Lovely. I don't think I own enough clothing to layer up and keep me warm as I walk from the train to my office.

The Christmasy busyness starts this week with my brother's choir concert. I heard them sing some of the songs tonight, and they sounded good. (He hates choir, by the way. It's a requirement of his program - guitar major - at school. He has to wear this awful lavender colored dress shirt, and he mostly just hates singing. In fact, he has to work to smile during performances so people don't know how painful he finds it.)

I'm meeting tomorrow night with one of the pastors at the church I've settled on attending for this next season while I'm still in Calgary. We're going to talk more formally about how I can be involved with the youth and young adults in the church - how I can help him out since he needs a female leader. (I'm driving there - pray that I won't crash or something!)

And with that, I'm off to read and journal in bed for a bit. I'm tired - seems to be a pretty common state these days. To be honest, winter tends to send all thought and emotion more deeply internal within me, and then I spend half my time exhausted and the other half figuring out what the issues, thoughts and emotions are that are making me so exhausted!

Do Not Drink?

Okay, so I was emailing my friend Marty the other day, and sent him these pictures, because I had told him about them a couple weeks ago, and promised to pass them along. They were taken when I went out to the West Coast at the end of September. They're from the bathroom at the toll booth at the top of the Coquihalla highway...

Okay, you have to wonder... are they having a regular problem with people drinking from the toilets? Someone had to have tried it, or there wouldn't be a sign, right? And are people carrying a mug around, like the sign pictures, just waiting for the opportunity to dip the thing into the toilet and drink their fill?

I've developed a little bit of a reputation the last while for collecting odd signs found in bathrooms, and I didn't even notice this one immediately. My friend was in the stall next to me, and when we had both emerged to wash our hands, she turned to me and asked if I'd noticed the sign. I hadn't so I went back, and immediately cracked up. We ran out to the car quickly, grabbed the camera, and took these pictures.

So, that's my grand advice for the day - Don't drink from the toilet.

In Your Mercy, Hear Our Prayer

Was listening to some music on my ipod on my (very cold) commute into work this morning, and this song came on. It's a Steve Bell song, but one I hadn't heard in quite a while.

It seems to me that the lyrics project a very holistic theology - a concern for the environment, for the poor and brokenhearted, for those we love, and those we don't even know.

I was caught by it this morning, and hope the cry for the mercy of the Father in so many arenas of life will catch your hearts as well.

Hear our Prayer
Music by Steve Bell
Lyric by Steve Bell and Jamie Howison

Now we pray to You Father for peace in the world
For the right use of all You have given
A respect for creation in us be restored
Lord in Your mercy
Hear our prayer

And we pray for the poor of the world everywhere
And for all those who suffer from hunger and fear
For those who are homeless - for those who need care
Lord in Your mercy
Hear our prayer

Now we pray for those close to us, those who have needs
For the friends that we love and for all our families
For these loved ones we pray Jesus grant them Your peace
Lord in Your mercy
Hear our prayer

And we pray for ourselves for forgiveness of sins
For the evil around that is born from within
And we ask You oh God that You heal us again
Lord in Your mercy
Hear our prayer

Now in closing we ask You dear Father on our knees
Lord for mercy on all those we call our enemies
So that all might be one in Your love and Your peace
Lord in Your mercy
Hear our prayer

Thank God it's Friday

Okay, so Friday doesn't officially start for another thirty minutes, and I'm going to sleep for about six hours before I officially kick off my Friday, but I'm definitely glad it's coming.

Work tomorrow will be mundane, but doable. I don't particularly love it, but I don't hate it. I like it, and that makes me happy.

I have tentative plans for a movie date tomorrow night with my dad. My mom is going to a seminar for the evening, and dad and I are thinking about going to see the new Will Ferrell movie, "Stranger than Fiction." We both find the premise intriguing.

I plan to spend the weekend reading, possibly writing, and mostly practicing driving. I took tonight off from the whole driving thing. I needed a break, and thanks to all the snow, the roads are crappy anyway!

And with that, I'm off to bed. See you all on the weekend!

Morose

I just want to be up front. I've written about all kinds of moods on here. If you've been reading for a while, you've weathered the last year that I suffered from severe depression, you've weathered the season in which I came to the realization that God had healed that depression, you've hung around while I walked through very messy life stuff with a number of friends. You've seen happy and sad, up and down, and many things in between.

Today, I'm morose. Angry at life and possibly the world in general.

I had a nightmare last night. First one in a long time. Not happy. Terrorists, and a very sick, insulin dependent man. I was on an airplane again. There was a baby again. What is it with those two things showing up in my dreams, and what the heck do they mean?

In about two weeks we're going to have to put my very healthy dog, Shiloh, down. He tore his cruciate ligament last week, and the only options are surgery that costs a minimum of $1500, or give him anti-inflammatory drugs and hope like hell that this tiny chance actually occurs, and the ligament sort of reattaches itself. It's not looking good. I think he gets the pill for another two weeks, and then, because my parents aren't going to spend that kind of money on a pet, we're going to put him down. And I'm angry that it stares me in the face every time I move in our house. And I'm angry that it costs so much. And I'm angry that we have to do this. And I'm angry that it sort of makes sense as a financially responsible choice. And I'm grieving because, even though I would never choose on my own to have a pet, Shiloh has been part of our family for the last 13 years, and the whole situation sucks.

I'm also lonely. Seems all of my closest friends are now living elsewhere in the province, country, or world. No one to share heart connect with easily.

I'm confused about next steps. Life feels cloudy and tenuous as I am thinking about the future.

I feel a bit lost. Not sure how exactly to take who I am and make it fit in the church and circumstances of life that I find myself in. (Funny, isn't it, how I feel this way just a couple of weeks after dreaming every night about lost things....)

I'm discouraged for/with my brother. He's a music student prohibited from playing music. He doesn't know what the future holds.

It snowed three inches last night, and then the temperature dropped. I do not like winter. That would be why almost all of the places I'm considering either long-term or short-term moves to are either southern or coastal. Milder weather.

And, just to top everything off, driving standard is not going as smoothly as I'd hoped. I was doing pretty well last night, even managed to start on a hill a couple of times, and then, I turned into our alley, hit some ice, and slid out. I almost hit a fence. My brother had to come push me out. Following that, there was a slight debacle where I rolled down the entire length of the alley with my clutch in because every time I tried to hit the gas, my tires spun. Turns out I was in reverse, not first like I thought.

And, we're in the middle of crazy, stressful, busy, renewal season at work. Whoo hoo... I have a spreadsheet waiting for me... and we all know how much I LOVE numbers!

So there you have it. I am not so happy today. The nightmare is lingering, I'm on the brink of tears, and my muscles ache from jerking awake several times from the nightmare, plus the general tension of everything else that's going on. Hope you all have a far better day than me.

Foggy Brain

Do you ever have those days where everything just feels slow and foggy? Where thinking is almost painful?

I'm on my second day like that in a row.

I think this is partly what grief does to me, partly what exhaustion does to me, partly what deep underground thoughts do to me, and part stress from information overload.

Lovely, no?

If you think of it, say a prayer... It's only Tuesday, and I have quite a few more busy days to go before a day of rest comes around again.

And, in the midst of the brain fog, I have to practice driving a standard. Because I need to be proficient by December 1st, so that I don't have to pay for a bus pass AND car insurance for the month of December.

I liked these thoughts...

I liked the question Dan King posed in this post. "What troubles my soul?" Something to think about. Something I think we need to consider. (And, I found his observations about Hannah interesting... I've been thinking about her story a lot lately... more on that another time.)

I also loved what Marty had to say in his latest post (found here.) I was at the conference he talks about, mostly for the last day, the day that Jason Upton wasn't speaking. I listened to all of Jason's teachings on my ipod over the course of this last week and felt bathed in truth. Listening to the gentleman teach on Saturday, all I felt was confused and emotionally manipulated - there's something wrong with me because I'm not having this or that experience during the course of the teaching.

I've mulled the contrast over quite a lot this week. To be honest, I'm grateful that I heard Jason's teachings after I had spent a day with the other guy. Because they balanced the manipulation with truth. They drew me back from the edges of confusion and even anger, and reminded me why this God is worth pursuing. He offers clear and simple truths. He doesn't manipulate. He wants us to listen and hear Him clearly.

What a day can hold...

At some point, I'll probably tell you about last weekend, up at Marty and Kari's. It was fabulous, but stirred in me some things that have left me confused and muddled inside, incapable of writing about it just yet.

Instead, let me tell you what I've weathered today (in no particular order)...

• I have cried no less than 5 times, for a wide variety of reasons. Tears just seem to be my response to everything lately.
• I said goodbye to my best friend for the next three months.
• I ate baked ham and scalloped potatoes with my parents.
• I finished reading one book, and started another.
• I found out that my dog may have to be put down... we won't know for a month or so.
• I took possession of a car for the next three months.
• I drove my friend to the airport.
• I weathered the panic surrounding the 11th hour discovery that her passport was not, in fact, with her plane ticket, but in her home on the other side of the city.
• I took a hot bath.
• I waited for the passport to arrive, while wondering if she was going to miss her flight.
• I battled a severe tension headache into submission with a couple of ibuprofen, some food, and lots of water.
• I wrote a long journal entry, dumping some of my tension into typing with force.
• I held a self-pity party.
• I cleaned, and gave up on cleaning.
• I went shopping and bought books.
• I rented a movie to watch tomorrow afternoon.
• I craved a cup of tea, and then realized that I'm out of the kind I desperately wanted.

And did I mentioned I cried at least 5 times?

Here's to tomorrow being another day. I'm not sure I can survive too many more like today...

Editing

A real update coming in the next day or two, I promise!

I brought little speakers to work with me today. I was tired of listening to the same internet radio station over and over. So I brought speakers to work with me. They’ll let me play my ipod instead of whatever I happen to find on the internet.

I set them up, plugged the ipod in, and starting flipping through my playlists, trying to decide what music I wanted to start my morning with. I came quickly to the conclusion that I’d better stick to just playing albums for today, and do some work over the weekend to come up with “work appropriate” playlists for longer periods of listening!

It’s not that I listen to anything particularly raunchy. In fact, I can’t think of any songs that I wouldn’t play within earshot of my parents. But, I somehow don’t think that the Mennonites that I work for are going to be all that excited about songs on my country list with titles like “Whiskey Girl.” Ah, well, here’s to censoring that at least allows me to fill the monotony of putting mailing labels (two on each) on 4200 envelopes with some kind of music!

Prayer Request for my Brother

I got the following email from my brother this morning, something he sent out to the church we're a part of. It was a situation I was aware of, but reading his words made me tear up a bit.


Hello friends and family,
I sent out a request for prayer regarding my wrist injury about a month ago, and I have an update about it. Unfortunutely my condition has become a great deal more serious to the point where I can't play my guitar without consistent pain, and my wrist often causes me pain regardless of whether I use it or not. Not being able to play guitar is a serious problem since I'm studying guitar at Rocky Mountain College. However, the school has granted me a health related leave of absense as long as I will agree to work hard at the healing process and stop using my wrist. They have been very gracious to me and have restructured my lessons and created a way for me to continue practical music training apart from playing guitar. I would ask your prayers for healing for my wrist, and especially for peace and joy despite these difficult circumstances. God is teaching me patience and trust in His plan, however these things are much more easily written than learned. I'm definetely feeling very overwhelmed and frustrated, but I believe God is teaching me to love Him more than music and athletics...definetely a challenging lesson for me. I appreciate your prayers very much, they mean a lot to me.

Thank you very much
Your brother in Christ
Tim

You need to understand that my brother is not only a guitar player, but a volleyball player. Guitar is his major form of self-expression, of worship, of tension release. It is his source of joy. He is my baby brother, and has a very tender heart - one that is constantly seeking after God. He is hurting right now. His school has told him that he is not even allowed to type papers on the computer. He is to completely avoid using his wrist (or at least as much as is humanly possible).

So, my mom and I will type his papers for school, and we will pray that God will intervene quickly with healing, and that, in the meantime, He will give Tim great peace and patience. I would appreciate it if you would pray with us.

Ironic....

One of the great ironies of my life is that God chooses to speak to me quite regularly in dreams.

You see, for all those years that I was depressed, I also suffered regularly from quite severe nightmares. Nightmares are something I’ve fought since I was a child, but as the depression intensified, the severity of the dreams also increased. I would wake unable to move, and wonder why my bed was shaking. As I would come more fully awake, I would realize that the bed was shaking because my entire body was trembling violently from the aftermath of the dream. It would feel as if something was quite literally sitting on my chest, pinning me to the bed. My pajamas would be soaked with sweat, and at times it would take all of my strength to remind myself that it had been a dream. There were many times where I wanted to scream, move, run, anything, but it took all of the strength I could summon to simply whisper over and over, “Jesus.”

Nightmares seemed to alternate with periods of insomnia, or wakefulness, and for nearly three years I rarely slept more than four hours in a stretch. All told, most nights I probably slept an average of 6 hours, and probably woke up at least 2-3 times a night, either from a nightmare, or just because I could not manage to sleep deeply and peacefully.

When God chose to heal the depression, one of the things that marked the evening was that I slept six hours in a row, without waking, and without nightmares.

I sort of assumed that my sleep difficulties had come to an end. With the healing of the depression, I intended to pursue a life of restful sleeps, and gratefulness to God for letting me sleep.

I’d had a friend who loved when God spoke to her in her dreams. When He was silent in her sleep for too long, her prayer request would be that He would once again give her dreams. I was more than happy to pray that over her, but I couldn’t help poking good natured fun at the same time. I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting their sleep interrupted, even by God.

And now, it seems to be one of God’s favorite tactics to speak in my dreams. Which is great, I guess. I mean, I’m glad He’s speaking to me, but I really, really did want to sleep.

And when He does it every night for a stretch of time, I tend to get a little annoyed. I was telling my coworker the other day that I’d been having dreams again lately, and she commented, “That’s great. The Lord is speaking to you!” My response? “Well, I wish He’d choose some other time than 5 am!”

Also, dreams are so metaphorical. Sometimes I wonder if this God who insists on speaking just likes to taunt me a little. I’ve always hated metaphor, been a straightforward kind of girl. I write poetry less than once a year, preferring the more concrete style of the personal essay. I hated studying poetry in school, and I majored in history, rather than English to avoid having to pick apart metaphors and symbols for the rest of my life.

And what does God do, choose to speak to me in highly metaphorical, symbolic language!

Like I said at the beginning, one of the great ironies of my life is that the method that God has chosen for speaking to me is in dreams.

Out and About

Well, I thought I'd start this morning off with a one-liner I found in my email inbox this morning:

"If you don't pay your exorcist, you get repossessed."

Bad, it's true, but it did make me chuckle.

It'll be quiet here for the weekend. I'm working at a Steve Bell concert tonight (can't wait), and then early tomorrow morning I'm driving out to Red Deer to meet up with my friends Marty and Kari at a conference for a day, and then to head back to their home in Gull Lake until Monday afternoon.

I can't wait for the chance to reconnect with friends, and simply be away from the city and the decisions of my life for a bit.

Next week might be pretty quiet too. My best friend Megan leaves Saturday for a three month trip, so I'll be spending as much time as possible with her this week, helping her pack and prepare, and basically serving as the person who helps her maintain her sanity!

So, if you don't hear from me for a bit, never fear, I will return!

Too much of myself....

It's been an interesting week. Full of dreams, and half-waking moments that I don't quite know what to do with... I keep dreaming of "lost" things. Twice last week it was a lost wallet. Then two or three days of dreams where I was sleeping in the dream, and would then wake up, and know that I had just missed something very significant. And this morning it was a lost, unwanted infant. A baby that was being passed from person to person. No one knew who she belonged to (her name in the dream was Hannah), and no one wanted to keep her. Like I said... it feels as if there is something just beyond my reach, and I don't know quite how to catch hold of it...

And on top of the dreams, last night I realized something about myself. I NEED to be right as much as possible. I was sitting and having dinner with a friend, catching up on life in the last several months, and sharing about a situation - a decision I've made - that has somewhat polarized quite a number of my relationships.

And I realized something. I know that I followed God's leading in this situation, but I really want other people to see it as the right decision. I want to feel vindicated. I want other people to follow my lead. It hasn't been enough that God is pleased with my obedience. I want the accolades of people for my obedience. I want them to do the same thing, or at least tell me that I did the right thing.

I'm tired of myself. Not only am I overshadowing God in my own life, but I'm alienating some friends by incessant need to be told that I am in fact following the leading of God in this situation. I read Psalm 51 last night, David's prayer of confession, and made it my own, confessing to God that I have allowed others to overshadow Him, that I myself have overshadowed Him, and asking Him to remind me continually that it is only His approval and vindication that I need.

A Militant Stance?

Check out this post on Kirk's blog. He talks a bit about the issue of gay marriage, and some other stuff, and I liked the perspective he brings. (You can find out the thoughts it triggered in my brain by reading the comments on the post.)

To Give Testimony

It’s come home to me a bit in the last few weeks that I have a story to tell, and that my story, may, perhaps encourage other people.

It is very easy to write off my experiences as inconsequential, as hardly worth mentioning or discussing. I am, after all, young. I’m twenty three. I took a “life experience” quiz on the internet last night, and scored quite low on the scales of things in life to experience. Some would say that I’ve lived a sheltered and uneventful life, hardly worth pausing to consider.

And yet, last week I held a celebration that brought about conversations with coworkers and others. And those conversations brought home that I need to tell at least parts of my story whenever I get the opportunity.

On November 1, 2006, I celebrated one year depression free. God healed in a way that was gentle and forceful, and baffling, and beautiful.

Some months ago, as I shared the fact that I had been healed from this thing that had plagued my life for over five years with a group who were praying over me, someone spoke out a word, saying that she believed that God would use this to encourage and bring healing to others.

Last week, I mentioned that I was celebrating to two separate women, in two separate conversations. Neither conversation was in a place or with a person where I would normally have chosen to discuss the fact that a year previously I had been suicidal, questioning each day whether it was worth it to keep getting out of bed in the morning for a meaningless existence. In fact, I tried to discuss my plans in a very generic form. “Oh, I had a celebration dinner with friends last night.” It didn’t work.

Both women wanted to know what I was celebrating. The first one I told commented, “That’s incredible. I haven’t managed to be depression free for even two months.” The second woman shook my hand. “Congratulations. I’m being treated for that right now. The medications are helping. Things are a lot better than they were two years ago.”

That’s as far as either conversation went. But what spectacular opportunities have now arisen for me to quietly pray for these women as I go about my day in close proximity to them, to look for openings in conversation where I can encourage them. To wait for the inner promptings of the Spirit, and then to act in obedience to those promptings.

Maybe this story is something that shouldn’t be carefully hidden – told only to those few whom I trust. I am not ashamed of the fact that for years I lived under a blanket of depression. But these conversations have reminded me that so very many people are. That it is not widely accepted within the Christian church for someone to suffer from mental illness. That even outside of the church, in a society that is educated, and even bombarded with information about illnesses such as depression, there is still a strong stigma attached to the words. I should know. I was fired from a job within the probationary period a few years back because of my depression – I was apparently not “up-beat” enough for the employer.

And really, I act as if I am ashamed, not only of the depression, but of the fact that I have been healed. I’m not, I’m ecstatic, filled with joy at the changes God has formed in my life this past year. I can hardly believe that a year ago He was gracious enough to draw me from darkness into light. That He has placed his calling on my life, and marked me with a love for the broken and messy things.

And so, I’m going to jump at every opportunity to tell this story – to stand and give testimony to this crazy thing that God has done, this thing of beauty and grace and mercy that has been poured out upon my life.





p.s. If you want to read someone else's story, told in a masterfully funny manner, check out the ongoing saga at Rik Leaf's blog.

Aslan

Caught the last month or so by these lyrics of Kendall Payne's song, "Aslan."

Don’t stop your crying on my account
A frightening lion, no doubt
He’s not safe no, he’s not safe
Are you tempted now to run away?
The King above all kings is coming down

But he won’t say the words you wish that he would
Oh he don’t do the deeds you know that he could
He won’t think the thoughts you think that he should
But He is good, He is good.

I know you’re thirsty the water is free
But I should warn you- it’ costs everything
Well, he’s not fair no, he’s not fair
When he fixes what’s beyond repair
And graces everyone that don’t deserve
No-one knows him whom eyes never seen
No, I don’t know him but he knows me
He knows me. He knows me.

Lay down your layers, shed off your skin
But without his incision you can’t enter in
He cuts deep, yeah he cuts deep
When the risk is great and the talk is cheap
But never leaves a wounded one behind.

a restless soul

"Be still my soul and know that He is Lord."

I'm working on it. I am very unsettled this morning. Several days of waking from odd dreams... a lost wallet, a childlike woman fighting for her freedom, the appearance of several people I know and know of in my dreams.

Does anyone know someone gifted in interpreting dreams?

I couldn't stomach modern worship songs on my commute this morning. I couldn't handle the songs that talk and talk and talk about what I'm going to do for God. I'm too tired to "do" this morning. I needed to just sit and soak in age old truths about his unfailing grace and mercy, his redemption, his promises of strength for the weary. So I listened to an album of hymns. And then I listened to Michael Card's recordings of some ancient Celtic hymns, and my soul was slightly soothed.

I am restless. Wondering what some things mean, and wondering over steps for the future. Life is beautiful, I am depression free, but I am not "a soul at rest from itself."

Praying, and continuing to try and soak in the midst of my workday, which is somewhat tense and stressful today as well.

And while it sounds flip, glib, and perhaps even slightly blasphemous, I am praying that age old prayer this morning. "Thank God it's Friday."

Pascal

Came across a quote from Blaise Pascal this morning, and thought I'd pass it on...

“There is nothing that we can see on earth which does not either show the wretchedness of man or the mercy of God. One either sees the powerlessness of man without God, or the strength of man with God.”
— Blaise Pascal

kingdom musings?

So I’m sitting here at my desk, and I’ve just read Kirk’s latest blog post, about his recent kingdom connections, and the things God is putting before him, and thoughts are beginning rather suddenly to churn in my head. Around and around, swirling through things that have been inescapable this week, and that are continually developing.

I’m sitting at my desk, nibbling on dried mango, on the third floor of a small building in one of Calgary’s most racially diverse neighborhoods. On the lower floors are Mennonite Central Committee, and a large thrift shop. On one side of our building is a strip club, always occupied with clientele, judging from the parking lot that our staff room window overlooks. On the other a small furniture store.

I’m working for a small insurance company run by Mennonites. Kingdom work in a field that isn’t typically known for such a cause. Our company donates about $100,000 a year to kingdom causes – mostly through organizations like Mennonite Central Committee, focusing on issues of justice, but also on a lower level through needs identified by the churches and policy holders we work with.

I filled out an alumni survey for U of C the other day. I’ve only officially been alumni for six months, and they’re already surveying me! It asked if I’m working in the field I graduated from. I’m not.

I’m working with the results of the field I graduated from. I spent four years studying post-reformation era Europe, focusing primarily on groups like the Anabaptists and Moravians. Groups with a tradition of moving continents to escape persecution, and taking with them Biblical values of justice, peace, and love.

Spreading the kingdom of God in salt and light tiny ways.

As far as I know, my ancestors didn’t come from Europe fleeing religious persecution. They came from Europe like so many others, hoping to create a better life in Canada or in the United States. They came from similar parts of Europe to the Mennonites – Russia, Germany, Ukraine.

But now, I work for this group of people. And they fascinate me. Worrying about prisoners that society has forgotten, and immigrants that Canada, despite her professed “mosaic multi-culturalism” would prefer not to deal with.

They sell fair trade handicrafts from the developing world, supporting children and families, and women and schools. You can buy your family members a goat for Christmas from these people.

They are farmers, and lawyers, and financial planners, and together they are working to bring the kingdom. Some dress very traditionally, with the women in skirts and headcoverings, and some are more modern than I.

I would imagine that it’s somewhat idealistic, but I am caught by the fact that answering phones, sorting mail, emptying a dishwasher, calling office equipment repair people, and making labels are somehow part of kingdom work. That I sit here and pick up phone calls, and because I answer phones, our company, somewhere down the line makes a profit, and the profit is directed towards kingdom causes.

And I wonder at the encounters I have here… the conversations, the friends I’m making, and I’m grateful for the chance to watch the kingdom unfold in this tiny little corner of Calgary.

I am captivated by the idea of justice… and yet, I don’t quite understand…

Quote from Nouwen

Found this quote from Henri Nouwen on the web this morning, and thought I'd pass it on:

“Our life is full of brokenness - broken relationships, broken promises, broken expectations. How can we live with that brokenness without becoming bitter and resentful except by returning again and again to God's faithful presence in our lives.”
— Henri Nouwen

Bubbling over...and celebrating!

Psalm 9:1-2 (The Message)

I'm thanking you, God, from a full heart,

I'm writing the book on your wonders.

I'm whistling, laughing, and jumping for joy;

I'm singing your song, High God.

Today is a special day. It marks one year, depression free. At this time last year, I was getting out of bed, heading to school, and about to have my day hijacked by God. You can't probably imagine how amazing it is to me that it's been a year. The year has been tumultous, filled with crazy happenings, highs, some lows, but nothing could possibly explain the joy that tumbles inside of me as I sit here and think that I have been depression free for an entire year.

I'm going out for dinner tonight with a bunch of friends to celebrate. To celebrate the fact that a year ago today, God stepped into my life in this crazy, overwhelming, completely unexplainable way, and drew me from death into life.

It's been a year since I was begging God to simply let me die, because there was no reason to continue living, no reason to get out of bed in the mornings. A year marked by grace. And I'm so incredibly grateful.

I'm thinking, this morning, and praying for some people I know who are still living in the midst of pain. I'm praying God's freedom, His healing over their lives as well. I hope that everyone I know, experiences at least once, the kind of joy I feel day, and the sensation I felt a year ago of God taking over in completely unexplainable ways.

The passage at the top, and one last one also from Peterson's translation of the Psalms came to mind as I woke this morning.

Psalm 13:5-6 (The Message)

I've thrown myself headlong into your arms -

I'm celebrating your rescue.

I'm singing at the top of my lungs,

I'm so full of answered prayers.