- 250 days of Daily 5's
- 22 years of journeying with Jesus
- 1 year of eating 3 meals a day
- a treatment tonight from a new practitioner. I'll definitely feel a bit more comfortable with this one, I think.
- Wendys for supper with my dad
- thinking about fun plans for the weekend
- filtered water
- having a car to drive
- finished the "Stuff Christians Like" audiobook and found it hilarious. Also started a new audiobook.
- listened to a great sermon by Shane Hipps on the John 4 story of the woman at the well
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Daily 5 - Day 250
Today's Daily 5:
Leaving Church
Yesterday I linked to Donald Miller's article on leaving church.
Today, Pete Wilson is also talking about leaving church.
It's not an easy topic, and, as a pastor's kid, I've seen it from several angles.
I've seen the acrimonious church split from the inside.
I've seen the people come who are enthused, and then leave a few years later, because they've decided that something just won't do, and it's never their fault either.
It's never easy to watch someone you've cared about leave. Especially as a pastor's kid in a small church when they're leaving because they're angry at something your dad did or didn't do. How do you navigate your friendship with that person vs. their anger at someone dear to you?
And it's weird to negotiate those relationships later on, too. I ran into someone recently who had been a youth leader when I was a young teenager. She'd lived with our family for a time, as well. My dad had conducted their wedding, and my brother was their ring-bearer. And then, she and her husband left, angry at dad, over what I'm not even sure. My dad worked to shield my brothers and I from some of that drama. I've run into her from time to time over the years, and she's always been overly friendly. An almost fake, over-compensating sort of friendly. (Or at least that's my perception of it.) It's a weird thing - to negotiate this relationship that I consider quite damaged, and non-existent, while she's busy ignoring the history and the turmoil that she caused. I saw her again just last weekend, and it was the same. So odd.
I've left a church or two.
I've left the church that my dad pastors. Twice.
And I left a church that was home during a period of dramatic change and healing in my life.
I left dad's church the first time because I needed space - I was in the midst of a serious depression, and I needed to figure out this God thing without the incredible, watchful pressure that exists on a pastor's kid in a rather small congregation. It's not easy to be watched, held up as "the example" when you're not even sure you believe anymore. I needed to make that "do I actually believe this, or is it just because my parents told me so" journey.
I left the second time because, after returning for what was supposed to be a short stay, I'd stayed too long. The move that was supposed to make it a short stay didn't materialize, and the smaller reasons I'd left in the first place - lack of peers, some theological disagreements, and the ongoing pastor's kid expectations, really hadn't changed. It was also a season where I'd been deeply wounded by church and some close christian friends, and I needed a season of healing, away from prying eyes.
I left the church that had been home in between those stays at dad's church with many tears. I loved that place and the people there, but I felt cornered and unheard. My concerns seemed to be dismissed. I prayed and stayed, offering my voice wherever possible, but there came a time when God made it clear that it was time, now, to move on. I left hoping that I could maintain some relationships that meant a lot there. A few lasted, most did not.
It's not an easy topic, but I've appreciated the words of both Donald Miller and Pete Wilson on the topic these last couple days, and the various thoughts they've both stirred within me.
Today, Pete Wilson is also talking about leaving church.
It's not an easy topic, and, as a pastor's kid, I've seen it from several angles.
I've seen the acrimonious church split from the inside.
I've seen the people come who are enthused, and then leave a few years later, because they've decided that something just won't do, and it's never their fault either.
It's never easy to watch someone you've cared about leave. Especially as a pastor's kid in a small church when they're leaving because they're angry at something your dad did or didn't do. How do you navigate your friendship with that person vs. their anger at someone dear to you?
And it's weird to negotiate those relationships later on, too. I ran into someone recently who had been a youth leader when I was a young teenager. She'd lived with our family for a time, as well. My dad had conducted their wedding, and my brother was their ring-bearer. And then, she and her husband left, angry at dad, over what I'm not even sure. My dad worked to shield my brothers and I from some of that drama. I've run into her from time to time over the years, and she's always been overly friendly. An almost fake, over-compensating sort of friendly. (Or at least that's my perception of it.) It's a weird thing - to negotiate this relationship that I consider quite damaged, and non-existent, while she's busy ignoring the history and the turmoil that she caused. I saw her again just last weekend, and it was the same. So odd.
I've left a church or two.
I've left the church that my dad pastors. Twice.
And I left a church that was home during a period of dramatic change and healing in my life.
I left dad's church the first time because I needed space - I was in the midst of a serious depression, and I needed to figure out this God thing without the incredible, watchful pressure that exists on a pastor's kid in a rather small congregation. It's not easy to be watched, held up as "the example" when you're not even sure you believe anymore. I needed to make that "do I actually believe this, or is it just because my parents told me so" journey.
I left the second time because, after returning for what was supposed to be a short stay, I'd stayed too long. The move that was supposed to make it a short stay didn't materialize, and the smaller reasons I'd left in the first place - lack of peers, some theological disagreements, and the ongoing pastor's kid expectations, really hadn't changed. It was also a season where I'd been deeply wounded by church and some close christian friends, and I needed a season of healing, away from prying eyes.
I left the church that had been home in between those stays at dad's church with many tears. I loved that place and the people there, but I felt cornered and unheard. My concerns seemed to be dismissed. I prayed and stayed, offering my voice wherever possible, but there came a time when God made it clear that it was time, now, to move on. I left hoping that I could maintain some relationships that meant a lot there. A few lasted, most did not.
It's not an easy topic, but I've appreciated the words of both Donald Miller and Pete Wilson on the topic these last couple days, and the various thoughts they've both stirred within me.
22 Years (and 1 Year)
When we were kids, once a year, we celebrated what our parents referred to as our "special birthday". Essentially, they kept track of the day that we committed our lives to Christ, and honored that day once a year, reminding us of that moment.
It was 22 years ago today for me. I was four. To be honest, I think what I remember most is kneeling on the ugly, dark brown shag carpet that marked our living room in those days, next to the scratchy couch I'd been sitting on only moments before. I know my mom was near me. I've been told that there was a change in personality, that I'd wake joyfully in the coming days.
But I was four, and a lot of life has come between that moment and now.
A lot of questions. A lot of recommitments.
And yet, every year April 20th arrives, and I can't help but think, "It's been such and such a number of years since I met Jesus."
Because in spite of all the years of questions. The mental illness. The depression and anxiety. The bitterness. The resentments and desire to wander. The years of really challenging, faith-shaking moments. In spite of all those things, Jesus just never left. I didn't always see or sense him as I journeyed, but looking back I see him clearly. And he just never left. Even in the moments I wanted Him too, begged Him too. He just never left. 22 years ago today I invited Him to spend my life with me, and yes, I was four, and couldn't grasp the full ramifications of that invitation, couldn't know the many things to come, but He began to walk so closely with me, and He's never left. And 22 years of that is sort of worth remembering, I think.
~~~
One year ago today I'd just returned from a trip east to spend a few days with a very dear friend. I'd been in very dark places for the year or so preceding that trip, and she knew it, and told me to come anyway. I don't think I'll ever forget the conversations and moments we shared that weekend.
I returned with a renewed committment to somehow find life again. To ruthlessly, viciously choose life and joy instead of their alternatives. I returned with her words, quoting Deuteronomy and God, ringing in my ears, "I have set before you death and life, blessings and curses, now choose life..."
One year ago today I ate three meals for the first time in years. I started the process of combatting what was essentially an eating disorder that I'd developed as I walked through some dark and intense stresses emotionally, relationally and professionally. My world had fallen apart and I'd stopped eating because I felt ill all the time. I'd lost nearly 25 pounds after months of nausea from the stress, and I rarely ate more than 1 meal and a few snacks a day. And during that season, I'd often felt, too, the call to fast. From chocolate for weeks at a time. From all food for a day or two here and there. Between fasting and nausea, food wasn't exactly a high priority.
Tonight, at supper, I'll celebrated 365 days of eating three times a day. Of taking vitamins and supplements that I believe have drastically helped balance out my body and begin restoring the reserves that the preceding years of intense stress had so depleted.
This has been a year's journey with Jesus too. Of praying without the physical reminders of fasting that I'd sometimes come to rely on. Of trusting him to heal and restore my exhausted and depleted body. Of hoping and believing for the redemption of the many, many broken things that surrounded me. Of conciously choosing, in different ways, life and joy. Of counting progress day by day. Marking meals with stickers in a little calendar in my purse. Celebrating when I hit 10 days and 30 days and 90 days.
When I was out East a year ago, my friend gave me a calendar full of quotations from female saints. I chuckled as I returned home and opened it. I remember distinctly reading the quote that appears for yesterday, partly because of it's deep relevance to my journey at the time, and partly because it was the words of St. Clare of Assisi, a favorite saint of mine, one whose medal I wear most days on a little silver chain around my neck as a reminder of some deep moments with God. I smiled again as I glanced at the calendar this morning. I haven't yet turned today, but the quote seems somehow appropriate to round out this celebration of 22 years and 1 year, somehow appropriate as I look forward at the coming year, and desire to continue to choose life and joy. Clare writes, "Melancholy is the poison of devotion. When one is in tribulation, it is necessary to be more happy and more joyful because one is nearer to God."
It was 22 years ago today for me. I was four. To be honest, I think what I remember most is kneeling on the ugly, dark brown shag carpet that marked our living room in those days, next to the scratchy couch I'd been sitting on only moments before. I know my mom was near me. I've been told that there was a change in personality, that I'd wake joyfully in the coming days.
But I was four, and a lot of life has come between that moment and now.
A lot of questions. A lot of recommitments.
And yet, every year April 20th arrives, and I can't help but think, "It's been such and such a number of years since I met Jesus."
Because in spite of all the years of questions. The mental illness. The depression and anxiety. The bitterness. The resentments and desire to wander. The years of really challenging, faith-shaking moments. In spite of all those things, Jesus just never left. I didn't always see or sense him as I journeyed, but looking back I see him clearly. And he just never left. Even in the moments I wanted Him too, begged Him too. He just never left. 22 years ago today I invited Him to spend my life with me, and yes, I was four, and couldn't grasp the full ramifications of that invitation, couldn't know the many things to come, but He began to walk so closely with me, and He's never left. And 22 years of that is sort of worth remembering, I think.
~~~
One year ago today I'd just returned from a trip east to spend a few days with a very dear friend. I'd been in very dark places for the year or so preceding that trip, and she knew it, and told me to come anyway. I don't think I'll ever forget the conversations and moments we shared that weekend.
I returned with a renewed committment to somehow find life again. To ruthlessly, viciously choose life and joy instead of their alternatives. I returned with her words, quoting Deuteronomy and God, ringing in my ears, "I have set before you death and life, blessings and curses, now choose life..."
One year ago today I ate three meals for the first time in years. I started the process of combatting what was essentially an eating disorder that I'd developed as I walked through some dark and intense stresses emotionally, relationally and professionally. My world had fallen apart and I'd stopped eating because I felt ill all the time. I'd lost nearly 25 pounds after months of nausea from the stress, and I rarely ate more than 1 meal and a few snacks a day. And during that season, I'd often felt, too, the call to fast. From chocolate for weeks at a time. From all food for a day or two here and there. Between fasting and nausea, food wasn't exactly a high priority.
Tonight, at supper, I'll celebrated 365 days of eating three times a day. Of taking vitamins and supplements that I believe have drastically helped balance out my body and begin restoring the reserves that the preceding years of intense stress had so depleted.
This has been a year's journey with Jesus too. Of praying without the physical reminders of fasting that I'd sometimes come to rely on. Of trusting him to heal and restore my exhausted and depleted body. Of hoping and believing for the redemption of the many, many broken things that surrounded me. Of conciously choosing, in different ways, life and joy. Of counting progress day by day. Marking meals with stickers in a little calendar in my purse. Celebrating when I hit 10 days and 30 days and 90 days.
When I was out East a year ago, my friend gave me a calendar full of quotations from female saints. I chuckled as I returned home and opened it. I remember distinctly reading the quote that appears for yesterday, partly because of it's deep relevance to my journey at the time, and partly because it was the words of St. Clare of Assisi, a favorite saint of mine, one whose medal I wear most days on a little silver chain around my neck as a reminder of some deep moments with God. I smiled again as I glanced at the calendar this morning. I haven't yet turned today, but the quote seems somehow appropriate to round out this celebration of 22 years and 1 year, somehow appropriate as I look forward at the coming year, and desire to continue to choose life and joy. Clare writes, "Melancholy is the poison of devotion. When one is in tribulation, it is necessary to be more happy and more joyful because one is nearer to God."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
