Friday, August 15, 2008
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”.
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”.
Protecting Our Hiddenness - Henri Nouwen
A follow up from yesterday's Henri Nouwen email...
Protecting Our Hiddenness
If indeed the spiritual life is essentially a hidden life, how do we protect this hiddenness in the midst of a very public life? The two most important ways to protect our hiddenness are solitude and poverty. Solitude allows us to be alone with God. There we experience that we belong not to people, not even to those who love us and care for us, but to God and God alone. Poverty is where we experience our own and other people's weakness, limitations, and need for support. To be poor is to be without success, without fame, and without power. But there God chooses to show us God's love.
Both solitude and poverty protect the hiddenness of our lives.
Protecting Our Hiddenness
If indeed the spiritual life is essentially a hidden life, how do we protect this hiddenness in the midst of a very public life? The two most important ways to protect our hiddenness are solitude and poverty. Solitude allows us to be alone with God. There we experience that we belong not to people, not even to those who love us and care for us, but to God and God alone. Poverty is where we experience our own and other people's weakness, limitations, and need for support. To be poor is to be without success, without fame, and without power. But there God chooses to show us God's love.
Both solitude and poverty protect the hiddenness of our lives.
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