Aftermath

And the angels filled the sky
All of heaven wondered why
Why their King would choose to be
Be a baby born to die
-Bebo Norman, Born to Die

And she gave birth to her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.
Luke 2:7


This morning I find myself alone for the first time in a long time. It’s weird. Like all Decembers for everyone, there’s been something nearly every day. Sometimes December feels like a giant to-do list: shop here, order this, make this,  pick up the thing, drive here, do this. Don’t get me wrong; I freaking love a good to-do list. So you’d think a month of to-do’s would be delightful! The thing is, I always set myself up for failure, because I want to do all the things that everyone else is doing, too. I wanted to do Advent things, bake old and new Christmas treats, decorate the house within an inch of sanity, stare at the Christmas tree, throw a few Christmas parties, go to a few Christmas parties, write a brilliantly funny Christmas letter, make all the things on my Christmas Pinterest board. Duh. So when I find myself at the end of December taking stock of the month and realize that my Christmasy crafty-ness consisted of sticking little sparkly bows on Trader Joe’s chocolate bars, well, it’s a bit of a let-down. I didn’t really think about the birth of Jesus at all. I didn’t watch one Christmas movie. I didn’t bake one damn Christmas cookie. I didn’t make gingerbread houses with my nieces. I spent my time tracking my Amazon orders that I ordered a bit late (whatever), and running to the store at the last minute. My contribution to the family Christmas breakfast was store-bought cinnamon rolls, complete with icing in a package. For a woman of Norwegian descent, you can imagine the horror I tried to ignore-not homemade?? Not packed with loving amounts of real butter?

Well, so much for all I did and didn’t do. I found myself instead blessed with the loving attentions and loving grace of my family and friends. This was the month to give myself a break and accept the goodness of others. With health issues abounding still and exhaustion reigning, I relaxed at my parent’s home and at the home of my in-laws, both of whom explode with hospitality and generosity. My dad read the Christmas story aloud before presents, and I remembered through this tradition the reason for why we gather, why we give presents, why we make food and spend time together, why we make time in an already crazy season. God came to us in the craziness of real time, of real life, in a birth of dubious background, in a time of great cultural stress and upheaval. God made Himself a gift to us, in a way that makes us scratch our heads and wonder at the Christmas story anew. How can it become old hat, become merely something on a to-do list? Thankfully, God waits for us patiently and graciously-He understands how hard it is to be human, especially in December.

A Simple Hike

These boots were made for walking.
-Nancy Sinatra

A simple hike. That’s all it was supposed to be. Just a nice, little meandering trail around the delights of Mt. Constitution on Orcas Island. Ben and I went camping last weekend, and we thought naively that we should leave the safety and perfect bliss of our smoky campfire for a late morning stroll. We put out the fire with more than a touch of regret and found the nearest trail. There wasn’t exactly a mile sign on the post pointing THAT WAY to the scenic beauty of Cascade Falls, but our map clearly indicated it couldn’t be THAT far. So we set off--Ben with his handy-dandy backpack filled with water for wussies (um, me) and honey-roasted peanuts for munching purposes.

Um. Well. Yes. I was just fine! I toddled up the trail like I’d been doing it forever…no heavy breathing, no sweat pouring down my back. Then the first three minutes went by. I quickly lost my sweatshirt, tying it around my waist like a cool kid from the 90s. Which I totally was, by the way. Duh. And the trail just kept going,  you guys. It wound up and around and down and through gorgeous valleys of dense green summer trees and bushes. I found myself breathing deeply…then huffing heartily, then gasping for seemingly elusive air after the steep hills. Thankfully, it was just Ben, me, and some deer who observed us rather in a rather askance manner. I probably scared them a mile off with my Darth-Vader breathing. Oh, and there were plenty of slugs. And ants. I would be terribly embarrassed if any of my friends, co-workers, acquaintances, or any other human found me so terribly overwhelmed by some mere exertion of the limbs. And of course, I’m telling you all about it, but whatever.

The thing is…my body has been very tired the last three years. Overwhelmed by black mold, stress, and allergies, it’s required a lot of rest time. So it makes sense I’m not quite ready to run up a trail or hike a mountain just yet. It’s hard to give myself grace and not really beat up on my poor sweating achy body. Let me tell you, though, it felt great to move around at last, at least for the first couple miles. To be out in the gorgeous nature of Orcas Island, God’s playground. The trees were so rich with summery goodness, the air so fresh, the streams and waterfalls so foamy and bubbly. Although my legs turned to pudding very quickly and I had to rest and take a nap (I would have taken a nap anyway…let’s face it) after we got back, it was totally worth it. And sitting with my feet stretched out towards the fire that evening, I felt on the top of the world. I conquered my fears that I couldn’t do a smallish hike, that I’d give out and Ben would have to call a helicopter to get me back to the campsite. You never know. Next time, I just think I’ll make sure I know long the walk is before I set out.

Things of a Summer Nature

"More saving. More doing."

-Home Depot commercial

Be still and know that I am God. 

-Psalm 46:10

People. It's July 17th. We're way into summer, and here in the good old town of Bellingham, we hit upwards of 85 degrees yesterday. Sweltering, I tell you. Positively sweltering, with a touch of fry-an-egg-on-the-sidewalk. Well, not that bad, really. But it's been hard to sleep in our apartment, and that's really how I know summer is making its presence known. The heat makes our place into a oven and it's hard to sleep while under a deep broil. But it makes me glad that even though I can't sleep, it means that summer is HERE. Every summer, I tell myself that THIS summer, I'm going to make the most of the sunny months, the long days and cool evenings. I'm going to do THINGS OF SUMMER. Make fresh strawberry jam. Host a million barbecues. Plan an ultimate frisbee game. Hike up a mountain or two. Take up kayaking or canoeing. Spend more time at the beach than indoors. You know. All the things that make summer a wonderfully sunburnt time of year, full of good memories and picnic food.

Well, I've got the sunburnt part down. And I've spent a little time by the water so far. We went on a couple of walks around Lake Padden. We had Father's Day out at Birch Bay. We did find some nifty chairs and a little table for our compact balcony, and we do sit out there fairly often. Aaaaaaand, that's about it. There's no strawberry jam in my freezer. I'm not even sure where my frisbee is. No mountains have been conquered. I don't even have the right shoes for kayaking. I'm assuming you need correct footgear? See, I don't even KNOW. And I'm more than reasonably sure that I've spent waaaaaaaaaaaaay more time indoors than out so far. You see, Masterchef and Hell's Kitchen and The Bachlorette (what is GOING ON this season??) are demanding my full attention. And my health is demanding plenty of couch time, meaning I've been guilty of canceling plans with friends, declining fun social things AGAIN, and generally taking it one day at a time. The usual.

I hate the thought of watching another summer, another year float through my fingers like clouds of July. It's so very hard to not equate a full life with full-on activity, you know? To equate busy-ness with the good life. I can't help but feel sometimes I'm pressed up against the glass and watching life and people march by on their merry way. Comparison (darn you, Facebook!) only increases my crazily high expectations for myself. When I find it hard to do the dishes or make dinner, how much harder is it to give myself a break when I can't kayak or hike the nearest trail? Doing things isn't always an option, and it's a daily process to decide if I push myself a little and get out there, or choose rest and the remote control or a book.

When I step back and stop equating real life with activity, stop comparing myself to my neighbors, I see that life...is...good. As it is. With its aches, pains, naps, Netflix marathons, and doctor's appointments. With its small beach trips, good conversations with good friends, trying new recipes, and good times with family. Accepting my limitations releases me from the dangerous game of comparison and expectations and can open my eyes to the good life I have, and this very good summer.

Roots

Why Should the Devil have All the Good Music?

-Larry Norman

Let the message of Christ dwell among you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom through psalms, hymns, and songs from the Spirit, singing to God with gratitude in your hearts.

-The Apostle Paul, in his letter to the Colossians

I've been changing my mind recently on a topic that I never, ever, ever thought to change my mind on. I'm pretty surprised myself, after being a young teenager of the 1990s-wearing every Christian t-shirt known to man and buying WWJD bracelets. I used to purchase every new Steven Curtis Chapman and Michael W. Smith album, and can probably recite all the lyrics of "Shine" by the Newsboys. Reading lots of Gilbert Morris and Frank Perretti novels, I also bought a lot of Christian POGS. And Redemption cards. Anyway, I've come a long way since then. I've worked at Christian camps and Christian bookstores and Christian software companies, enough to give me a sometimes(ok, mostly) cynical view of things labeled "Christian." Don't get me wrong-some of it is great stuff and has helped me tremendously on my walk of faith-I love writers like Henri Nouwen, Frederick Buechner, G.K. Chesterton, Dorothy Sayers, Philip Yancy, Gary Thomas, Charles Spurgeon, Fenelon, and musicians like Keith Green, Wes King, Leeland, the David Crowder Band, Ten Shekel Shirt, and so many more. Some of it should make us all cringe. Like the shirt that says, "Jesus is My Easy Button," or a book that compared faith to going through a drive-thru window and ordering whatever you want from God. Ouch.

Anyway, the thing I've been changing my mind about is...wait for it...CHRISTIAN MUSIC. Let me back up. I used to think that Christians should only listen and read Christian material...whatever that means. I think it meant buying all material at the Christian bookstore. Then I was introduced to the little idea that for the Christian, there is no sacred and secular divide. Not that it is a license to read and watch and imbibe everything-but that truth can be found in unlikely places, that Christians need not fear the so-called secular. I've found that some so-called "secular" movies or books have a stronger Christian worldview than many items I sold at the Christian bookstore. The Count of Monte Cristo, anyone? Gilead by Marianne Robinson? Vanity Fair? Foyle's War? The King's Speech? So I started to explore other kinds of music, other kinds of movies, other kinds of books. And I've found some fantastic offerings! I've mentioned on this blog before how sad music helped me with a serious bout of depression a few years ago-Patsy Cline, She & Him, Brandi Carlile. Sad music helped me process and name my grief at that time, much like Psalms in the Old Testament. Melancholy music will probably always be my favorite, for whatever reason. But lately I've been realizing my need for more faith-based music in my life. And I can't believe it, really-me, who used to scoff at all the bandwagons everyone hopped on (Left Behind, Purpose Driven Life, Thomas Kincaide, Emerging Church), who rolled eyes at the stacks of Christian romance novels people would buy, and the music that only seemed to be the "Christian" version of whatever was popular outside the church.

I still believe there's a place for being wary of accepting whatever is labeled Christian. For sure. There's so many lackluster products and mediocre stories that are told just because it's dubbed a certain way. I want to support good art, good entertainment, regardless of if it is sold at at a Christian bookstore or not. We need to be discerning of whatever we choose to entertain, to instruct us.  But in the last few years I've been dealing with chronic pain, chronic illness. Melancholy tunes are not always the best choice for me. My husband and I went on a little road trip to the coast last month, and we listened and sang along to every cd in the car on the way. Awesome. Ben had a cd with some Christian music on it that I didn't know, and I really liked it! I actually ENJOYED listening to it. I shocked myself. I think I'd stopped believing that the Christian music had anything to offer outside of Sunday morning. Then I realized that I still need good music that reminds me of Christ, reminds me of who He is, and reminds me that I'm not on my own here. I'm coming full circle back to a place for Christian music, leaving some crusty cynicism behind, and filling my head and heart with some reminding truth. As someone who constantly struggles with depression, and who lives in a culture where entertainment defines the individual, leaving my comfortable skepticism behind has been a little rough. I cling to my incredulity, which is a little too easy sometimes. I pride myself on things I like, and don't we all? And although I won't be giving up my crooningly sad tunes, I'm ready to balance out my listening habits with a little more doctrine, a little more truth about the universe and the good news of Christ. I see it as a kind of daily communion for the ears and for the heart-the act of communion-the eating of the bread, the drinking of the juice-reminds us of Christ, reminds us of His life and death and resurrection. This simple act grounds us, plants us, identifies us with Christ. He knows we need reminding; He knows we are but dust. And the simple act of listening to music that reminds us of who He is and who we are is just what we need, too.

Some Favorite Albums:

The Sound of Melodies, Leeland

The Ministry Years, Keith Green

Risk, Ten Shekel Shirt

Illuminate, David Crowder Band

Best of, Bebo Norman

The Jesus Album, Rich Mullins

Best of, Jennifer Knapp

Hard

You can’t take back what you have done/You gotta keep your heart young.
-Brandi Carlile

In our tough and often unbending world our gentleness can be a vivid reminder of the presence of God among us.
-Henri Nouwen

I’m afraid the pain will make me hard. Anxious that the aches will dry up whatever gentleness I had left in me. That the pain will only give me eyes for myself. I see people all the time with chronic pain and the elderly in tired bodies. Some of them have deep lines etched into their faces, and even speaking or pulling out a piece of paper to hand me takes too much effort. Some of them speak soft and gentle, with eyes that know pain but still contain light. And  life and pain have taken too much from others still, leaving them with permanent pain lines, with an eternal sharp tone, always expecting the worst.

These are some of the bruised wicks, broken reeds among us. I suppose we really are all in chronic pain of some kind, chronic brokenness. I’ll be honest, I too feel like a bruised wick most of the time. Unable to hold a flame, or keep a light burning. Every day, I rise and wonder if this will be the day I can’t make it. Will the pain, the exhaustion be too much this day? Most days I can set my mouth and go about the day’s tasks, only to fall on my couch at the end of the day in a wrung-out heap. I can’t keep up with everything asked of me, or everything I want to do. And it seems like every time I start to do something healing, like take up walking or stretching or giving up dairy, something else happens to put me back to square one. Maybe it’s like climbing up a huge mountain and being told not to look down. Maybe it’s not always a good idea to dwell on where you’ve been and what you‘ve lost or given up. Maybe you really need to just focus on what’s in front of you. Take another step. When I stop to think about how long this journey to health has been going on, it’s discouraging. When I think of all the supplements, the rest, the Netflix marathons, the sick time taken, the waiting rooms, the tests, the food sensitivities, the unknowns, the suffered relationships, well-it’s heartbreaking.

With no obvious answers or ease of pain about to happen, I see these as choices before me…gentle or hard, soft or hard, tight or flexible, peaceful or anxious. What will I choose this day? I am determined to choose life, to choose faith. To do what I can do, and not merely focus on what I can’t. To be thankful for the gifts that God has given me-the husband, the grace, the friends, the family, the job, the freedom, the rain, the gospel, the God-Man of Jesus Himself, His precious Word, and words themselves. To still have eyes to see the glory of nature, the glory of humankind. To still have a heart that breaks with the sorrows of the world--bombings and kidnappings and lives broken and lost. To still have hands that can work and reach out to comfort others. To still have a sense of humor and goodwill in this world. To still have ears that hear the music of pianos and guitars and human voices and babies in churches and waiting rooms. To still have feet to sink sand-deep and run in waves. I will keep asking, seeking, knocking, and remember the gentleness and love of a Savior King who went through so much more for the redemption of this entire sad and beautiful world.

Body

You have to walk like you have three men behind you.

-Oscar de la Renta

I praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. 

-David, Psalm 139

My friend Amy once told me that it was ok, even good for bodies to change. Actually, she said that it was beautiful. This was after I told her I’d gained some weight and my face was oily and acne-scarred, and I was really upset about my haggard appearance. I hadn’t been exercising or taking much care of myself much. Honestly, there wasn’t much to be proud of whenever I looked in the mirror. When Amy said that Big Truth to me, I was stunned. Oh. Wait. Really? Yes, yes, it is good for bodies to age. No one had ever told me this. It’s beautiful for a 20, 30, 40, 50, 60, 70, 80, 90 year-old to freaking change, to not have the body of someone younger or with a different shape. It’s even beautiful to embrace and love whatever your body looks like. Own it, sister.  

Since that time, I’ve started to see my body as a beautiful thing. I’ve never really heard that it’s ok to see it that way. I used to think I needed to hate it, beat up on it, only see the blemishes, only tell others about the flaws. I never felt really at home in my own body as a teenager, as a young adult. But I started to relax about it. I’ve been feeding my body cookies, kale, coconut oil AND coconut ice cream, carrots, cake, and some really weird hippie stuff. I let it lounge on the couch, then I try to take it on a walk or curl into a yoga pose. I also try to paint my toenails sometimes, or experiment with a curling iron. I want to feel pretty. I admit it! I give it loads of coffee, water, and the occasional margarita. What can I say...I’m all about hydration. I want to feel at home in my own skin. I want to feel my muscles move and become strong. I want to stretch and not die when I try to touch my toes. I want to feel free and love my body. There, I said it. And you know what, I think I really do. 

Of course, it’s not that easy all the time, is it? I’ve been struggling with health for a few years, and it’s a slow process back to some kind of move-ability, health-ability. Food allergies kick one’s tail, it appears. So does stress. The mirror still tells me I look haggard and pale. So it’s been baby steps back to health. I’ve realized that health is not a given at any time. Health can be taken at any time, and put you back any number of devastating steps. There are times when I’m really tempted to be angry and tell my body it’s stupid. Ok, a lot of times. Fine, MOST TIMES. But then I think back to what Amy said, and then I remember truths about being fearfully and wonderfully made, and how Jesus came to heal sick and broken hearts and bodies, and I am encouraged to keep going, to keep trusting that even my sick body is worthy, lovely, and even beautiful. Just how it is. Un-toned. Unable to do even half a girl-pushup. Still acne-scarred. Covered and drenched in aches and pains most times. Participating in Mostly-No-Shave-Winter. 

I believe that when we embrace our bodies as they are, maybe even be kind to them, we proclaim God’s glory in them. God’s glory and creativity and joy in life can be seen by everyone in our bodies. The apostle Paul, himself a man with physical troubles, says that if we are followers of Christ, then we carry in our bodies the death of Jesus. So that the life of Jesus may also be seen in the same bodies! Your body is worthy of kindness and attention-it carries around the essence of God Himself. What a glorious mystery, what a somber truth, what an astounding thing. Your body, as it is right now, is beautiful. Your body, as it is, shows the world His truth and love. Your body is a temple of the living God. Right now. 

So go out there and give thanks by doing what makes you feel beautiful. Maybe even gorgeous? Drink lots of water. Buy new lip gloss. Don’t wait till you’ve lost weight or can run 30 minutes on the treadmill to buy a new sparkly dress or a gorgeous bouquet of fresh flowers. Go on a walk around your neighborhood. Have some friends over and make a meal. Do some art. Sit up straight. Write a poem. Take a really long hot bubble bath. Don’t forget your vitamin D if you live even remotely north of the equator. Go read Psalm 139 or 2 Corinthians 4.  Do some yoga. I don’t know! It’s whatever makes you feel lovely and beautiful as you are.

Treasuring Change

Everybody’s changing, and I don’t feel the same. 

-Keane

But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead. 

-The Apostle Paul, Letter to the Philippians

Last Tuesday, my favorite and I celebrated two whole years of marriage together. It’s hard to imagine that not too long ago, we were planning wedding festivities and future plans together. Now we are in the middle of this astounding marriage between two imperfect but wholly commited people. Two years into this change, I still marvel at God’s grace and joy at blessing me in this way. It is the beautiful making, the growing, of me.

Yet in the midst of joyfully learning and embracing being one in life, I am realizing more and more the need for some silence, for some solitude. The older I get, the more changes I go through, and the more time I need to just think about them. I balk at most of them, to be honest. Through all the large ones and small ones alike-I usually grit my teeth and just try to get through the change. In the past few  years, there have been things like marriage, job changes, health changes, food-allergy changes, and relationship changes, just to name a few.

I was reminded recently during our small group of the life of Mary, the mother of Jesus, in the context of transition. I hadn’t really thought before how much transition and change she went through. She was told she would be the mother of God, then she was called upon to let go of that responsibility in leaps and bounds throughout her life. A missing-for-three-days 12-year old Jesus told her and Joseph that he was merely going about his father’s business...and not Joseph’s business. She was abruptly told that his real mother, his real family were those who did the will of his father in heaven. She was constantly being tugged and pulled upon to change; indeed, she had no other choice but to embrace all these changes for the good of the gospel. She had to step aside and lay down her God-given role as Jesus’ earthly mother, so he could become the Savior of the world, of her world.

How did she do it? I mean, really? The more I think about it, the more amazing her story and life becomes. We are told consistently that she pondered, that she treasured, that she stored up the events and words of these transitions. Was that her secret to not imploding? Not to merely ruminate or notate, but to treasure the change. What does that really mean? What does He want me to treasure, to ponder, to store up in my heart? What does He want me to let go of, in order to make way for positive new things? I am not a gracious changer! Not even with the good things. I burrow deep down in my little life, clench the earth in my tight greedy fingers, clinging to what I know in the shadows. Even when I'm gently called upon by my God to come out into the sunlight and dance. Dance in the new gifts He's given me. Dance throughout the changes. To grow more flexible, to open my closed hands more readily. He wants to shower gifts of freedom, laughter, purpose, meaning, health, strength, grief, joy. My head is usually tucked in, my arms crossed, my eyes closed to the good things of God. One of those very good things is...change. I've always seen change as the mortal enemy. Change takes away the familiar, the usual, the cozy-worn-in-slipper feeling of my life. Changes bring bracing winds, reviving rain through a constant need for decision, a constant need for Jesus. Surely the gift of decision...how will we choose our life's path...how will we handle change thrust upon us...how will we respond to daily joys and sorrows, to pain of all kinds, to life-changing events...is a true joy, a true responsibility.

I'm finally realizing that I can embrace change with joy and courage. My head doesn't have to hang low...I don't just have to grit my teeth and hold on. Even though that is sometimes all I feel I can do! But it seems that somewhere deep inside, I have the guts and the determination and the know-how to change with grace and confidence. We don't just have to love change for the sake of change, either. We don't just have to "treasure" seemingly random change or difficult transition without any reason. The reason is because we are born to change. Changing means growth. I’m realizing that of course, I don't want to stay the same! I do want to grow...and that does mean transition by necessity. Perhaps this is one reason Jesus used the metaphor of the vine and the branch when illustrating the life of a lover of God-because learning to abide means learning to change. The branch grows around and into and takes hold of the vine, the root, the trunk-the source of strength and existence. And it's beautiful and natural and good and hard to change. It takes seasons and time and all kinds of weather for a tree to fully mature. Here's to growing up in hope, faith, and love, looking forward with joy.