It's Easy To Lose Yourself

I have no sense of direction. For instance, I was riding in the car with a group of people the other day around sunset. When we got lost, I said, “I wonder which direction we’re going.” Another passenger said, “Looks like we’re going north because the sun is to our left.” Duh. The sun rises in the east and sets in the west. I know that. But I didn’t think to use that fact to help determine which way we were going. Maybe that disconnect of fact to real life is one of the reasons that I often get lost…especially if my GPS refuses to work.

Thanks to the GPS and other global technologies, it’s becoming easier and easier not to get physically lost. But while it’s now relatively simple to locate oneself on a map, I would argue that it’s now just as difficult to locate oneself in one’s heart. With all of the “stuff” that we have and the “things” we are demanded (or expected) to do in all of the many roles that we are demanded (or expected) to play, I think it’s easy to lose ourselves and to one day end up wondering how on earth we got to where we are.

Over the weekend, I said to a friend, “I’m just worried that you’re pulling yourself too thin and not finding any joy in life.” She looked at me and said, “What about you?” After I realized that she wasn’t saying that I was a joyful part of her life :-), I fumbled with my words and attempted to explain how I was doing my best to find joy in life—even if I was exhausted and feeling like work had sucked the life out of me in recent weeks…

Before coming back to South Carolina yesterday, I stopped by my sister’s house to see her, my brother in law, and the kids. The family has recently done a lot of renovations to their house and back yard and the newest addition is a new play house/swing set for the kids…only…the play house is tall enough for an adult to stand in and the swings are high enough for an adult to swing on. Dana, my sister, said, “The reason it turned out so big is that I wanted the swing to be high enough for me, too.” A few minutes later, as I was pushing my niece “higher and higher,” Dana sat beside her and began to swing, smiling almost as widely as her daughter.

Having the play set built a little bit higher so that she could use it may seem silly, or selfish, to some; however, I would argue that it is one small way that Dana can be herself—that she can participate in one of the activities that she’s loved since childhood—that she can do to help not lose her own identity simply because she is a mom and a wife and a daughter and a volunteer and a friend. Yes, those roles are part of who she is, but they are not the entirety of her personhood. And she knows that. And so she built the kids’ play set a little bit higher.

This weekend, I visited one of my favorite places on earth. I listened to the rain and breathed in the cool, fall air. I saw some friends and celebrated that my best friend will soon have a baby. I bought Bullet a new toy and some dog treats and ate breakfast with my parents. I pushed a little girl on a swing while she giggled and squealed in delight. I watched a little ninja jump tree roots and hop on one foot—backwards :-). I made sure to do a few things that gave me joy—that filled me with life.

I did those things. Dana built a tall swing. What about you? What have you done recently that has filled you with joy and helped you not to lose yourself? Or if you find yourself lost, what’s something you can do to help yourself be found?

The Dreaded M

Have you ever felt like you know someone because of the amount of time you spend listening to him/her on the radio or watching him/her on TV? It happens to me a lot. I’m so loyal to my favorite TV and radio personalities that I speak of them as if we’re on a first name basis.

That’s how I came to know Larry Burkett. I listened to Larry every day on my way home from school my first year of teaching. Larry taught me how to budget, how to give, how to avoid debt, how to use my credit card only a substitute for cash, how to pay off debt using the snowball effect, how important it is to start saving for retirement when I’m young, and so much more. Larry died a few years ago, and I was sad when he did. I will always be grateful to him because of how he impacted my life…and I never really knew him…just his voice on the radio.

This week’s lesson is about the dreaded “m”—money. Take a few moments to read the article by Sharon Morton and to sit with the parts that stick out to you. You may be in good financial shape or you may be struggling. Either way, this article can speak to you if you will let it:

http://www.mymissionfulfilled.com/article.asp?id=2511

What is the best financial advice that you’ve ever been given? And what is by a “real” friend or by a conceptual friend that spoke to you in a very real way?

Hard To Stay

I had a major work event on Saturday. The event went well. I couldn’t have asked for anything better, actually. I left the day exhausted yet full of adrenalized energy. I knew that I needed to go to my apartment and rest because I have another event on Thursday, but I wanted nothing more than to drive to North Carolina to see my family...because the boys were staying with mom and dad...and I wanted to go play.

But I stayed. I made myself do the logical, rational thing, and I stayed. I went to the apartment on Saturday and cooked and cleaned and I rested on Sunday and cooked and cleaned some more. I ran errands and watched movies and didn’t put 400 extra miles on my car. I called the boys and talked with them on the phone and chuckled as they abruptly handed the phone to another brother when they were finished talking. I did what made physically and monetarily made sense. But it was hard. It was so hard to stay.

Hmmm....

I’m not feeling compelled to write much today. I’m leaving in a few minutes to go to my last fall training of the year and I’ve been working feverishly to finish preparations for our Acteens/Youth on Mission event that’s happening this weekend. In between those preparations, I’ve been working to solidify things for the Human Exploitation Symposium happening next Thursday, all the while knowing that I have a bunch of articles to edit for our newsletter. Needless to say, my mind is focused on lots of things already; therefore, it has not been able to land on anything interesting about which to write. So...I think I’ll take this space to list some of the things for which I am grateful (in no particular order):

Indoor plumbing and a hot shower in which both to clean and have revelations about life.

Audio books.
Computer word processing and spreadsheets.
E-mail and texting.
Laser printers.
Laughter.
The ability to cry.
Comfortable shoes and clothes.
Glasses.
Colors and rainbows.
My family.
My friends.
Babies growing in my friends’ bellies.
Pets and zoo animals and bears that stay at a safe distance and don’t hurt anyone.
Purple Palmolive.
Green Cascade.
Electric razors.
Elevators that work.
Travel reimbursement.
Heating and air.
Punctuation and proofreading.
Coke rewards points.
Poetry, art, music, and dance.
Counseling.
Cherry Coke Zero.
Light. Hope. Grace. Love.
Willard and Fish Ball and Earl and Cassie May (even though I rarely get to strum arl these days and Cassie May’s keys sit mostly unplayed).
Camp.
Bakin.
Cooking.
The Food Network.
Yummy recipes.
Chocolate (fair trade of course).
Coffee.
Movie theatre popcorn.
Mini donuts from the fair.
Chicken and dumplings.
Field peas.
Cameras.
Good gas mileage.
Traffic lights and road signs.
Motion sickness medicine.
Breath and air.
Trees.
Healthy plants.
Sabbath.
My church.
Sleep.
My bed.
Stanley.
T-shirt sheets and quilts.
Soft pillows.
Comfortable pajamas.
Warm blankets.
Rest.

What about you? What are some things you’re grateful for today? Be careful when you start listing them, though. You might have trouble stopping!

More In The Waiting

My dear friend Amy asked me to attend a concert with her on Saturday night. Bethany Dillon is one of Amy’s musical heroes, so she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to hear Bethany since she’d been on a two year musical vacation after the birth of her first child.

Bethany opened for her husband Shane (of Shane and Shane). She played a simple song set—I think only four songs—and she talked about the songs that she sang—sharing bits of her story in between the singing—and, well, she was just great. I truly appreciate singer/songwriters who create from the depths of who they are. She is one of those. And I’m really glad I got to hear her play over the weekend.

The last song she played was a new song; it hasn’t been recorded so I can’t link it here or post the lyrics. But I can say this: it was about waiting and it was inspired by the simple statement, “God can do more in our waiting than our doing can do.”

I’ve been thinking about that statement since Saturday night. I like it. I think it’s deeply profound. Yet I’m not exactly sure how it’s to be lived because I’m not exactly sure how to wait without doing. I suppose we shouldn’t do things for the sake of busyness. But doesn’t life—and even call—demand that we do something—even while we wait?

For instance: When I was in high school, I waited on God to show me where I should go to college. But in the waiting, I had to continue with classes, put in applications, and go to interviews. I couldn’t simply stay at home and wait for the mail to arrive and the way to be made clear. In college, I waited on God to show me where I should go after graduation. But in the waiting, I had to do my part to be prepared for life after college. I couldn’t simply live the high life and wait for a position to land in my lap.

So how do we wait on God?

Or is waiting on God not really waiting at all?

Is waiting on God actually the active process of being formed into who we need to be for the next season of our lives?

Is waiting on God actually the process of living?

I don’t know. But I do know this:

I love Psalm 13. I love its honesty. I love the writer’s raw cry of desperation. I love the very real question, “How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever?” And I love the ending when the psalmist basically says, “I don’t know how long, God. But I’m gonna keep singing your praises anyway. I’m gonna keep singing and trusting and hoping and loving anyway…because you love me…and I love you.”

And, well, I think that’s how I want to wait.
No…actually….I think that’s how I want to live.

To Protect and Serve

Part of serving God is taking care of the earth that God has given us. While the task of taking care of the whole planet is huge, we can each do our part by being careful of where we put our garbage, how we use our water, and how we make and/or use energy. As an African Proverb says, “Many little people in many little places doing many little things can change the world.” In other words, a multitude of people changing the way they do just one or two things can have a major impact on this world.

One of the best ways to serve God and protect God’s creation is simply to clean up. Trash not only clogs rivers and makes wildlife sick but it also takes away from God’s beauty.

Here are a few suggestions for serving God through “cleaning up” the world around you:

■Have an organization and community clean up day. Pick up and properly dispose of all trash within your organization, organization yard, and the yards/areas around your organization. If your organization's building is in a residential community, ask residents if they need help properly disposing of their trash.
■Participate in a beach sweep or lake-side trash pick-up day.
■Volunteer to help pick up trash after a local sporting event or community festival.
■Adopt-a-Highway. For more information on this program, visit http://www.scdot.org/community/adopt_faq.shtml

Hold Me Jesus

It’s really quite fascinating how fast minor inconveniences can turn into major obstacles. Though we know that spilling juice on our shirt isn’t the end of the world and that getting stuck in traffic won’t kill us and that failed plans aren’t going to ruin our lives and that misunderstandings will most likely be solved, we still let minor inconveniences take over our minds and fester in our hearts until we can’t see past them…until we dream about them and wake up in the night worrying about them…until we have nothing else to do but cry, “Hold me Jesus, cause I’m shaking like a leaf.”

Isn’t it amazing that Jesus then comes to hold us? Isn’t it amazing that his spirit comes to calm us down? Christ helps us remember that many of our biggest obstacles aren’t really that big after all. He helps us remember that life has a way of blowing minor inconveniences out of proportion. He helps us remember that together we can jump any hurdle. He helps us remember that life is moving forward even when we don’t have a clue as to how—that spilled juice and traffic jams can refine our patience—that failed plans that became shattered dreams can lead to something greater—and that misunderstandings with the misunderstood can teach us about listening and communication.

God’s presence with us is steady and intentions for us are good, yet sometimes we find ourselves so caught up in life that we can’t see what’s right in front of us—much less miles down the road. In those moments of blindness—whether from blinding frustration, tears, emotional darkness, or spiritual wilderness—all we must do is cry for Jesus to hold us. And he will. And, somehow, he will be our Prince of Peace.

Come to me all you who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest. Matthew 11:28

Connected Through The Body of Christ: A Follow-Up

Our building is being reorganized these days. In order to work more efficiently, teams are being grouped together and offices are being moved. We have now moved from first floor to third. When I came into work yesterday at 8:25am (five minutes early!), I began work in my old office. Mid-afternoon, I realized my new office was ready to occupy and my file cabinets were moved upstairs. Late afternoon, I began packing. Early evening, I gave my computer to Ron The Computer Man so that he could move it up. Mid evening, I began moving my stuff. Late evening, I began unpacking. Super late evening, at 10pm, I left for home (four hours late!). I’m in my new office now. I’m not completely settled, but I’m at least grounded enough to be able to work. And I’m tired. I’m very tired. I’m so tired that my brain is barely thinking. You know I’m tired when my brain cannot formulate thoughts!

As such, I’m simply going to post a follow-up to Monday’s post. I will start with Jenny’s response. And I will end with my closing words. [This exchange occurred on Tuesday, so my brain was working a little more fully then.]

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Dear Deanna,
Your words are overwhelmingly gracious and kind. Just one thought: Every place you write my name in paragraph 4, and perhaps some other places, I wonder if it should/could/can be “Deanna.” Remember: you did the work; you discovered your own truths; you did the struggling, the searching, the courageous naming, the transforming. I thank my therapists—and the two I’ve had have been incredibly insightful and compassionate—but I know I did the work . Just a thought. Peace to you always, Jenny+

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Jenny,

I anticipated this response...so I have a counter-response :-):

Read carefully:

and I was reminded that it was Jenny who first HELPED ME LEARN to accept that truth that I belong…that it was Jenny who HELPED ME LEARN to believe that God loves me for me…that it was Jenny who gave me the language of being a person of worth and value…and that it was Jenny who taught me to sit with life, open myself to it, and accept the joy and grief that comes with living.

And...well...you did give me new language. I had never heard it before. And we cannot know that which we have not heard :-). And I had never been taught to sit with life and open myself to it. I had never been taught the reality of grief that comes with joy that comes with life. So in those ways, you were not only my therapist but you were my greatest teacher.

Don't fret, dear Jenny. I know I did the struggling, searching, naming, and transforming. And I make a conscious effort to claim that truth when it is appropriate--not to boast but to speak a language that allows people to know that we must do the hard work of finding our own voice in order to be set free. And I know that God was with me. I know that God worked alongside and within me--that I couldn't have made the journey alone--and that God will do the same for everyone who accepts the invitation to the banquet table :-). But I know, too, that you served as my guide and teacher along the way--that you helped me see and hear things that I could not see or hear alone. You showed me glimpses of truth and light and taught me the tools to run toward those. You helped create the container--the safe space--in which my brokenness could be examined and in the light transformed. So, yes, I thank YOU and thank God for you...

I realize that it is only because YOU have done your own hard work of struggling, searching, naming, and transforming that you were able to walk alongside me--and so many others--in mine--and theirs. I realize, too, that you are still doing your own hard work--as I am still doing mine. And, I suppose this sounds odd and I hope I am not overstepping my bounds but, I affirm you in your journey and am inspired by your courage--your very human, faltering courage--and I am sending you the same light and love and peace that you always send me.

It's interesting. I write notes every Monday and Thursday. I spend a lot of time figuring out what to say and how to say it. More often than not, I receive little to no response to what I've written. But yesterday, people did respond. They were moved by my words--by this story--and I can't help but marvel at that fact and wonder why. Could it be the inspiration of one life changing another and forever being connected in the body of Christ? I don't know. But I'm glad I know you. And after seeing you on Sunday, I feel certain that the people of Christ Church feel the same...d

Connected Through The Body of Christ

It’s been a little over a year since I walked into Jenny’s office and received the news that she was leaving counseling to go back into parish ministry. I cried. She cried. But I knew she was following God’s call for her life and that her greatest joy was not just in counseling but also in serving Eucharist to the body of believers…so…how could I begrudge her call?

Jenny is an Episcopal priest. I’ve long been fond of the Episcopal church and its liturgy. Even before Jenny went onto church staff, I had wanted to visit the church where she currently serves. One of my favorite college professors has played organ there for many years and I’d wanted to hear him play for some time. He’s absolutely amazing. Each time he plays, it’s as if the listener is at a recital. His hands and feet work together yet separately to play the keys and touch the pedals and work the stops and make truly awe-inspiring music. And so I went to hear him play yesterday…and also to hear Jenny preach…although I must admit I didn’t know the proper protocol for a former client going to visit her former counselor at her church!

I think that Baptists often miss out on the rich heritage of the church and the beautiful prayers and liturgies of countless church fathers and mothers who have gone before us. Though I spent a lot of time trying to figure out where we were in the litury yesterday (and secretly wishing I had taken my personal copy of the Book of Common Prayer—just because I have one ), I felt connected to centuries of believers in a rich liturgy of faith that surrounded me with the holy otherness and peace of Christ. Hearing and experiencing the language, sounds, patterns, and rhythms of faith passed down through generations caused me to be keenly aware of how big God is and how worthy God is of my awe and reverence.

Then Jenny spoke…and I was reminded that the Kingdom of God is open to all who choose to accept the invitation…and I was reminded that we each have a place at God’s table and that at God’s table we each find the acceptance for which we long…and I was reminded that it was Jenny who first helped me learn to accept that truth that I belong…that it was Jenny who helped me learn to believe that God loves me for me…that it was Jenny who gave me the language of being a person of worth and value…and that it was Jenny who taught me to sit with life, open myself to it, and accept the joy and grief that comes with living.

Because I didn’t know if I was breeching an ethical code of conduct by attending Jenny’s church, I hadn’t planned to take communion yesterday but had planned to remain part of the crowd, to blend in, and to slip out of the service quietly without making my presence known. But then my college professor saw me and smiled. And then I found myself with tears streaming down my face. And then I felt myself strangely compelled to walk forward. And then I found myself looking up into Jenny’s eyes and hearing her say, “Hey you…” and serving me the body of Christ…and then I realized just how significant that one action was—just how much meaning was held in that fraction of time.

Jenny, whose life and work changed my life and work by being the non-anxious presence of God to me, who left a profession in which she excelled in order to return to the parish to serve Eucharist and feel most complete, served me Eucharist—the body of Christ—the body of the one broken for me—the body of the one who gives life—the body of the one who fills me with the peace that I began to understand only when I realized and confessed my own utter brokenness...and that confession was made in the sacred space that God and I created with Jenny…God’s servant and light to me…so many years ago.

At the end of the service yesterday, I waited for my college professor to finish the postlude. When he finished, I joined a handful of others in applause and my professor sheepishly waved his thanks. Then I went outside and found Jenny. I listened to her be a good minister and then gave her a hug. Then we both stood there and grinned and I marveled at how far I’d come…and I silently thanked God that we are eternally connected…in, and through, the body of Christ.

On Covering Fish Ball Deaton's Ears

I know, I know. Bowling balls don’t have ears. Nor are they alive. Nor do they have feelings.

But a few months ago as I stood on the lane approach at AMF Park Lanes, I found myself in a slight panic to cover Fish Ball Deaton’s ears. I didn’t want him to hear what the man beside me was saying to his ball. I didn’t want Fish to think that he, too, was a *$# #$%# #^&%$^@ piece of worthless #^&%$^ @#$% simply because he missed the desired pins. So I stood there and cleaned off excess icky lane oil and whispered, “Don’t listen to him, Fish. You’re a good ball—even when you don’t go where I want you to go. I want you to go down the middle now, but if you don’t, I’ll still love you. I won’t say horrible things to you.”

Such is the experience when we bowl Stinkin’ Jim.

I know, I know. It’s not nice to call people names. But it’s how we identify the people we bowl with—Big Cindy, Softball Boy, Rubberband Man, Stinkin’ Jim—they’re nicknames—terms of endearment, I suppose—and they mostly come from how people bowl. But not Stinkin’ Jim.

Stinkin’ Jim’s language is so bad that, well, it stinks. Jim curses in ways that I never knew possible. Jim curses when he’s mad. Jim curses when he’s glad. Jim curses when he’s done poorly. Jim curses when he’s done well. On Season Opening Night, Jim wore curse words and crude symbols on his clothing and named his team B.A.M.F. We don’t know for sure, but we’re pretty sure that those letters are short for words that rhyme with Tad Bass Other Trucker.

So bowling with Jim means trying to cover Fish Ball Deaton’s ears (not to mention the ears of the real, live children who often accompany parents and grandparents for the night). Bowling with Jim means being prepared to hear language not ordinarily heard and seeing a league shirt with a half naked, beer-drinking woman on the front. Bowling with Jim isn’t the most fun night of the season…but bowling with Jim reminds me that there is a hurting world beyond the walls in which I live and work and that that hurting world needs the transforming light and love and peace and hope and joy and freedom of Jesus Christ.

I don’t know much about Stinkin’ Jim. But I know that he has a job that requires him to travel. And from the half naked, beer-drinking woman on his bowling shirt, along with the language and behavior that I’ve observed at the bowling alley, I can assume that he visits “Gentlemen’s Clubs,” treats women (and maybe even humanity in general) with disrespect, and likely uses pornography to help him feel connected to someone or something larger than himself.

I don’t know. I could be very wrong. And I realize that I just made some huge assumptions about Stinkin’ Jim. But regardless of whether I am right or wrong about Jim, there is a hurting world beyond the walls in which I live and work and that hurting world needs the transforming light and love and peace and hope and joy and freedom of Jesus Christ…just as I daily need the transforming light and love and peace and hope and joy and freedom—and forgiveness—of Jesus Christ.

I usually wear the same shirt to bowl each week—an Appalachian State University shirt that one of my friends gave me. But tonight I’ve planned to wear a shirt that says, “Live Love,” on the back and I’m curious to see if its presence will have an effect on Jim’s language. I usually don’t wear blatantly Christian shirts. I usually don’t try to scream my faith through my clothes or my words but through my actions. Yet last night as I was laying out my clothes for the day, I felt compelled to find a shirt that clearly communicated what I believe…

I didn’t want to communicate judgment for terrible language or half-naked, beer drinking women, but I wanted to communicate love. For as strange as it sounds, I hurt for Stinkin’ Jim and for the emptiness that I see in his eyes and I love Stinkin’ Jim with the love of a God who created us all and wants to redeem us through the transforming light and love and peace and hope and joy and freedom of Jesus Christ.

We live in a hurting, broken world. Life has chewed us up and spit us out and we’re doing the best we can to survive. I believe that. And I believe that Stinkin’ Jim’s frustrations with life come out on his bowling ball and that makes me sad…but it also makes for an interesting challenge of covering Fish Ball Deaton’s ears…while living love.

A Psalm and No Regret

I doubt that anyone noticed, but I didn’t post a note on Thursday. For almost two years, I have posted notes on Mondays and Thursdays, regardless of whether or not I have worked those days. When I started this job (two years ago this first Monday of October), I knew that if I were going to write, then I would need to discipline myself to do it. And so I have written—sometimes having nothing whatsoever of importance to say.

On Thursday, however, after leaving Staff Retreat, I entered into a time of solitude in which I had no internet access. For over 24 hours, I was alone at the beach...listening to the sound of the waves crashing onto the shore, reflecting about life and work, breathing in God’s peace and grace. I had my phone, but I didn’t fret about not having internet access. I knew that I hadn’t written or posted a note, but I decided to take a break. I needed a break. My mind and heart were cluttered from the busy-ness of life, and I needed a chance to detox.

On Friday night, a group of middle school girls arrived and I proceeded to lead them in a retreat until Sunday morning. We examined together parts of Psalm 1, Psalm 13, Psalm 32, Psalm 100, Psalm 113, and Psalm 139. We shared about thoughts and questions and the certainty of God’s love for us and plan for our lives even in the midst of situations that we do not understand. On Sunday morning, after a time of worship through music, we wrote our own letters to God (our own Psalms of sorts) and imagined reading those letters to Christ, believing that he was listening.

My writing said:

God.
Thoughts of this month completely, totally, utterly overwhelm me.
All my fears and insecurities,
Everything I’m afraid of—
Looking bad,
Disappointing people,
Not pleasing my coworkers,
Not being good enough,
Not getting everything done,
Something major going wrong—
All of my demons are haunting me.
“Now I surrender…”
Move this mountain of insecurity,
These thoughts that paralyze me.
Move them and help me to accomplish this month
One day, one step at a time.
Please.
You can speak through me, my thoughts, my planning.
You can be glorified and worshipped…
Let it be so.
Amen.

After the girls left yesterday, I finished my time at the beach with a few more moments of solitude. I once again listened to the sound of the waves crashing onto the shore, reflected about life and work, and tried to breathe in God’s peace and grace—and courage. Leaving yesterday was hard. Coming into work today to face the month ahead was hard. But I’m here with my to-do list, slowly marking things off, remembering the peace of the weekend, and feeling absolutely no regret for not posting on Thursday :-).