I am learning...

I am learning about choices and perspective and proportional response.

I'm learning that my responses become disproportionate when I haven't slept well, or eaten properly, but especially when I haven't slept.

I'm learning that I can choose whether or not something is a setback. That I can choose how I respond. That the grade that is lower than I prefer can be a day-ruining disaster, or that I can acknowledge that I probably should have studied more, and choose to do that the next time.

I'm learning that chocolate really is essential, and that being thankful for the little things really does make a difference.

I'm learning that humbling myself enough to admit the struggle is huge. That so often the internal cease fire comes when I stop to write it down or share it with a trusted friend.

I'm learning that writing or sharing it can restore proportion.

I'm learning to recognize those ever more frequent moments when my internal dialogue shifts and my heart voice begins to quiet the voices of fear and shame and guilt that have taken up residence in my head and some sort of equilibrium is restored.

I'm learning that so often that shift of voices comes when I humble myself and ask the ones I trust to pray.

I'm learning that I am held on the breath of those prayers, heard or unheard by my ears.

I'm learning that the shift of voices, the humbling, the breathy prayers, usher me onto holy ground, if I will only let them.

I'm learning to let them.

Because I'm learning to believe that it is there that healing is coming.

Not a Spirit of Fear

2 Timothy 1:7 (NLT)
For God has not given us a spirit of fear and timidity, but of power, love, and self-discipline.

The passage above is perhaps one of my least favorites in all of scripture.  Not because I don't think that it's an absolutely incredible promise and statement, because I do.  I don't like it because it has been used as a weapon.

If I had a dollar for every time that someone has quoted that passage to me as a supposed "solution to all my problems", I'd be rich.  The gist of their thinking is almost always along the lines of "Well, don't be afraid, fear isn't from God, you know."


Really?  I hadn't caught that in all those years I spent growing up in church.


That's your big solution to the overwhelming and paralyzing fear I sometimes struggle with?  Just "don't be afraid, it's not from God."  Thanks for that.  No really, thanks for the helpful advice.


Obviously I've never said any of these things out loud to whoever the well-meaning person quoting my "favorite" scripture verse to me was.  I'm polite like that.  And well-trained.  And I might have permanent bite marks on my tongue, too.


When you're buried in overwhelming fear, "stop being afraid" just doesn't seem like an option.  When fear overwhelms whole arenas of your life, you're generally aware that that fear likely isn't a godly thing, and someone reminding you of that fact just feels like rubbing salt in an open wound.


And then, in God's usual way, he used my least favorite thing as an object lesson recently.


I'd woken from a brutal dream, terrified, and trying to pray.


It was one of those moments when God borrows his own words from scripture to speak.


"I didn't give you a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and self-discipline."


There's something different about those words when they're being offered by the original author, and not being quoted as easy solutions to a problem that the person doing the quoting can't quite understand, and quite possibly fears themselves.


When God spoke them into the chaos of my heart that early morning, they carried an instant peace.  A knowledge that I was loved, and the One who loves me was intervening in the darkness that had encroached while I slept, and pushing it back.


That passage will probably never be one of my favorites.  There's an awful lot of cynicism built up in me about it.  But, when Jesus speaks it, I'm going to stop to listen.  Because when He speaks it, something special, something healing, is on it's way.

Before You're 30

In less than a month I'll be hitting my 27th birthday.

Last week I came across this article by Jason Boyett at Relevant Magazine's website.  9 Things To Know Before You're 30.

I read through the list and had to smile.  Some of those lessons I wish I'd learned in my early twenties.  For one or two I'm still paying the price-tag of the lesson.  And some, to me, seem to just be slowly coming naturally as I'm open to God working in my life and as I'm growing and changing as a person as well.

My question is this - what lessons do you wish you had learned earlier?  is it one on the list, or something totally different?  what's the best lesson you've learned?

Hijacked by a guy named Stan

So, it seems that God had a bit of an object lesson in mind for me today.

As I drove out to the lake I was listening to a sermon preached by a guy named Graham Cooke on "Overcoming Negativity". One of the things I noticed in passing was a point he made about losing joy because we are putting it off. A mindset that says, "I'll be glad when such and such ends, or when so and so leaves."

Within minutes of settling myself on a blanket to write (I'd written less than two paragraphs!), a canoe quite literally beached itself in front of me. A canoe manned by a guy named Stan. The winds were too strong for him to make his way back to the spot on the other end of the lake where he was camped, and they forced him ashore.

Stan was a chatty individual, and, though I'd made it clear in the first five minutes of our conversation that I came out to spots like the one I'd made for myself this morning to get away from the city and people and just have some quiet, breathing space, he settled in to talk. Standing, sitting, squatting, kneeling - he chatted with me for a good 45 minutes.

I have been raised to be polite, so I very nicely answered all of his questions and even asked a few in return, but internally I was having a conniption fit. I knew what he could not - that I had planned a limited amount of time in my day for this quiet time of reading and writing before I needed to climb back into George and return to the city. I began to wonder when he'd leave, and God very promptly reminded me of the sermon I'd only just finished listening to, and of my ongoing goal to choose life and joy.

Let me tell you, it wasn't an easy thing. I'd really wanted that time alone, and I've never liked chatting with complete strangers in the first place.

Over and over again I forced myself to focus on Stan, and the conversation we were having, and not to think about the time I'd so desired that was being lost to me. It sort of worked. It certainly got my attention and brought focus to a lesson.

How often do I do that? Cheat myself out of joys in the moment because I'd rather be someplace else or with someone else? I think the answer is disturbingly often.

In any case, when Stan finally left I only had a little bit of time left to sit by the lake. I spent it finishing a few thoughts in my journal, eating the lunch I'd brought, reading a few pages in the book I'm currently working my way through, and taking photos. Because it would seem that Stan's canoe looked quite stunning against the grass and water and mountains and sky.