Peaceful Stillness

Yesterday afternoon as I was driving a borrowed car, I paused and realized that for the first time in several months I felt truly at peace.

I worked until 3am Sunday morning, and then crashed at my parents place, sleeping and then enjoying the stillness of an empty house on a sunny Sunday morning.

And so I found myself driving and realized that I felt at rest.

For the first time in a while nothing felt like it was hanging over my head.  I'm slowly settling into my job.  There are minimal deadlines left for this semester of school.  I felt free, still, peaceful, joyful.

It was lovely.

"If..." Take 4

"If you were to pick the moment of each day that you feel most serene, when would it be?"
(from "If: Questions for the Soul" by Evelyn McFarlane & James Saywell)

Hmm... The moment that I feel most serene, huh?

I think it would be one of maybe two.  I generally feel quite serene when I'm riding the bus and reading (though, granted, in the morning, I'm not sure I'm awake enough for it to be true serenity, and not just sleepiness!)

But probably the truly serene moment of my day is that part of the evening when I'm home, in my own space, and sinking into bed with a book.  It's the time at night where I quietly and prayerfully do a bit of reading, where I evaluate my day, and where I look ahead.  This is the time that I spend most faithfully with Jesus, and it's definitely a place of peace and serenity for me.

What about you?  How would you answer this question?

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.

First Advent

It's Sunday morning again, and I'm again laying in a darkened room, pondering.

It's the beginning of Advent today.  A new church year.  Just another season of waiting and longing.

And honestly, as I was laying here, I was pondering if I would even choose to acknowledge that this year.

This whole year has been full of drama, of feeling ripped apart, of waiting and longing.

I'm pretty tired of the longing.

Ironic for me to say that, given that just recently I wrote here about the fact that I feel like God has been challenging me to really long for things, to really dream and long for those dreams to be fulfilled.

And so I was laying here, pondering if this year I would "celebrate" (what a ridiculous word for recognizing this season) Advent.  I feel guilty for wanting to ignore it, for ignoring that part of my heart that just naturally tunes itself to the church year.  But honestly, I don't know that I'm up for that this year - for the aching that comes in these four weeks, waiting again for the coming of a Savior.

So I thought about how I could do it differently.  Could I skip the candles?  Is there a way to make this less of an achingly painful journey of waiting and more of a joyful expectation?  Could I just ignore it all together and show up on Christmas Day, and welcome a Savior?

Out of curiosity I clicked through here, to a site I bookmarked in one of the last several years, to see what candle is the first for Advent.

And the part of me that has fallen in love with a God who has a very ironic sense of humor in our conversations started laughing.

Hope.

The candle for today is Hope.

Hope followed by love, joy and peace.

Those don't so much sound like achingly painful concepts.  Maybe the opposite, actually.

And here's the thing - I'm on this journey of recognizing some twisted concepts in how I relate to God.  Like, for example, the idea that the only true moments of encounter with God are intense, scary, and painful.  The Advent season, for example, perhaps doesn't have to be marked solely by pain.

And that, that is a thought I needed to have whispered to me this year.

I don't know yet how I'll mark this Advent season.  For the last year, the Christ candle from my previous wreath has sat on my dresser, waiting, only being lit occasionally through the months. 

Tonight, though, if only for one week, I'll probably light a candle.  The space I live in could use the light of hope today.

And I'm pondering this.  Having a "Jesse Tree" this year.  (Though in my odd living reality, it will probably be not so much a tree as a string, hung across my map of the world and wall of happy memories.)

And who knows?  Maybe an Advent wreath will make an appearance.  Because hope, love, joy and peace are concepts I'm wanting a little more of in my life these days.  Because God is a God of those things, and meeting Him can be filled with those, instead of with fear, intensity, and pained exhaustion.

So, Come Lord Jesus.  Come and bring hope this day.

Early

I read this quote on a facebook status for an organization I support a little while ago, and it kind of made me angry.  It read, "At the center of your being, you have the answer; you know who you are and what you want." (Lao Tzu)

If the center of my being has the answers, it sure isn't sharing them with me!

Mostly, it's a reaction stemming from early morning angst.  Early mornings, before conversations begin, and the day starts in earnest, are hard.  Those hours of willing my unwilling body back to sleep, of laying for hours in that place somewhere between waking and dreaming.  Those are the moments when peace is most elusive, when oppression can feel the strongest, and when fear talks loudly.

Lately even the usual "tricks" to hang on to peace and rest aren't working so well.

And so I read a quote like this and it ticks me off.  It makes me mad.  Because if I'm supposed to have the answers, I'm in big trouble. 

Trust has never been my gift, though it's one that God is teaching me.  But at least if I trust I don't have to have the answers within me - that there is something so much larger than me that can be in charge of having answers - then I can ward off the fear, the anxiety, the weirdness of life just a little.  Even in these early morning hours.

Start with "He Loves Me"

In keeping with yesterday's post, I have another link, this time to a cartoon from NakedPastor.

It struck me deeply when I saw it first.  Largely because the last several days have been filled with the constant thematic reminder of God's deep love, for me, for his people, for the church, for the nations.  My heart has been full as I realize all of this again.

Not full in a way where that love makes the problems, the agonies disappear, but full in the way, that, like the "prayer from the cell" that I linked to yesterday, the reminder of the layers upon layers of His love is somehow enough to bring rest.

I will never forget, somewhere midway through the seven long years I suffered from severe depression, writing a dear friend, also not from a particularly experiential circle of Christianity if she knew, really knew that God loved her, deep inside her, not just in a head knowledge sort of way.  Her answer ("yes") surprised me, and spurred a quest of sorts.  I had honestly believed that God's wasn't something that could truly be felt or experienced, and then I'd met people who said it could, spurring the question I asked my friend.

In the intervening years I have come to know that love in immense ways, in startling ways, in healing ways.  I knew it first in the patience of friends who walked with me through depression, and then in that sudden and unexpected moment of healing.  I've known it as I've journeyed through the nearly five years since that moment of healing, through loss of deep relationships, through shattered dreams, through moments of great joy and answered prayer.  It has been a constant, an intangible constant, and somehow, that deep, constant truth, however hard it is at times to cling to, is enough.

And the cartoon?  "Start with, 'He loves me'" is an image that rings in my heart right now.  An only option.  A gentle direction.  A whispered shout.  It moved me deeply, as it played up against the themes building and playing through my waking life, and my nightly dreams this week, and I'm grateful for it.

Mellow Week

I'm having a kind of mellow week, and it's a nice change.

Studying is slower.  I'm moving slowly forward in Stats, but anatomy is at a place where I'm simply reviewing, waiting for the official start date so that I can submit the first assignment, take the first quiz, and write the first midterm.

My evenings have been slow and mellow, too.  Full of time sprawled on my bed, reading or playing a game online.  And full of time spent listening to worship services and teaching from various churches online or by podcast.

It's a nice change of pace, since I know that next week things will kick into crazyness again.  But for this week, I'm loving the slower, more mellow pace.  Especially given the crazy internal stuff that went on last week in particular.  It's nice to simply feel quieter, inside and out.

Weighty Headspace

I'm in a weird headspace this morning.  A good one, but weird, in that it is rare and unusual.

I haven't felt like this since a particular lovely day last fall in Stratford, filled with a crazy church service, twirling beside the river, swans, and dear friends.  It's a funny, weight of God's presence very near, sort of headspace.  I hope it doesn't go away for a while, even if it does have me giggling at random moments as I sit here in my office.

I have blog posts brewing and bubbling inside me at the moment, too.  I'm not totally sure when in the next few days I'll get a chance to write them, but there are posts about things like a humorous potential new tagline for the blog, and moving into Grandma's house, and one with the title "You Want Me to What???"

In the meantime, I'm going to sit here and enjoy this weighty, joyful, peaceful headspace.  This presence of God near.  And I'm going to laugh at some of the crazy, ironic, "god has a bizarre sense of humor" events that have shaped my week, and wonder what else this week will hold.  And I'm going to make myself a cup of tea.  Because it seems like passion tea will go well with this headspace.

Viciously Choosing Joy

Okay.  So here's the deal.  I'm back to forcibly choosing joy.  Viciously choosing it almost.

Last night was powerful.  I was blessed to enjoy a powerful evening of worship.  I was blessed to have time in the midst of that time of worship to talk with God about the current places I'm existing in.  There was some grumpyness.  And some confession. A few deep moments.  And a healing warmth that stole over me, carrying peace and joy with it again.  And some renewal of a committment to trust. 

Trust is not my strong suit.

I was thinking this morning that it's been particularly hard the last few years to trust God's handling of my life.  It has often seemed like the places he's led me have been cruel.  The results only painful.

It's easy to forget the beautiful ways those seemingly cruel seasons have shaped my life and deepened my walk with God.

I spent my bus ride to work this morning in two ways.  Obsessing over something that's bothering me, and berating myself for letting that obsessive, controlling fear steal the joy and peace I had.  Letting it interrupt the time of worship and prayer I try to make space for on the bus each morning.

I got to work and discovered that for the first time in months, I'd forgotten last night to swap the empty pill containers in my purse for full ones.  Since I was already obsessing, that was not a calming addition.  The many supplements I take daily make a significant difference in my ability to cope with a day.  Since I was already in a tenuous, tearful, obsessive space, my immediate tendency was panic.

I'm fighting that tendency for the moment.

So, I'm viciously choosing joy.  It pretty much sucks as a process, but I've seen the results over the last several hundred days of making daily 5 lists, and I've learned that on the worst days, sometimes I just have to be vicious about the thought processes.

No, I won't let that thing that I'm obsessing about steal the peace from special moments with Jesus during a worship service last night.

No, I won't let the panic over how I'll cope with the day without the many supplements that balance my mood and energy levels drive me to a place of having a bad day just because I expect to.

Yes, I'll probably have to viciously choose those "no's" and others over and over and over.

Like I said, as a process, it pretty much sucks.

And it requires trust.

Trust that I really can make a different choice and stick to it.

Trust that my emotions aren't some totally wonky thing that I have no control over.

Trust that joy isn't only about a happy and perfect life.  That it exists in the pretty ugly, mundane days too.

So that's my plan for today.

To somehow, viciously push the other things away, and choose joy.

Stirred Thoughts

My thoughts are rapidly reaching that stirred up level that seems to come when I move.  That "won't slow down, can't slow down, even if I don't really need to be in a panic about this" level.

This move is by far the most under control that any of them have been, and I'm still feeling that panicking.  I'm hoping tonight will alleviate that.

Tonight is the big push.  I told my roommate that she needed to help me with the packing of the kitchen, as, even though I'm the official owner of most of the stuff in there, she has used it as much or more than me.  So tonight we'll pack up all but a very few kitchen essentials.  I'll also pack up my bathroom "stuff" (that drawerfull of products that get used occasionally), and a few last things in my bedroom.  I'm hoping that I can move one more load of stuff tomorrow evening after work, before the final move on Saturday, where all the furniture will go with me, and I'll then return to the apartment, and clean it out, before heading to Grandma's to begin the sorting and unpacking process.

I'm actually hoping to purge and pare down a bit as I pack the kitchen tonight too.  One of my "green" or "healthier living" goals is to slowly switch all of my plastic food storage to glass.  I'm going to put all of the plastic containers that aren't higher quality in the recycling, and keep only the ones I've regularly used.  Since I'm moving in with grandma, and won't need most of my kitchen goods for quite a few months (with the exception of a few things that I know Grandma doesn't have), I'm going to pack thoughtfully, purge the things I really don't use (or at least set them aside in a box to go to a thrift shop post move).

So, that's tonight.  Packing, sorting, purging.  Hopefully a trip tomorrow night to move some more stuff, and then the big final push, and some cleaning on Saturday.  Ideally, Saturday will only be a couple of trips at most, and will only take a couple of hours.  I feel like that's actually an attainable goal this time around.

In the meantime, I'm coveting your prayers.  For peace and the ability to rest (sleep was rather fleeting last night in the face of my overactive thoughts).  For the move to go smoothly.  And for health.  I seem to be catching a cold, and, while my shoulder and back had finally been feeling a bit better post accident, I think I've been tensing up while asleep the last few days, and I'm in quite a bit of pain again - not exactly ideal when the next few days are going to involve a lot of bending, lifting, and carrying.

And with that, I'm off to dive into the work "to do" list for the day, before heading home to it's own list of "to do's"!

Monday, Again

It's Monday morning, and my thoughts are all over the place again.

My clothing is really cute today, but nobody at the office is going to get to see that for another hour or two.  They tend to turn the heat way down in the building over the weekends, and Monday mornings are always cold.  It'll take an hour or so for the heater to kick in, and the sun to come up enough that it shines through my south facing office window and warms up.  Once it warms up I'll peel off the polar fleece sweater I'm wearing over my top and really cute necklace, and then I'll feel all pretty and ready for the day again.

I was thinking this morning that I'm still in the midst of that weird, off-kilter space that I described last week.  But, I started to learn over the weekend that I don't have to allow melancholy to sink in with it.  I'd describe the way to combat that melancholy is to be relentless, almost vicious, in choosing differently.  In choosing to find joy and to be thankful.  I say almost vicious, simply because that's what it's taken.  An almost vicious refusal to be melancholy.  A very deliberate choice that this is something I'm going to reframe.  (For example, I was exhausted and emotional after attending the house church gathering yesterday, and still feeling the loneliness of being "the new person" but I am choosing not to focus on those things, but rather to remember that I'm grateful that a whole room of people heard about child trafficking, that I had one decent conversation, that I met a girl who is potentially a roommate when my current roommate leaves at the end of February, that I collected a hug, and that the next gathering will be at least a little bit easier because I've gone to one.)  Sometimes this choosing feels a bit like I'm avoiding the melancholy, or the weird off-kilter space.  But I'm not any less aware of that off-centered feeling, that feeling of shift and change in the air.  I'm simply choosing how I'm going to respond to it.  Whether I'm going to let it overwhelm and scare me, or whether I'm going to acknowledge, listen to it, and watch and wait as it moves, but continue to live joyfully and thankfully in the midst of that.  It's a draining process, to be really honest, but one I'm hoping will grow easier, and pay dividends of hope and peace and joy in my life.  Because I'd rather live with those than with melancholy.

I was thinking this morning, too, about little blessings.  I've wrestled with whether or not I was simply "settling" by trying to connect at this house church.  I have a picture in my head of what I long for in a church. I've even been to a church that quite nicely embodies that (and actually formed my picture.)  Unfortunately, that church is on the other side of the country and the commute would make it prohibitive to attend!  I long to be in a space where the Spirit is moving visibly again.  And yet, as I was pondering this morning, that at various moments yesterday, though there wasn't the really outward more visible signs of the moving of the Spirit that I longed for, as I listened to some people pray, and as I watched the room, I felt too the unmistakable presence of God.  Just moments, but enough to confirm again that this is a place where I've been led for this next season.

And with that, I'm off to pay attention to work.  I have a long list of phone calls to make, and conference planning tasks to begin to attack.

Fourth Advent: Love

Four Advent Candles have now been lit in the wreath that sits on my dresser. Only the Christ candle remains unlit, waiting for the coming of Immanuel.

The fourth candle is love.

Over the last four Sundays I've lit candles for hope, peace, joy, and now tonight, love.

The timing as usual is profound.

I've spent much of the day pondering again how much love requires. The giving up of rights. The surrendering. I didn't know that tonight's candle was love, that I would come home, and finish up the baking for the day, and light a candle symbolizing love. I just spent my day thinking about some of those things, because they were what was on my mind.

Funny how God does that.

So four candles burn on my dresser wreath, and I am waiting.

I am waiting for Christ, the true embodiment of love to come. For in his love are the hope and peace and joy that I've already lit candles, waiting in expectation for each of their fulfillment as well.

I am waiting, come, Lord Jesus, come.

Later Sunday

I woke this morning, as I mentioned from a dream. The dream was shaking and painful, so I did the only thing I could, rose and began the day.

Hours later, I'm glad that that is the approach I took.

I sorted vitamins for the coming week (a regular Sunday morning task).

And then I headed out.

First stop was the zoo. I arrived earlier than I usually do, and the animals were quite active, some still being fed. I watched the gorillas eat and play, and stopped in fascination as the hippos ate breakfast (kind of like watching an enormous chomping vacuum cleaner) and then eased themselves back into the water.

Then I went to church. I've been trying to hear my brother sing Christmas music for several weeks, and weather has always gotten in the way. (One evening we spent three hours trying to make our way across the city to hear them sing and just never made it. Another event was cancelled because it was to be held outdoors and the temperatures were frigid that day.) This morning he was conducting the church choir he's formed, and I decided to go hear them sing. I used the sermon time to journal just a little (as I listened) about the dream I'd had.

In the afternoon, the church choir was singing at a nearby nursing home, and my mom and I went to hear this longer performance.

I then borrowed mom's much more spacious kitchen to roll out some cookie dough I'd pre-made and brought with me, and to bake the cookies.

And now I'm home, having just finished a comfort food dinner (tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich) and I'm planning to assemble sandwich cookies for a while, and then simply rest.

The animals at the zoo soothed my jangled spirits. The worship at church spoke a bit of peace to my hurting soul. The joy in the elderly people's faces as they enjoyed the choir renewed just a little bit of hope.

The losses have been great, but there have been gains as well.

And for that, I'm grateful.

The Path of Peace

This is a photo of the Advent wreath that is sitting on my dresser this year, an altar space of sorts for me.

It took a week longer than usual for the pull of Advent to really grab me this year, for the longing to deeply take hold within me. It wasn't until the last day or two that I really again began to feel the longing for a savior to come.

The first candle, the one in the front, I lit last Sunday for the first time. It's the "hope" candle.

The second candle, the one in the back, I lit tonight. It's the "peace" candle.

I lit both tonight, with music softly playing, and found myself staring at them, slowly contemplating how desperately in need of both hope and peace I've been feeling. How desperately I, and others around me are longing for those things to come.

I struggled to choose music to play as I lit the candles and prayed. I wanted a song about peace, but couldn't choose one that seemed appropriate, so I settled for "The Feast of Seasons" - the Christmas album that Steve Bell put out quite some time ago.

First, "The Magnificat," played:

my soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord
and my spirit exalts in God my saviour
for he has looked with mercy on my lowlinessI ha
and my name will be forever exalted
for the mighty God has done great things for me
and his mercy will reach from age to age
and holy, holy, holy is his name
and holy, holy, holy is his name.
(words and music by John Michael Talbot)

And then this song began to play:

I have not seen the angel Gabriel
standing at the right side of the altar
saying that important line of angels
"do not be afraid"

I have not heard the angel Gabriel
telling me my prayer has been answered
that my heart's desire has been granted
and my wife will bear a son

but I have been answered
and I have been promised
in words that cannot be broken
and the tender mercies of our God
have caused the rising sun
to shine upon us
to guide our feet
into the path of peace

I was not there
when the angel Gabriel
visited the village of Nazareth
home of a young maiden he addressed
as the highly favored one

I did not hear
the angel Gabriel
promise what could not be imagined
answered by a faith without fathom
"let what you have said be done"

but I have been answered
and I have been promised
in words that cannot be broken
and the tender mercies of our God
have caused the rising sun
to shine upon us
to guide our feet
into the path of peace.
(words and music by Jim Croegart)

Those words were both the reminder I needed and the voice of the cry of my heart tonight as I lit candles symbolizing hope and peace and thought of the lack of those things and the deep longing for them to come. I have been answered and promised... and in the tender mercy of God my feet and the feet of all those I love are being guided into the path of peace.

Amen. May it truly be done tonight and in this season.

Cocooning

I am, at the present moment, and have been, for the last 3 hours or so, holed up in my bedroom.

I am cocooning.

It is warm, and dimly lit, only one small lamp (enough light to read by) and about a dozen or so tealights. It smells lovely in here, thanks to the oil burner and softly scented oils.

I'm in need of a little bit of metamorphosis today. And a lot of grace.

So I'm cocooning.

(Emerging, every so often, to finish tasks in the kitchen, but mostly cocooning.)

I have cried deeply.

And when the tears began to end, and peace to re-enter, made makeshift communion from the snack of mango juice and home-made pita chips that I'd collected before the storm began, in the moments when I thought I was going to spend my afternoon sorting my recipes into a more practical form, instead of curled up, searching for grace.

My heart is tired. Of myself at times, and the struggles to choose differently. And of some of the situations I've been part of that seem to go on and on and on.

And today my heart bears also the weight of things from this week. Of a friend's mom whose days are now marked by cancer. Of a boy who died too young. Of things that make me want to scream out "This is not how it was supposed to be."

This is not how it was supposed to be.

A dear friend prayed, and that helped.

Lighting candles helped too. A sacrament of sorts for me. It's rare, these days that they are all lit, scattered across the two "altar spaces" in my room, full of prayers and memories.

Cocooned. Wrapped, and warmed, and letting my heart be slowly transformed, drawn again to a place of grace and peace.

Those two words, grace and peace. I listened to a sermon recently that pointed out that these were some of the most common greetings in Paul's letters. Grace and peace to each of those churches to whom he wrote. Grace and peace to each of those who sits and reads those letters now.

I find myself in need of those today.

As my thoughts cleared and focus returned, I picked up the book I've been reading in little bits all week. Stories rather than definitions. A book that seeks to portray grace, a book that stirs the desire to hunt for it in the most unlikely of places.

Not so very different from the daily lists of 5 or 10 that I've been making for just over 100 days now. But more flowing, and encompassing the world, from the funeral of Pope John Paul II, to a slum in Kenya, to the room of a lovely Chicago nun named sister Annuziata. Stories that find life and hope.

I've needed those today. Those words that stir hope and joy in a heart that was only feeling their absence.

And stories like these make me grateful for my interminable habit of book buying. I bought this one ages ago because I recognized the author's name, and hey, it was on sale.

I only picked it up a week or two ago, and have been reading slowly.

And the book itself is a measure of grace. One that sat on my shelf until the urge came to read it. That internal nudge. But also the slow traverse through it, until this afternoon, when I needed to internalize, to read, to "eat" and be reminded of grace in large and sweeping portions.

The candles flicker off the various items scattered around my "altar"... pottery wine goblets, and gifts from a friend. An empty wine bottle, a cross formed from palm leaves, a plaque, a few stones, a remembrance day poppy or two, and a photo of myself, captured in the midst of a very deep moment. And as they flicker, and I sit in my cocoon, I am reminded that those moments, though many hold, in their own way, some measure of pain, also hold joy, and life. They hold grace and peace.

And tonight I'm thankful for the quietness of an empty house. For a cocoon, and for measures of grace, slowly restored, and transforming my heart again.

The Titles Tell a Story...

It's clearly on record that I love Grey's Anatomy. I fell for it the first season it came out, and I've been watching ever since. Yes, it's a soap opera. I'm quite aware of that, thank you. But (and I know it sounds bizarre) I keep watching because God speaks to me quite regularly through the episodes, through the themes they explore, or especially through the voice over monologues that begin and end most episodes.

Lately, though the other things have still caught my attention, it's been the episode titles that have been telling a story. If you know me well, and know some of the things that have gone on in the last while, the titles of the last four episodes will likely make you chuckle. They tell a story about the journey I've been on as well.

Invasion

I Saw What I Saw

Give Peace a Chance

Invest in Love

Yep, they tell a story... one that I can't share all the details too, but let me just say that the progression made me chuckle when I noticed it tonight. Because it's a pretty accurate description of the way I've been journeying too. And of the places my heart has been, is, or is aspiring to be.

Pray the Devil Back to Hell

I found this article quite interesting. It talks about this movie, which I would like to see, I think.

Friday, U2, and other musings

It's Friday morning, and I am wearing jeans at the office. I know I celebrate that every week, but it really is such a great treat. So nice to be really comfortable.

Plus, it's Friday morning. And I can't tell you how relieved I am to be nearly at the end of the work week right now. I have no idea what this weekend will hold (except that it has immense potential for challenging moments). But I'm thankful to be done (or nearly done) with the work portion of the week. I'm anticipating time spent doing some errands and other things tomorrow night. And time spent with Jesus.

A dear friend of mine sent me a photo text message last night that made me both incredibly happy and incredibly jealous all at once. It was an (albeit blurry) photo of the stage at the U2 concert she was in the midst of attending. I loved getting it, and totally wished I was there. If I had such a thing as a formal "bucket list" or a "things to do before I die list", seeing U2 play live would be near the very top of the list. It's one of the things I dream about, and it just hasn't been possible yet for me to make it to one of their concerts.

Inspired by her concert attendance, I listened to the very first U2 album I ever purchased as I drove to work this morning. "All That You Can't Leave Behind". I bought the album when I was in high school. I'd attended a Young Life city wide club where the speaker talked about peace and used the song "Peace on Earth" as an illustration. I don't remember much about the club talk, but I'll never forget the impact of hearing that song. I fell in love with a band because of that song, bought my first U2 album because of that song, and have bought quite a few other albums in successive years. But that first album is still probably my favorite, and I played it loud and sang along this morning as I drove.

Last night was rough again, hard and full of the darker moments. I remember waking at one point and saying aloud "You can't be here. I'm sheltered by Jesus. Go away." I've gotta tell you that I don't do that very often these days, though there were weeks and years where I probably needed to do that every night, but lacked the knowledge or courage to follow through.

Usually a night like that would leave me lagging. A night like that often left a deep weight hanging over me, of fear and anxiety and oppression.

This morning I'm feeling buoyed by a deep joy welling from within me. I loved the sunrise as I drove. I loved U2 as it played. But the joy is deeper than all those contributing things. And for that I'm inexpressibly grateful.

Monday Morning Dreams...

It was another quite restless night.

I had a wild and crazy dream experience just before waking this morning. Not one I'll say a lot about, but one that hit me deeply.

A conversation that both raised and answered different questions.

Questions about who I am, and the strength within me.

Questions about relationships and toxicity.

Have I mentioned recently that I could really use a friend gifted in interpreting dreams?

Or that the last week has left me stunned in the various ways that God has spoken.

My insides are a confusing muddle just presently.

It sounds bad when I put it like that.

I'm actually doing significantly better than I have been in months.

I'm just feeling a bit spun around by the intensity of this current season of God speaking in my life.

I think, in the grand scheme of things, this is the kind of overwhelmed that I want to be feeling.

The kind where Jesus is deeply present, and overwhelming is somehow accompanied with peace.

Settled Within Myself

I'm feeling settled today.

Anticipating the things to come, but settled, at peace within myself.

I'm not really sure how to explain it.

I guess I could tell you that there have been times during this incredibly difficult last year and a half where I have been quite convinced that the character of God was something less than good, and that my life had become some sort of great conspiracy of suffering. For every moment that seemed beautiful, every decision that seemed healthy, there were always immediate set backs. The moments colored by pain. The decisions marked by a falling or stumbling backwards into the mire.

I went through a lot of anger, and, in some ways it took me a long time to admit that I was absolutely furious with this God I'd tried to serve in obedience. Where was he as my life was falling apart because of a decision I'd thought (and am still convinced) was one made in obedience to something he'd called me to? I had a certain sense of entitlement in the promises of scripture that blessing comes through obedience, and I was furious that instead of blessing I seemed to be encountering only destruction.

I've struggled often with frustration over the way I pass so many nights. Over an inability to sleep. Over the dreams that I so often have. I think something within me had always assumed that when I was healed from depression sleep would now be mine. One of the things that marked the night I was healed was that, for the first time in probably five years, I'd slept for six straight hours without waking, and without nightmares. The getting to sleep thing, and the not dreaming thing hasn't panned out for me.

But today, I feel settled within myself.

I don't quite know how to describe the little shifts in mindset, or how those little things seem enormous to me. I'm not sure that it could be understood without having lived in my skin through the last year and a half, and maybe, particularly, through the last two months or so.

There are things that are encouraging to me.

Last night I was hungry. After dinner, and grocery shopping. I'm almost never hungry. My roommate was shocked. I was craving carbs and protein. I came home from grocery shopping, cooked a chicken breast, used it to fill a pita, added some lettuce and cucumber and mayo and enjoyed a second meal for the evening. I know from past experience that I only crave carbs and protein like that when I am in the midst of some sort of major transition in life - something that is requiring far more energy than my day to day diet is supplying.

There are other little shifts.

But mostly, I feel settled.

I don't feel right now that life is a conspiracy in ways to make me suffer.

I don't feel the anger that has defined so much of my life this last while.

I'm feeling hopeful again, moving forward towards new things and desires.

There are things in my life that I'm excited about again.

I'm planning a trip.

I'm learning about forgiveness.

I'm pondering choices, and thankful for experiences that are more fully letting me understand, from a different side entirely, some of the things God occasionally asks me to walk in.

I'm feeling a certain degree of acceptance of the way my nights go past. I'm grateful for the ones that are more peaceful, I'm learning to sort out which bits of dreams and moments of prayer need to be paid attention to, and I've discovered that they're far less exhausting if I take advantage of the hours in which I seem able to sleep, before the dreams begin, and far less exhausting if I simply choose to be okay with them, and figure out ways to cope and supplement my need for rest. (In my case this has meant learning to be okay with letting some things that would normally drive me crazy, be left undone in favor of a restful evening or weekend.)

I'm feeling settled within myself. And it's a really great feeling to have.