Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Rescued From Myself
Every once in a while (maybe once or twice a month) I have a day that is entirely brutal. A day where nothing I do or say can hide the fact that my internal life that day is a mess. That I'm lost, confused, exhausted, sad, and sometimes even hopeless. Friday was one of those days.
Most days I can cope with the heaviest of heavy stuff. I can do my job, and seem normal, while being entirely broken inside.
I thought today was one of those days.
But, things kept getting worse. I was brooding and the stormy swirl of thoughts was growing larger and overwhelming by the minute.
Then Faye walked in the door of my office. She occasionally drops by to see if I'm free for lunch.
She did, and I was.
I needed rescuing from myself. I needed to not talk about myself, or my pain, or anything having to do with any number of situations that have ultimately resulted in my messy internal state.
Faye provided that rescue today.
And I laughed so hard at her recounting of certain recent events in her life that I nearly choked on my food and fell off my chair. For an hour I laughed.
And I feel oddly restored. Like I can make it through the remainder of the workday, until it's safe to go home and fall apart.
Most days I can cope with the heaviest of heavy stuff. I can do my job, and seem normal, while being entirely broken inside.
I thought today was one of those days.
But, things kept getting worse. I was brooding and the stormy swirl of thoughts was growing larger and overwhelming by the minute.
Then Faye walked in the door of my office. She occasionally drops by to see if I'm free for lunch.
She did, and I was.
I needed rescuing from myself. I needed to not talk about myself, or my pain, or anything having to do with any number of situations that have ultimately resulted in my messy internal state.
Faye provided that rescue today.
And I laughed so hard at her recounting of certain recent events in her life that I nearly choked on my food and fell off my chair. For an hour I laughed.
And I feel oddly restored. Like I can make it through the remainder of the workday, until it's safe to go home and fall apart.
Those who know brokenness...
This article about war veterans from Vietnam reaching out to veterans from Iraq and Afghanistan fascinated me.
Those who know brokenness coming alongside those who are broken, and helping to piece lives together again.
Seems there are parallels for the spiritual life to be considered.
Those who know brokenness coming alongside those who are broken, and helping to piece lives together again.
Seems there are parallels for the spiritual life to be considered.
Paradoxes (or “I Can’t Have It Both Ways Can I?)
Combatant prince, O come to me,
No weak, peaceful Brother disgraced.
A dead cold body hung on a tree.
This is not what I came to see.
(http://blog.beliefnet.com/godspolitics/2008/06/when-a-eucharist-of-humility-i.html)
I’m going back and forth this morning. I want it both ways.
I want the gentle, healing way. The way that a friend and I have talked about for months now. Gentle encounter. Healing in the midst of worship. Less warlike, and more filled with adoration. The way that defined my healing from depression nearly three years ago.
And yet, I want the warlike way as well. I want the Jesus who protects, who guards, who defends, who goes to battle on my behalf. I want a Jesus who will order the things tormenting me through these last days and months to leave. Not a Jesus who says, “Simon, Simon, Satan has asked to sift you as wheat. But I have prayed for you, Simon, that your faith may not fail. And when you have turned back, strengthen your brothers.”
I want to be totally defended, to rest in the knowledge that I am protected. I also want to defend myself.
There is this shield picture spoken over my life, and I find myself struggling with it. The posture required of me to be protected by the shield held over me is one where I am defenseless. Laid out on my face, curled into a ball. There is no way to move quickly from that position. No way to defend myself. There is a trust required in it that is hard for me. To trust that that shield will be enough. That I am protected. To relinquish control of that.
I want that victorious Christian life you hear about sometimes. The one that a good pastor’s kid knows is a lie or a pipe dream. But the one that sounds so promising. Just meet Jesus and all your troubles will melt away. Seems my troubles have done nothing but increase since meeting Jesus. There are days (more frequently lately) where walking with Jesus seems only a marginally better option than life without Him. The question I find myself asking is if “marginally” is enough?
I want it both ways. To be in control, and to be surrendered to a protection far beyond my control.
Somehow, I don’t think I can have it both ways.
No weak, peaceful Brother disgraced.
A dead cold body hung on a tree.
This is not what I came to see.
(http://blog.beliefnet.com/godspolitics/2008/06/when-a-eucharist-of-humility-i.html)
I’m going back and forth this morning. I want it both ways.
I want the gentle, healing way. The way that a friend and I have talked about for months now. Gentle encounter. Healing in the midst of worship. Less warlike, and more filled with adoration. The way that defined my healing from depression nearly three years ago.
And yet, I want the warlike way as well. I want the Jesus who protects, who guards, who defends, who goes to battle on my behalf. I want a Jesus who will order the things tormenting me through these last days and months to leave. Not a Jesus who says, “Simon, Simon, Satan has asked to sift you as wheat. But I have prayed for you, Simon, that your faith may not fail. And when you have turned back, strengthen your brothers.”
I want to be totally defended, to rest in the knowledge that I am protected. I also want to defend myself.
There is this shield picture spoken over my life, and I find myself struggling with it. The posture required of me to be protected by the shield held over me is one where I am defenseless. Laid out on my face, curled into a ball. There is no way to move quickly from that position. No way to defend myself. There is a trust required in it that is hard for me. To trust that that shield will be enough. That I am protected. To relinquish control of that.
I want that victorious Christian life you hear about sometimes. The one that a good pastor’s kid knows is a lie or a pipe dream. But the one that sounds so promising. Just meet Jesus and all your troubles will melt away. Seems my troubles have done nothing but increase since meeting Jesus. There are days (more frequently lately) where walking with Jesus seems only a marginally better option than life without Him. The question I find myself asking is if “marginally” is enough?
I want it both ways. To be in control, and to be surrendered to a protection far beyond my control.
Somehow, I don’t think I can have it both ways.
Risk Freeing Someone Else
Cameron posted this piece of writing advice from Anne Lamott this morning, and it rather caught my attention.
"Toni Morrison said, 'The function of freedom is to free someone else,' and if you are no longer wracked or in bondage to a person or a way of life, tell your story. Risk freeing someone else.
Not everyone will be glad you did. Members of your family and other critics may wish you had kept your secrets.
Oh, well, what are you going to do? Get it all down. Let it pour out of you onto the page. Write an incredibly shitty, self-indulgent, whiny, mewling first draft. Then take out as many of the excesses as you can."
--Anne Lamott
"Toni Morrison said, 'The function of freedom is to free someone else,' and if you are no longer wracked or in bondage to a person or a way of life, tell your story. Risk freeing someone else.
Not everyone will be glad you did. Members of your family and other critics may wish you had kept your secrets.
Oh, well, what are you going to do? Get it all down. Let it pour out of you onto the page. Write an incredibly shitty, self-indulgent, whiny, mewling first draft. Then take out as many of the excesses as you can."
--Anne Lamott
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