Friday, January 15, 2010
The Coming Joy
This continues to be an odd week.
It's one of the busiest weeks I've had in months, and I am feeling the pull of the growing exhaustion on my body. I've probably taxed my limits, but it was to some extent unavoidable, and looking back, there isn't anything I'd eliminate from my schedule (well, maybe grocery shopping, if there was some sort of magic way food could appear in our fridge). The moments shared with friends and at house church.
It's also been one of the weeks where I've been most intensely in what both my roommate and I jokingly refer to as "weird intercessor space" more deeply than I have been in a very long time.
There has been the news from Haiti.
And some other needs that have come to my attention.
And this ongoing theme of mothering, birthing, babies, children. Which perhaps sounds a bit odd when you consider that I am 26 years old, and remain happily single.
Some time ago I think I blogged the following passage, but it has come back strongly to me today, and I find myself praying it back to God this morning, asking for patience and understanding as I process and listen and wait and pray.
John 16:21-23 (The Message)
When a woman gives birth, she has a hard time, there's no getting around it. But when the baby is born, there is joy in the birth. This new life in the world wipes out memory of the pain. The sadness you have right now is similar to that pain, but the coming joy is also similar. When I see you again, you'll be full of joy, and it will be a joy no one can rob from you. You'll no longer be so full of questions.
It's one of the busiest weeks I've had in months, and I am feeling the pull of the growing exhaustion on my body. I've probably taxed my limits, but it was to some extent unavoidable, and looking back, there isn't anything I'd eliminate from my schedule (well, maybe grocery shopping, if there was some sort of magic way food could appear in our fridge). The moments shared with friends and at house church.
It's also been one of the weeks where I've been most intensely in what both my roommate and I jokingly refer to as "weird intercessor space" more deeply than I have been in a very long time.
There has been the news from Haiti.
And some other needs that have come to my attention.
And this ongoing theme of mothering, birthing, babies, children. Which perhaps sounds a bit odd when you consider that I am 26 years old, and remain happily single.
Some time ago I think I blogged the following passage, but it has come back strongly to me today, and I find myself praying it back to God this morning, asking for patience and understanding as I process and listen and wait and pray.
John 16:21-23 (The Message)
When a woman gives birth, she has a hard time, there's no getting around it. But when the baby is born, there is joy in the birth. This new life in the world wipes out memory of the pain. The sadness you have right now is similar to that pain, but the coming joy is also similar. When I see you again, you'll be full of joy, and it will be a joy no one can rob from you. You'll no longer be so full of questions.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Daily 5 - Day 155
Today's Daily 5:
- I'm thankful for a landlord who responded really promptly. By the time I got home tonight, our kitchen sink drain was once again functioning.
- I'm thankful for this house church I'm becoming a part of.
- I'm thankful for the little ways I saw God confirm tonight that this is a group that is interested in seeking his heart
- I'm thankful that though I'm definitely lagging and feeling the effects, I've been able to enjoy the company of friends several nights in a row. That my health is being restored. A year ago there is no way I could have had plans 4 nights in a row.
- I'm thankful for the unplanned extra 20 minutes of alone time in my car, listening to an audio book while I waited in the line for the car wash tonight.
- I'm thankful to have a little bit of money that I can give to things I really care about.
- I'm thankful that my roommate cooked supper for us tonight.
- I'm thankful for clean water to drink, and enough food to eat
- I'm thankful for a safe place to live.
- I'm thankful for a job that provides for my needs, even on days like today where it's really challenging for me to set my opinions aside and do a job in a way I don't like. I'm grateful to have a job.
Here's the Rub
I'm in a bad mood.
Partly because of the ongoing space of prayer and heavyness I feel.
And partly because of some decisions at the office this morning that are going to drastically affect my day, and with which I have some problems.
Here's the rub.
I know I can choose differently.
I can choose to be grateful that I have a job, and that my day will be very full (not that it wasn't going to be already, but you know...).
I can choose to not let the bad mood from work stuff be a factor in my day.
(Can't do so much about the heavy burden to pray stuff, other than pray.)
But I'm kind of enjoying my self-righteous snit.
I'm kind of enjoying feeling miserable because I KNOW I'm right and I think a decision is ridiculous.
And that's the rub isn't it?
Because that's hardly Christlike either.
And it's likely to grow and morph (I have a lot of experience with these bad moods) until I also resent the burden to pray, because it's infringing on my rights.
Sigh.
That's the rub.
Partly because of the ongoing space of prayer and heavyness I feel.
And partly because of some decisions at the office this morning that are going to drastically affect my day, and with which I have some problems.
Here's the rub.
I know I can choose differently.
I can choose to be grateful that I have a job, and that my day will be very full (not that it wasn't going to be already, but you know...).
I can choose to not let the bad mood from work stuff be a factor in my day.
(Can't do so much about the heavy burden to pray stuff, other than pray.)
But I'm kind of enjoying my self-righteous snit.
I'm kind of enjoying feeling miserable because I KNOW I'm right and I think a decision is ridiculous.
And that's the rub isn't it?
Because that's hardly Christlike either.
And it's likely to grow and morph (I have a lot of experience with these bad moods) until I also resent the burden to pray, because it's infringing on my rights.
Sigh.
That's the rub.
Not Insulated
I passed another odd night of dreams. Silly things that were on my mind (a blocked kitchen sink, for one), and other, deeper, more painful things. Needs I've become aware of, and images from Haiti.
I'm so very sensitive to images. It's why I'm incredibly careful about the books I read, and especially about the movies I watch. I know that often my mind will replay images and leave me wakeful and sometimes tormented for days and weeks on end, and this makes me cautious in my choosing. Sometimes, I think it makes me insulated, in my quest to shield and protect myself.
Yesterday I was determined not to be insulated. Not to simply set the tragedies of Haiti aside. And so I looked at many images of the devestation. And many of them came back as I slept. Faces burned into my conciousness, streaked with blood and dirt and displaying anger, grief, hopeless, and desperation.
It is nights like these that I am certain my heart speaks with Jesus through my dreams, and while I'm asleep.
My heart remains weighted this morning, and I found myself praying as I drove to work. Praying, but floundering to find words.
Much has been said about Haiti, and I wanted to share a few of the better blog posts I read with you:
Don Miller responded graciously to Pat Robertson's unfortunate comments.
Susan Isaacs links to Don Miller, but also responds, and I appreciated her thoughts as well.
Carolyn Arends wrote a lovely post here.
And this cartoon at NakedPastor seemed appropriate.
And with that, I head into the day. My heart remains heavy as I consider the friends of friends who have been killed. And the so many thousands more as well. I feel their cries somehow today, and the needs of others closer to home. And I continue to wrestle with the fact that my thoughts can be so consumed by the minutiae of life that isn't important in the grander scheme - that I remain largely disgruntled and just a bit worried about a blocked kitchen sink in my apartment. A sink that likely won't damage anything (unless of course the water that backs up into it overflows, and even then, the damage is likely to be minor). A sink that will likely be fixed within the next day or two. I'm juggling the dichotomy of perspective, and reminding myself that a selfishly insular life is not where Jesus is leading me, even when the alternative seems inexplicably filled with tension and pain and confusion.
I'm so very sensitive to images. It's why I'm incredibly careful about the books I read, and especially about the movies I watch. I know that often my mind will replay images and leave me wakeful and sometimes tormented for days and weeks on end, and this makes me cautious in my choosing. Sometimes, I think it makes me insulated, in my quest to shield and protect myself.
Yesterday I was determined not to be insulated. Not to simply set the tragedies of Haiti aside. And so I looked at many images of the devestation. And many of them came back as I slept. Faces burned into my conciousness, streaked with blood and dirt and displaying anger, grief, hopeless, and desperation.
It is nights like these that I am certain my heart speaks with Jesus through my dreams, and while I'm asleep.
My heart remains weighted this morning, and I found myself praying as I drove to work. Praying, but floundering to find words.
Much has been said about Haiti, and I wanted to share a few of the better blog posts I read with you:
Don Miller responded graciously to Pat Robertson's unfortunate comments.
Susan Isaacs links to Don Miller, but also responds, and I appreciated her thoughts as well.
Carolyn Arends wrote a lovely post here.
And this cartoon at NakedPastor seemed appropriate.
And with that, I head into the day. My heart remains heavy as I consider the friends of friends who have been killed. And the so many thousands more as well. I feel their cries somehow today, and the needs of others closer to home. And I continue to wrestle with the fact that my thoughts can be so consumed by the minutiae of life that isn't important in the grander scheme - that I remain largely disgruntled and just a bit worried about a blocked kitchen sink in my apartment. A sink that likely won't damage anything (unless of course the water that backs up into it overflows, and even then, the damage is likely to be minor). A sink that will likely be fixed within the next day or two. I'm juggling the dichotomy of perspective, and reminding myself that a selfishly insular life is not where Jesus is leading me, even when the alternative seems inexplicably filled with tension and pain and confusion.
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