"We all have a little apple on our breath."

Today's sermon was powerful in a subtle, sneaking-in-there kind of way.  Even as our priest spoke I kept thinking, "I wish this was being recorded."  I knew I would need to listen, digest, repeat several times before the wisdom he spoke would become a part of me.  I silently prayed, "please let that which I need to receive sink in and stay with me."  My brain was having a hard time keeping up with my hungry soul.

Among the several bits of wisdom that I recall, here is one particular part I am still digesting:

Priest to congregation: What are the three reasons Eve gave Adam to eat the fruit?* 

The congregation responds: (1) juicy/tasty; (2) pleasing to the eye; (3) it will make you like God.

"It will make you like God," Father Robbie repeats.  Obviously, we had hit on something. 

He continued: "I submit to you that all sin is an attempt to do just that: make ourselves like God."  He elaborated by giving several illustrations - some extreme to make a point and some simple so we could relate but all similar in this one aspect: when we sin, or disobey God, we are trying to remake the world in our image.  In other words, we think we know best and choose to follow our design, instead of the rules/boundaries/limits God set before us to obey/respect/follow. 

I know that I should insert an example from my own life here.  That would be the sermon thing to do - the well-written essay thing to do.  The problem is, I can't think of one.

I know how that sounds.  Between my last post and that sentence, I sound ridiculous.  It's not that I don't sin - far from it.  I certainly do, just like all of us, even the very best of us.  It's just that I'm so brain-dead, kid-tired after a Sunday full of church and laundry and cleaning and picnic in the park that I can think of nothing.  Not one thing that would make sense in this post.

But I'm writing anyway because I truly felt branded by the words our priest spoke later in the sermon:

We all have a little apple on our breath.

Robbie was speaking of Adam's response to God when asked "What have you done?"  Adam immediately blamed Eve and God (Genesis 3:12).  Then, when God turned His attention to Eve, she immediately blamed the serpent (Genesis 3:13).  As Father Robbie put it, "there's been a lot of bad theology that has come out of those two verses over the years.  So let me just clear it up here and now.  Both of those people - man and woman - knew God's command full-well and both chose to disobey it.  Passing the buck is a good attempt at righteousness, but, in the end, we all have a little apple on our breath."

Father Robbie went on:

"I submit to you, in this one, first sin, that the level of destruction wrought was massive.  We see in this interaction a myriad of broken relationships...God and humankind, humankind and humankind, the specific human relationship of husband and wife, humankind and all of creation.  Furthermore, arguably the worst sin of all - murder - was not far behind this moment in history.  How long did it take, how far were we from the Garden before the first murder entered human history?"

Several in the congregation whispered: "one generation."

"That's right," Robbie said, "one generation."  The power of sin.  It is pervasive and spreads quickly.

One generation...apple on our breath...be like God....  These thoughts floated in my head like clouds in the sky as I sat and listened.  Occupying the same air space were thoughts of things I believe He's bringing up in my life right now:

What does it mean to allow oneself to recover?

I'm coming to the end of myself.  To whom will I turn from here?

Train of broken relationships...it is time to begin the process of repentance and restoration.

I can't further elucidate these thoughts yet.  They are still wisping past, beyond reach in the sky called my half-conscious self.  I am still an observer, waiting for a form to appear in the white fluffiness above. 

But somehow, the words that were spoken today are relevant; I know it in my spirit.  If nothing else, I know I need to turn away from self as God and toward God as Lord in some specific ways, and soon.  There are relationships to be restored.  I also know that I have so little capacity, in mind, body, and spirit, that I can do nothing in my own strength alone.  I'm learning that in a much deeper, more real, more desperate way right now.  It almost feels trite to write about it here - it's that intense.

I'm linking up with Michelle at Graceful today for her "Hear it on Sunday, Use it on Monday" blog community.

*Everything written about Robbie's words today is a paraphrase, written to the best of my memory.

My thoughts on Lent and other ramblings

I hate Lent.

I really have to be honest about that.  This week I've received lots of emails encouraging me to "press in" during this season.  I've also read the blogs out there.  (This is NOT a dig on those honest, sincere pieces of encouragement coming my way - this is just a very real post about how I feel about it all.  Please hear my heart.)

I'm not entirely sure why I dislike this season so much.  I absolutely love operating in seasons (one of the things I like about the Episcopal church).  And I love Advent and Epiphany, both seasons of expectation now that I think about it.  I don't dislike Lent for the obvious reason - because it's a time of sacrifice, repentance, self-examination in the hard-look kind of way.  Nope, I think it's because it feels religious to me.  Out of all the seasons in the Church calendar, why do we practice this one together?  Why do we make a big tado about it?

So, the paradox...I enjoy, and I understand the need for, setting aside seasons to focus on certain aspects of walking with Christ.  I also get the need to walk in community, to celebrate together ("celebrate" in the liturgical sense of the word).  And yet I resist the pomp and circumstance surrounding the season of Lent.  I don't like talking about it at church or on blogs or in email.  It even felt weird yesterday when I took my kids to Ash Wednesday service for the first time.  It felt way too public, exposed.  I wanted to be in a dark room lit by candles alone yet somehow able to still hear the sermon and participate in the Liturgy.  And, if there were other people with me in this made-up room in my mind, I'd want them to exist in shadow, on the edge of my vision, not really seen.

Maybe it's because Christ's forty days in the desert feel like his most solitary.  Out of all other moments in His life and ministry, this is the time He withdrew the longest and walked the most alone (I'm not a Biblical scholar - this is just what I think to be accurate).  I need Lent to be inward.  I need it to be a season I walk alone.  On Easter, I want to come forth, reborn from the ashes of Ash Wednesday and my forty days, and share what I have learned, giving and receiving encouragement in the Body at that point, but not before.  Before, I need the process to be mine alone. 

I don't know if that's selfish, superior, or just plain wrong.  Honestly, I don't think my perspective or emotions on Lent need to be that big of a deal.  I'm only writing this because I wanted to put a different voice out there (exactly contrary to the paragraph I just wrote above...hmm, I am full of contradictions, aren't I?). 

I hope this doesn't offend anyone.  This is just one way I feel about one aspect of the faith.  It doesn't represent my complete Christian identity.

Other ramblings...

I'm well into Chapter Four of my first novel.  Thank you again to all who are praying for me as I write.  I have felt so much grace since my writing retreat - more than I've ever felt in my life.  I know it's because ya'll are praying and He is listening!  Thank you!

I've been reflecting a lot lately on debt.  Have any of you done Dave Ramsey's Financial Peace University?  Thoughts?

I'm also thinking about what it means to keep giving when I have nothing left to give.  What it means to truly, deeply believe that God will live in that place of emptiness and give me what I need, take care of me, provide for me.  More on that later, I'm sure.

Exodus

Today, I passed by a sign on my way home from having my car inspected.  I pass by this sign at least three or four times a day.  Normally, I just laugh to myself as I glance at it.  It’s a billboard-type sign on the outside of a neighborhood church’s building.  There’s always some catchy phrase trying to be relevant, trying to lure the masses inside the church’s doors.  I laugh cynically because I think how ridiculous, how cheesy.  But then again, I always read it, don’t I?  So I think to myself again: who am I to judge their efforts?  I have no idea whom they are reaching.

The cynical laughing continues, only this time it’s aimed at me.  Will my pride know no end?

So back to my point…today there were two words on the sign that stuck with me: Exodus 5.  I can see them in black and white even now, over twelve hours later.  It’s like the sunspots you can’t stop seeing if you stare directly into the sun.  Or like a neon sign flashing brightly in my mind: Exodus 5, Exodus 5, Exodus 5.  As I climbed into bed, I decided to take a hint and read the darn chapter.

It’s early in Moses and Aaron’s career.  They have heard the call of the Lord and do their best to obey.  Obedience equals confronting Pharaoh and asking for a day off for his slaves.  Through Aaron, Moses asks for three days to make a sacrifice to the Lord in the wilderness.  Pharaoh responds with an emphatic “no.”  In fact, Pharaoh punishes the Israelite slaves for A & M’s presumption.  At the end of the chapter, Moses cries out:

“Why have you brought all this trouble on your people, Lord?  Why did you send me?  Ever since I came to Pharaoh as your spokesman, he has been even more brutal to your people.  And you have done nothing to rescue them!”  (Exodus 5:21-23)

My first thought?  I can really relate to Moses.

I flipped over to my daily reading in Romans (I still don’t understand why God has me stuck in this book…I am definitely not getting it yet.).  I reread Romans 5 (for about the fiftieth time since the New Year began…what am I missing???). 

Suffer and you’ll be glad, yea, yea, yea.  Endure and you’ll find hope, yah-de-dah-de-dah.  And to conclude: don’t be bummed that you keep getting it wrong because Jesus got it right.  He, ultimately, is the reason for your hope.  (Obviously, the paraphrasing is mine.)

My thoughts?  I know, God, but it still doesn’t make the suffering any easier.  At this risk of sounding like a whiny Moses, what the heck is the point?  You tell my husband and I to walk down one path, and it does not – by any stretch of the imagination – come to fruition.  You promise things to us, year after year, and we see no fruit come from any of it.  Are we crazy?  Are we hearing you wrong?  Are we asking the wrong questions?

The kind of suffering I’m sitting in right now is not die-of-starvation-type suffering.  It’s barely worth mentioning when compared to the things I could be dealing with.  (Heck, it’s barely worth mentioning when compared to some of the things I recently have dealt with.  Oh, how easily we forget God’s goodness.)  And yet, my heart jumps to despair at the first sign of bad news, and my flesh cries out with Moses: Why…?!?  You called, I obeyed, and you have done nothing!

Whoa, the accusation puts a bad taste in my mouth.  Pride retreats while humility surfaces.  I cannot be that arrogant, even in despair.  Even when I really, really want to whine about how much this sucks, my faith rises up and takes over.  My soul speaks the Truth:

 I love the Lord.  He loves me.  He is good.  He has given me life abundant.  There are many good purposes, both for the here-and-now and for the future, seen and unseen.  I know this to be true.

In other words: fleshy side of me, shut up!

His still, small voice reminds me: “these are treasures in heaven.” 

I fight back the urge to retort: “I’d really appreciate some treasures on earth.”

The reality is that sometimes being a follower of Christ isn’t enough.  Even the solace of knowing the only One worth knowing doesn’t wholly satisfy.  I am left feeling empty, wondering if I will ever be full. 

Is this because Christ is not enough?  No – I respond with an emphatic no.  It is because I do not see enough.  “Now we see things imperfectly, like puzzling reflections in a mirror, but then we will see everything with perfect clarity.” (1 Corinthians 13:12, NLV)

Oh dear Lord, have mercy on me.  Crucify my flesh.  For even though I can see where suffering has produced perseverance, perseverance character, and character hope, I clearly need some more work done (Romans 5). 

This is the true meaning of “In The Becoming”; this is the true meaning of life…always seeking and never quite attaining, yet getting to a place of peace with that harsh reality, with the fact that I might never feel fully satisfied this side of heaven.  Being able to be at rest in the midst of a process to the point that I can engage it fully, even though I know full-well that my goal must bow to my path.  I might not get what I want.  I must lose myself with no intention of ever finding me again. 

That is hard.  I’m not sure I can do it. 

But I will keep trying because I’m a girl in the middle.  And more than that, I’m a woman in love.  This journey is for His glory, even when I so desperately want it to be for mine.  Again I cry: mercy, Lord, mercy.

Linking up with Soli Deo Gloria again today.   

Story

I had a breakthrough today.  I was working on chapter THREE (yippee!) when negative thoughts started to block my creative flow.  I had written a few lines that reminded me of other books I've read.  I quickly re-read my entire draft and saw elements of lots of stories I've read, seen, heard.  Star Wars here, Hunger Games there, and on and on.  I started to feel disappointed, frustrated, to give up.

But then another thought came...a thought about story.  It went something like this...

Of course elements of other stories are showing up in my writing.  These other stories are a part of me.  They've been poured into me over the years, and now they're starting to come out.  To not allow them to surface, to block them, would be tantamount to treason.  Blocking them from coming out would be the same as betraying myself.  Because, as each story element comes forth, it is no longer just a regurgitation of something I have read before.  It is also a part of me, mixed with my own experiences, beliefs, hopes, dreams.  And since it has me in it, it is a new, original piece of my story.  One that I can legitimately call my own with no shame or fear.

I need not fear the old being reused and recycled because, after all, there is nothing new under the sun (Ecclesiastes 1:9).

This transformation - taking something negative that would knock me off course and turning it into something positive, something useful that will move me further along toward my purpose - feels really good.  Like I'm maturing as an artist somehow (Artist's Way, anyone?).  I'm thankful for it.

Writing Update Post Marfa

I don't have much to say - just that I'm so excited!!!  I'm well into chapter two, and I still like what I'm writing.  Thank God for an outline!!!  Seriously.  This is a new thing for me.  Normally I just write free-flow, letting whatever come out that's going to come out.  Well, I'm notorious for starting and not finishing.  After doing a lot of research on other writers and their processes, I figured out that I need to know the end before I start the beginning.  I need to know where I'm going with my story.  So, I spent most of last weekend on the outline.  And now the writing is so much easier!  It's flowing like crazy.  YEE-HAW!

Because I'm linking up with Soli Deo Gloria today, and because I believe it's true, I'll make a spiritual parallel. 

"Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith...."  Hebrews 12:2

It's so much easier to know which way to turn at a crossroads when we have the end destination in mind (GPS anyone?).  It's so much easier to know how to respond in the daily when we have eternity on our hearts (should I really yell at that guy on the road in a moment of road rage, or should I take a deep breath and ask God to bless him, knowing I need God's grace just as much as he does?).  It's so much easier to "love for the day is near" when we remember how much we are loved.

I know this sounds cheesy, but I want Jesus to be the backbone of my story.  I want Him to infuse every part of my outline, guiding and directing my story as it winds its way toward completion.  My goal and my method, let it be.

So, today, let us fix our eyes on Jesus.  Let us let Him infuse every part of our lives - the daily minutia and the big picture, meta narrative, end goal stuff.

Love to all and thank you SO MUCH for your prayers!