The Olympics, A Right Butt Muscle, and a Left Armpit

I had the privilege of leading my final 2012 camp staff Bible study last night. After a review of everything we’d talk about over the summer (love languages, personality type, Genesis 1, God as Creator, Psalm 139, God as big enough to handle raw honesty), we dove into a study of Romans 12 and what it means to live our lives—our uniquely created and gifted lives—as sacrifices of praise who pour love into this world. I’d led studies on Romans 12 before, but last night’s study hit me in a new way—a deeper way—thanks to the Olympics, right butt muscle, and left armpit.

For the past few weeks, my left armpit and part of my shoulder have been going numb when I sit on a certain part of my right butt muscle (gluteus maximus for those who want to use the technical term). I hadn’t understood this odd connection until I did some research and learned that when I sit on a certain muscle on my right (that happens to be the one that I sit on when I drive and sit at my desk), it affects a muscle in my left back, that affects a nerve on my spine, that causes my armpit to go numb. Really? Our bodies are that intricately connected? (Yes. I know that our bodies are intricately connected, but for some reason this particular connection has fascinated me.)

When we speak of the body of Christ, we tend parallel parts such as hands, feet, mouth, heart, and brain. But what about the pleasure organs, the waste removal organs, the belly button, the scalines, the white blood cells, the right butt muscle, and the left armpit? They are parts of the body, too, and, as I’ve learned recently, they are important to a body’s proper functioning, albeit some are more important than others at different points in life.

We need all parts to make the whole.

All parts.

And we need all parts to be most fully themselves, most healthily themselves, which means acting as themselves instead of trying to function as something else, in order to function at our best.

Like many of you, I watched parts of the Olympics over the weekend. I watched the opening ceremony in awe, and I flat out cried as the Olympic flame was lit. To see the torch carried by seven teenagers—by seven of the finest of our future—and to see them embraced by their mentors—by the older persons who had believed and continue to believe in them—and to watch them light individual petals that had been carried into the arena by each country participating in the Olympics—and to watch those petals seamlessly connect with other petals and ignite flames from around the world—and to watch those petals rise up to form one united flame…well…it was absolutely amazing.

I also watched Goksu Uctas, the first Turkish gymnast ever to compete in the Olympics, perform a perfect balance beam routine. Before Goksu, no one from Turkey had considered it possible to compete in Olympic gymnastics. Because she considered it, though—because gymnastics gave her hope and purpose after her life was destroyed by an earthquake—because she trained against all odds, sometimes even practicing outside—she made it to the Olympics. Even though her routine wasn’t complicated enough to compete with the powerhouse individual scores, she did her very best with what she had been given, and she made her family, her coaches, her country, and this American very proud.

Unity in diversity. Doing your best with what you have. Believing in those who have gone before and will come behind you. Understanding your life as connected with other lives and owning the fact that what you do—good or bad—affects the larger whole. Accepting the call to consciously live your life in such a way that you are a living example of sacrificial love…

Those are the things that struck me last night during our Romans 12 study…all because of the Olympics, right butt muscle, and left arm-pit.

What truths are striking you today?

And Yet There Is Faith

On Tuesday, I visited my friend Courtney’s blog and found a refreshingly honest post about some of her struggles with faith. I found myself answering, “Yes!” to her opening question, “Have you ever had a time in your spiritual journey where you stopped and thought: is this whole thing real? God…creating the world, redeeming humankind through sending His Son to be born of a virgin and die on a cross and rise again?” and kept reading till the very end.

(To read Courtney’s blog post, visit http://mymissionfulfilled.com/index.php?q=blog%2Ffaith-grace-hope)

After reading the post, I wrote Courtney to tell her thank you for sharing the post. She wrote me back and thanked me for thanking her for sharing the post. Then I wrote her back with the message that follows.

Like Courtney, I am hesitant to post my thoughts in fear of what people may think, yet I, too, want to believe that I’m not the only person who has these thoughts at times. Maybe I’m wrong, but it seems to me that when we realize we’re not completely alone in our thinking, then it lightens the weight of loneliness and shame…it allows us to carry one another’s burdens and walk together in faith.

Thank you for being bold enough to start a conversation, Courtney. I admire and thank you…

You're definitely not the only one who has these doubts. Sometimes I feel like I'm the only one, too--especially in the WMU world.

I'm also a very deep feeler. But our feelings have done different things to us...which I'm trying to process as I write. I don't know that I've ever not felt God. I mean. I've walked through periods of darkness--very deep, silent darkness--yet I knew that God was with me. There were nights when I would wrestle myself to sleep—there are nights when I still do—I wonder if it was/is similar to how Jacob wrestled--yet I could see an image of Jesus standing beside me, crying with and for me, while I was literally saying, "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." The image didn’t leave. Jesus stayed with me through my tears and pain, looking at me with utter compassion. And then there were—and are—other times when I imagine God sitting in one place with a match box while I wander around a dark room with a match trying to reconnect and strike a spark so that I can once again see the Light that has faded but not disappeared.

So, in my own life, I guess I've never doubted God's presence. I've doubted if God could love me. I've doubted God's direct intervention/interaction through prayer--like if my prayers actually change anything but me. But even through those doubts, I pray, "God. I don't know if you're real. I don't know if you answer prayers. I don't know how this works, but..." and I keep praying. I say, "Dear God," throughout the day every day. To me, God is...

Yet...my logic tells me that this could easily all be made up--that we all need a story bigger than ourselves to believe in and the Christ story is a good one to believe in. It offers hope when times are hard--which they always are--it pulls for the underdog--and the Christian story can be used to provide clear moral guidelines for people who need those guidelines to follow. Unfortunately, the Christian story has been used to hurt and abuse people and is still used for that; however, it's a good story to move one beyond self and into a higher purpose.
Prayer is a good way to slow down, reflect, speak healing words into existence, and connect with other people. Does it work, though? I don't know. I don't get how my prayers can influence God to change God's mind if God is God. If God changes God’s mind because of people’s prayers, then it seems like the best pray-er wins—that he/she sways God to their side—and then that doesn't seem right. So I don’t understand prayer—though I pray all the time.

And I struggle with the problem of suffering--of so many people in this world suffering so much and God allowing the suffering to occur. I know the story of fallen humanity. But it just doesn't seem right for people who have done nothing wrong--for people who have just been born into a broken culture and society--to suffer so much. And that leaves me doubting heaven and hell. How can God allow God's creation--that I believe God loves--to be separated from God eternally? And then if we get into thoughts of predestination and God knowing who will and will not spend eternity in heaven…or if I think of God allowing persons to be born knowing that they will go to hell...or if I think of all of the Jews who suffered hell on earth in the Holocaust having to suffer even more "eternally" because they did not follow Christ…well…those thoughts stump me and make me wonder if we've just made all of this up to give us hope right now...

And yet...I feel God and see God and really, really desire to be part of God's redemption of this world--not just humanity but the earth, too.

One of my friends once said that I would believe in God even if I knew that God didn't exist. I think she's right.

I do believe. Somehow I believe. In my spirit as I write this, I believe. I actually feel somewhat odd writing out my doubts...like they’re wrong…yet they're so real...even as I believe.

I guess, as you said, "I know in my heart of hears that [God] is real and [God] is faithful." And I believe in grace. And hope. And the light of Love and the power of Love to transform this world. And that God IS love...

*I take a deep breath*

Sometimes I just want to give Jesus a big hug. And when I do, I really want him to have dreadlocks and to kiss me on the top of my head and breathe light and love and peace all around me as he smiles a gentle smile that says, “I love you so much—overactive Thinker and all…”

I Really Don't Want My Teeth To Fall Out

I woke myself up screaming last night.

I was dreaming that my teeth were falling out and that I couldn’t do anything to stop them.

I’ve had similar dreams before—of teeth falling out—but that doesn’t make the dream any easier.

It’s a horrible feeling to have your teeth fall out. There’s nothing you can do to stop it. You’re helpless. Out of control. Aware that these are permanent teeth that are permanently falling out. Understanding that this is really, really bad but being paralyzed from doing anything about it.

Last night, just after my teeth began to fall out—mouthfuls at a time—my mouth immediately changed shapes and my speech immediately shifted. I didn’t know how I would eat. Or sing. Or do anything important to me. I was falling apart. Literally.

Yet those closest to me just laughed. They laughed!

And I woke up screaming.

Teeth falling out dreams are evidently very common. In fact, I just stumbled upon an entire website devoted to interpreting the dreams (http://www.teethfallingoutdream.org/dream-about-teeth-falling-out/). The site says that, “Despite the negative associations that dreams about teeth falling out conjure, a complete interpretation of this common teeth dream also gives insight about positive meanings.” It then lists five keys to interpreting teeth dreams:

• Dreams about teeth falling indicate times of change and feeling of loss;
• Positive meanings: starting something new, period of growth and development;
• Negative meanings: insecurity, ambivalence, cost of inaction or compromising;
• Teeth falling out are dream symbols of costly compromise, lack of balance, insecurity;
• The intensity of the emotions in the dream are a reflection of tension felt in real life.

I’m guessing I woke up screaming because I’m a big stress ball this week—because my dream was reflecting my tension in real life. Being out of the office for a couple of weeks was wonderful, but it has left me disorganized and behind and completely unbalanced in life. I don’t know how to balance work with family with friends with church with Sabbath with passion with pleasure with transparency with boundary with wisdom with honesty with calling with self with expectation with longing with God with faith with calling with rest with life. I wrote about transitions on Monday. I am in transition. I have experienced some degree of loss. I am insecure and somewhat unable to act because I feel quite overwhelmed and extremely tired. And so…

I dream about my teeth falling out and I wake up screaming.

“Come to me all you who are burdened and are tired. Come to me and I will give you rest. Take my easy yoke, and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble and mild. And you will find rest for your weary soul. Oh come to me.”

I’m coming, Jesus. With a mouth full of teeth and prayers for positive growth and development rather than the helplessness I felt in my dream last night, I’m coming…

Pink Pants and A Blue Dress

The summer after I graduated from Meredith College, I went to Camp Mundo Vista as the assistant director. After an insanely wonderful summer, I had to leave camp, two weeks early, to start work at my first school. I remember how nervous I was that first day and how much I missed camp. I remember seeing a kindergarten teacher dressed in pink pants and seeing the art teacher for the first time. She was from Philly and wore a blue dress. I had no idea that she’d become one of my dearest friends and that the pink pants wearing kindergarten teacher would become one of the teachers that I admire most in this world—and one whose first child I helped pray into this world.

Her class was my favorite class that year. I loved when her students and assistant arrived for music. We had such a great time together. It’s hard to believe that those same kids have now graduated from high school! My all-time favorite student was in that kindergarten class. One day, when I wore a new necklace, he came up to me and asked, “Who gave that to you? Your huzzzzzzband?” I remember that moment with such clarity. I also remember a moment with her class during which we were playing rhythm sticks. More clearly than at any other time in my life, I heard God whisper to me, “This is where I’ve called you for now. But this isn’t forever. There is more for you to do.”

And then there’s that blue dress wearing art teacher. That first year we taught together, Barb and I were on opposite ends of the school. I had a room on the kindergarten hall and she had a hut with the 3rd graders. On occasion, I ventured down to her hut and we sat together and talked. Her accent was thick and hard to understand. One day she said she needed to order crowns. I had no idea why she needed to order crowns. I was imagining classrooms full of students wearing Burger King crowns when I finally realized that she was actually saying crayons :-).

Through our eight years together, B and I became really good friends. We worked at four schools together, teaching hundreds of students, preparing for countless programs, and tie-dying thousands—literally thousands—of t-shirts. She cooked foods that were new and exotic to me and drastically expanded my food pallet and ability to eat spicy things. She also introduced me to the Asian Market, at which I almost threw up because of the strong smell of fish!

One Christmas, I ventured into the Asian Market to buy B a gift certificate. I braced myself for the smell and went in saying, “For the love of B. For the love of B. I’m only doing this for the love of B.” :-) I was at the hospital when her daughter was born. I went to her grandmother’s funeral. I’ve visited her family members in the hospital. I cleaned her parent’s house for a few months. I helped her build a dog-turned-goat pen. B’s art work decorates my house and the orange fish she has given me make up the largest portion of my orange fish collection. B is one of my dearest friends. And I am so grateful that our lives collided.

I can’t tell you exactly why my pink pants wearing and blue dress wearing friends popped into my mind today, but I can tell you this: that first year of teaching—that transition from college to camp to the real world—wasn’t easy. But I made it. And I came out with some dear friends and life-long memories. Today, as I transition back to the office after being out for two weeks, I am reminded that transitions are rarely easy. Yet I know that I will make it. And I know that I will find blessings along the way. And I know that you will, too.

Oh Summer Camp

Summer camp…

Summer camp is why I work for WMU. Being a staff member at Camp Mundo Vista so powerfully impacted my life that I gave my life to serving God through WMU.

I didn’t know it at the time—that nurturing campers, cleaning vomit, playing games, jumping in the pool, working to ensure safety during thunderstorms, making up rainy day crafts, adjusting schedules, writing letters, walking through nature, leading songs, handling conflicts, making friends, arguing with the sound system, and scraping plates was permanently forming me into a flexible, well-rounded, observant, and passionate person of peace.

I didn’t know it at the time—that my goals and dreams were centering in on what WMU calls “growing spiritually toward a missions lifestyle”—that my deepest desire would become helping young women be the persons God has called them be—serving this world with the love and hope of Jesus Christ in whatever they do, however they are called.

But I know it now (and have seen it clearly for years, actually)—just how much summer camp has shaped my life. I guess that’s why I come back year after year—doing whatever needs to be done to help create the space for other young girls and staff members to be so powerfully changed.

Train on worship? Okay. Teach about personality type and love languages? Okay. Talk about healthy communication? Alrighty. Help in the shirt store and canteen? Done. Occupy the entire camp of campers for 45 minutes during a thunderstorm? I can do that. Help sort and clean? Check. Spider suck with the Shop Vac? Sure. Listen? Gladly. Accompany a staff member to visit a camper? No problem. Play in worship? Absolutely. Be a missionary? Super. Be a prayer partner and encourager. There’s little I would rather do. Wear closed toed, closed healed shoes? Okay. I’ll do it. But only because I love camp :-).

I know that summer camp doesn’t influence everyone the same way it has me. I know that some people don’t like summer camp at all. I know that the organizational work that I do today will come undone and have to be done again in the future and that interactions with most campers and staff members will quickly be forgotten. Yet. I’ll keep organizing and training and speaking and listening and handing out ice cream and braving thunderstorms and singing and praying. It’s in my fabric. My spiritual DNA. The very core of who I am. And I know that, somehow, in some way, I am connected to countless other people who carry summer camp in their core of being as well.

Who knows. Maybe some of those people are at Camp La Vida with me now. And maybe my presence in their lives, like their presence in mine, is helping them grow spiritually toward a missions lifestyle on this journey of faith.

In The Image of God

Last night, I had the privilege of leading Bible study for the 2012 Camp La Vida summer staff. In an attempt to introduce WMU’s new organization for young women, myMISSION, I used the myMISSION curriculum for the study. Last night’s theme was “In God’s Image: God as Creator.”

I always enjoy reading the Genesis 1 creation story. I love how the story paints the image of God speaking the world into creation (talk about the power of words!) and I love how each day ends with God declaring God’s creation good (talk about the inherent worth of each individual!).

As we read the story together last night, I was struck by the order of it all—how each day began and ended and how God took God’s time creating it all (talk about the need for order and structure and time!). I was also struck by the language used for God’s creation of humankind—the language of God, “making,” “forming,” and “blessing” humankind—the language of humankind being created in God’s image.

Throughout the study, we focused on this notion of God creating us, forming us, imprinting a bit of Godself within us. We discussed how, as God’s children, our lives are to reflect the image of the one who made us.

Toward the end of the study, the writer, A.J. Jordan, asks participants to read Romans 1:20…For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that people are without excuse (Romans 1:18-20 NIV).

She goes on to say: “I have always read this verse and immediately assumed that when Paul mentions God’s qualities being seen from what He has made, Paul was talking about the mountains, the ocean, the sunrise, and sunset—the nature side of creation. What if even more than those things, Paul is referring to the pinnacle of God’s creation, His image bearers—us?”

What if…

What if more than the beautiful bio-diverse mountains, lakes, and streams that I was surrounded by last week—or the vastness of the ocean or the uniqueness of wild animals—Paul is talking about humanity in these verses? What if it’s us in which people should clearly see God but us through which people are drastically turned away? What if people needed to know the attribute of God? Could they come to you and not just hear those attributes from your mouth but see them in your life?

Oh God, creator of space, time, and all things good…Forgive us, those you formed in your own image, for being destructive to your creation, and accept this prayer of desire to be a good steward of all that has been given me, including this life, so that others will see you reflected in me. Amen.

I Love The Mountains

If you were inside my head right now, then you’d be singing, “I love the mountains, I love the rolling hills, I love the flowers, I love the daffodils, I love the fireflies when all the lights are low…”

I do love the mountains.

In fact, I love the mountains so much that I chose to forgo the lake and swimming pool with the kids today so that I could stay at the cabin and watch the clouds cast shadows onto and away from the mountains.

[I’m sure there’s something to be learned from the experience, but, believe it or not, I’ve chosen just to let the experience be what it was—a beautifully peaceful experience.]

I drifted in and out of sleep just as the shadows drifted over the land and I breathed deeply and smiled often and for one brief moment I felt no stress…(even though I did miss the boys and girl and battle with a little bit guilt over not being with them).

Tomorrow, we’ll go for a boat ride and then probably go swimming and then after that I’m not sure what we’ll do.

But it really doesn’t matter.

All that matters is I’m here with my family and I’m in the mountains and I can breathe a little easier and I am content—for now.

The Fear of Endings (7.2.12)

When we moved to Bunnlevel in 1993, Miss Dog Deaton adopted us. She became extremely protective of my dad and sometimes even stood at the door to the church to try to keep people from going inside :-).

When we moved to Lillington a few years after that, Miss Dog moved with us, faithfully accompanying the man she loved. Miss Dog was a big dog. She looked a bit like a wolf, so as she got older her hips began to fail. Eventually, living for her was more painful than a quiet death, but my dad couldn’t bring himself to taking her to the vet for a final ride. My sister and I held Miss Dog as the vet put her to sleep. My dad stood at the door and wept.

After Miss Dog died, my dad didn’t get another dog because he didn't want to go through the pain of having to put another animal to sleep.

Yet…

Bullet has found him and brought him so much companionship and happiness. Just this afternoon, Bullet sat on the couch and groomed my dad’s hand out of love and comfort for at least thirty minutes. My dad fell asleep with his faithful borrowed companion by his side.

It's clear that my dad needs an animal to love and be loved by--even if that animal doesn't officially belong to him :-). Yet if he would have lived in his fear of the end, then he would have missed the joy of right now.

I have tendency to be like my dad—to fast forward life, circumstances, opportunities, relationships, and events to the end, thus stopping myself from living in the joy of right now.

I want to change that.

God help me not to live in fear of endings but the beauty of journeys. Amen.