When Hope Sings

Some of you may relate to going to church and having that feeling that the day's service was "just for me". Today was one of those days. But this time the personal way God reached out and grabbed my heart wasn't the sermon, it was the music. Or more specifically, the who in the music.

I joined my church going on 12 years ago. It was during a time in my life when I desperately needed change. Going to other churches in the past was just something to do to look like a good person and I frequently glanced at my watch to see when it would be over. But when I attended MY church for the first time that day, I was captivated. The founding pastor was teaching and talking about how God related to your everyday life. He suggested we take notes and I did. I wrote down everything he said with the fervor of a heart that found the change she was looking for. When he finished preaching, I was disappointed and actually sighed, "Oh no, not yet".

Over the years MY church grew me and matured me and taught me. In addition to what was being poured into me, I served in various ministries and soon I became "one" with MY church. It was my second family. Over more years I faced challenges and had to apply "real" faith in my walk. And over even more years, I walked in my relationship with God to the point that church itself had become a groove; something I moved in and out of. It was more a relationship of courtesy than of "oneness".

Even though I still attend faithfully and still serve faithfully, today when I sat in the pew I looked around and thought, "Who is this church?". Not that there is anything bad about my church or drastically different. I'm still a member, I still serve, but lately I'd felt like I didn't belong. While I pondered that in my heart, the choir started to sing. I clapped and tapped and swayed but sighed,"Where's MY church?". They began to pass the mic around to different choir members to sing different solo verses which I hadn't seen them do before and just noted, "hmm that's different" as the mic moved from person to person. Soon I was distracted, and again looked around thinking and sighing, "More people have joined now. It doesn't seem like MY church anymore...". While I faded into a daydream, the voices changed from person to person in the background, but then I heard a voice. It was Hope.

Hope was a soprano who used to sing in the choir in the growing years of my attendance. And honest to goodness, her name actually is "Hope". There are some people whose spiritual gifts are beyond apparent when God uses them. When Hope sang your heart melted into butterflies. The lilt in her voice made you soar as she climbed every note higher and higher. It was always a special treat to me to hear Hope sing a solo. So when Hope left the choir one year, I was hurt. But it happens. You adjust. New choir members come and go just as new church members come and go. But today while I was pondering MY church and looking down at my hands instead of the choir, I heard a voice like a golden thread that went through my heart and thrust me back. It sounded so familiar. I scrunched up my forehead, slowly looked up and saw Hope.

The tears uncontrollably flooded my face and warmed my heart. It was Hope! Now I don't know when Hope joined the choir again. She may have been there for a long time and I never noticed or maybe today was her first day back. As she sang, she cried. And as she cried, I cried more. I don't know what God was saying to her, but I know what God was saying to me. Today, "just for me", God let me hear Hope sing and MY church felt like home again.

MY MOM IS TOTALLY FREAKIN AWESOME!

I had four pairs of jeans stuffed in drawers that were too big for me. These were my favorite jean brand and the store I'd victoriously found them from no longer carries them. Isn't that the way?? I'd given up hope of finding another brand of jeans I could wear. While visiting my mom last weekend I was telling her about my dilemma. My mom (a life-long sewer) simply shrugged and suggested that I take them in.

A novel idea! I was puzzled thinking, is that allowed?!? Isn't there some rule that you have to be a slave to the department stores? If their clothes don't fit, you have to change to fit the clothes, right?? But tonight, I pulled out my sewing machine, my four pairs of jeans and voila, I now have four "brand new" pairs of jeans to hang back up in my closet!!

While I was trying my best to keep a straight line, messing up, pulling out my seam ripper, starting again, breaking a needle, replacing the needle, re-spooling my bobbin, snipping the thread, gleefully snatching my finished product from the sewing machine, then running to the mirror to try on my "new" jeans, I kept thinking of my mom.

When I was little I once lamented (aka whined) about how the other kids didn't have to wear homemade clothes and how their moms didn't make their clothes and why couldn't we buy my clothes from the store, blah blah blah. With calm wisdom she turned to me and said, "Someone's mom made even the clothes you buy at the store. So what difference does it make that YOUR mom made your clothes?" She was right. Somewhere probably in a dark factory, tons of moms are sitting at tables sewing shirt after shirt trying to make a living for their families. But they didn't love me.

They hadn't spent time wandering through Cloth World picking out fabric I would like; pressing tissue paper patterns against my little body while I held out my arms to get my measurements just right. They hadn't stayed up at night so I could have a cute jumper to wear to school the next day.

And even though at the beginning of every school year some families were going to the mall, I was flipping through pattern cabinets. And even though I didn't always like the flowered prints my mom picked out, I had more koolats than I could ever hope for. And even though I didn't appreciate it fully at the time, thanks Mom! You are totally freakin awesome!

Insomnia

The snoozing bear on the side of the tea box had lied and my insomnia mocked me for another night. I turned heavenward and lamented, “Why won’t she let me sleep?” but my whiney prayer only made it to the celestial stratum of the apartment above me and it returned no answer. Stomping back to my bed for the fifth time, after trying the couch, laying flat like DaVinci’s anatomical man on the floor, and then the couch again, I tried to hide from the truth by tucking my head under my pillow. "If I just pretend it’s not 2:33 in the morning, I can trick myself into only needing 4 hours of sleep.". An hour later, I updated my denial, “Ok, 3 hours of sleep.”

Throwing the pillow aside and flipping over, my thoughts paced- Fiction isn’t even my voice… I don’t know how to open her story… What will her name be?... Does she even need a name? …(I google names online) … Maybe being nameless will bring more insight to her character. Will I narrate her as another character or will she tell her story in first-person? But it won’t matter if I can’t hook ‘em with the intro. It has to be catchy…oh I know! “It was a dark and stormy…” wait, that’s been done.

In my mind I began to review the opening lines, character development, and voice tenses of books I’d read. I admired and cursed the talent of their authors. My insomnia, my clock and now They all mocked me. Imaginary Amy Tan laughed at me and bragged she never had a sleepless night over a story. Agatha Christie pointed and laughed from my Kindle screen saver, “I never had to start the same story over and over. Boy you suck!”. Stephen King just stared at me in shame, shaking his head until he couldn’t even bear to look at me. “Yes I know! You were all born fantastic writers”, I pouted back and threw the pillow over my head again.

Moments later I spring from my bed and plop in front of my laptop. Even if this no-named “she” wants to elude and rob me of sleep for one more night, I will have a victory. Trying not to notice the light that will soon leak from the horizon, I declared the blinking curser on the blank page of my laptop the capital L loser and blog about my typical night as a writer. Maybe now I can get some sleep. Maybe.

JUST NAKED

...okay, so I wasn't going to say anything about it, but I want to share! And since it's been 4 months (YIKES!) since I've written on my blog, and considering the season of my life I'm in, this would be a perfect occasion and topic to write about.

Yesterday I went to a Korean Spa/Sauna bath house for my friend's birthday. When I first found out the bath house part of it was communal and buck-naked, I was completely freaked out. I do NOT do communal, especially buck-naked.

Before we went, over dinner we laughed and joked about our insecurities, Ciara's legs, our perceptions of our own bodies and how others would view us. We debated our comfort of nakedness in front of strangers versus friends. Some women were comfortable with the idea. Others, like me, were in dread of it. It was an enlightening discussion. But even as dinner came to a close and the next step was going to the spa, the question stayed with me- was I actually going to *gulp* get naked, or not?

Now just to pause and clarify, it's not like at home I turn off the lights to get undressed or something. It was just the thought of being naked in front of people. You're exposed in the most private of private. There's a vulnerability of showing yourself in any aspect of life, not just your body. And over time I've cultivated the skill of hiding those vulnerabilities well. From the beginning of time we've run to cover our "shame". It's unsettling to know someone else is going to see what you see. And here I was marching off to uncover it!

So as we approached the steps of the spa, I took a deep breath, gripped my toiletry bag tight and was still not prepared for NAKED CITY EVERYWHERE as soon as we walked into the locker room. Naked to my left (DIVERT EYES!). Naked to my right (LOOK DOWN!). Naked at 6 o'clock (OH GOD I DID NOT WANT TO SEE THAT!).

Refuge in locker #99 didn't last long. A uniformed lady informed us to "Take off all clothes now. Panties bra everything. Take shower." What? Now? Here? In front of EVERYONE? The birthday girl was on team "Who cares? This is not bothering me". Me and another girl were on team "Fraidy cat". But there was no turning back. The Naked Now lady wasn't playing. There was nothing more to do then to strip down and "take shower".

We gingerly undressed, sheepishly looking but not looking at each other with "help me" in our eyes. When suddenly, genius hit me. I know, I'll hide behind a towel! My plan was great until I saw the towels were the size of a dish rag...no wait, two dish rags. That would take care of one side but not the other. It was the moment of truth. There was nothing left to do. I held my head up high, chose the front, gripped my towel, and with my behind breezy in the wind, walked to the showers. I was scared but giddy at the same time!

However, easing into the bath did not ease my discomfort until the strangest thing happened. Another lady wearing only a towel turban and a smile says to the other member of Fraidy Cat, "Is this your first time?" She replied, "yes". NAKED lady said "It shows on your face!", then did the most bizarre, gracious, awkward, wonderful thing. She came over NAKED, shook our hands NAKED, and introduced herself NAKED. But suddenly she eased my fears. We just sat around and talked. And as we shared our experiences the NAKED and the stress melted away. I didn't feel NAKED anymore. I was just me.

We went on to enjoy the rest of the treatments meant to tighten our skin, improve our circulatory systems, and detox our bodies, but as I reflect over the night what impressed me the most was the benefit I gained in being free. As women we're set up to compete over or be ashamed of our bodies. But when I looked around (even though I wasn't looking!) and saw women of different sizes, shapes, figures, degrees of cellulite, and levels of plump or non-plumpness it brought a smile to my face. For once we just were; we were just women chilling in 102 degree water.

And even today I didn't think about the ways I need to hide my so-called imperfections. I just smiled and thought about all the other bumpy butts who had a sanctuary for one night. No one to judge. No where to hide. JUST NAKED in every way. I hope to live the rest of my life like that.

Dear Lord,

I’m in a really pouty terrible mood today. Although I was so blessed by the experience of the writer’s conference this weekend, little things got on my nerves and distracted me. Plus bad bad decision-making as I navigated my day also put me in a sour mood. But I think the real source of my crabbiness was recognizing something about myself that I know to be a real issue- self-inflicted glass ceilings. In short, I avoid getting better at things that I probably could. As You know, this glass ceiling appeared at 12 when I realized playing the piano was going to take more work than memorization (just like with the cello, and painting, and drawing, and swim lessons, and…).

This weekend I faced the reality that writing is an art and a skill. I’m saddened by the “skill” of it because it means I have to put in an effort to go beyond my raw natural talents (just like with the cello, and painting, and drawing, and swim lessons, and…). I’m sad because I don’t want to disappoint You by “getting bored” and losing interest. I feel ashamed because I think this is nothing more than pure unadulterated laziness. And I’m hurt because to my utter surprise, I’m not as fantastic as I thought I was. I need to improve.

Am I afraid to finally see how good I could really be at something? Or am I just afraid to see how really bad I am?

You and I have gotten to a point in our relationship that is beyond You telling me what to do and what not to do. I’ve reached an age both naturally and spiritually where You expect me to make well-thought decisions and choices about my spiritual walk and maturity. I have a major personal decision to make and as an awesome Parent, this time You’re silently waiting for me to make it. …

…

…

me too.

The Horror!

This morning I was given a choice. On the surface it might not seem like a big deal. But in this day and age, to some it might seem a radical choice to make. Initially it was brought upon me by circumstances. Then it blossomed into an opportunity for sacrifice. Since I’m currently in the middle of a pretty strenuous fast with my church, I was a bit surprised that an opportunity arose for me to sacrifice more. The additional sacrifice? Not having internet in my home (The horror!).

Every year starting New Year’s Day, for the past three years, my church has conducted a fast.

Sidebar- a fast is basically a commitment of sacrifice for the purpose of spiritual gain. The sacrifice should always be a personal statement to God expressing your desire for more of Him. Your sacrifice might be coffee or t.v. but that wouldn’t really be much of a sacrifice for me. In cases like our church-wide fast, we are sharing a common and typical sacrifice in the area of food. Fasts are very challenging yet very rewarding.

Each year it gets longer- first 21 days, then 30, now 40. We’re doing the Daniel fast which is basically Vegan (no animal products) dietary choices in terms of food with a Sabbath day on Sundays. But the focus of the fast this year is improving our relationships; first with our relationship with God then with others.

So back to my horror! Although I can giggle about it now, and although some of you may have gasped at the sheer thought of it, my first response at receiving the notice that I could not have internet service was pure panic. You would’ve thought I’d just lost my child at the mall. Frantically I dialed the phone company’s number. But every option I chose resulted in an automated voice notifying me “That office is currently closed. Please call back…”. My panic rose. Hanging up, calling again, stating “new service”, hearing “I’m sorry I am having trouble understanding you…”, then repeating “NEW SERVICE!” where everyone in my building would have no trouble understanding me, only again to hear, “I’m sorry that office is currently closed…”. I was horrified. But then when I talked myself off the ledge and stopped panicking, I had a moment to gather my thoughts-“What will I do if I can’t have the internet at home?” And God in His calm and patient way watched my whole panic attack take place, waited for me to stop foaming at the mouth, and gently asked, “What will you do, indeed?”

The past three weeks, I’ve seen God take care of all my needs in abundant shocking ways. Similar challenges were easily overcome or not even a factor. So is there a reason He’s allowing THIS particular snafu? For the first few weeks of my fast I’ve been focusing on re-energizing my relationship with God. I had a lot of distractions and life-challenges in the past few years that frankly, I’d allowed to eclipse my private time with Him. And as the most significant life-challenge comes to some aspect of a conclusion, I’m now having the opportunity to reconnect with Him. And suddenly I realized I was starving.

I’d already been living in a kind of fast and didn’t realize it. I was hungry for peace. I was hungry for quiet. I was hungry for reading His Word. I was hungry for calm. But while being in my current transition, I was removed from the things that distracted me and I was forced to do new things with my thoughts, time, and energy. And as I filled up that void with prayer, reading, and personal growth, I was becoming full again. I’d prayed for my relationship with God to continue to recover. I prayed to let my home be a place filled with His presence where I can relax, decompress, heal, grow, and be refreshed.

So when I looked at the internet issue again, I began to wonder if this circumstance was intentional. I thought about how much time I typically spend on the internet most evenings. That if I had it, it would probably gobble up the quiet time I’ve been enjoying with God. That especially now, I need to stay connected to Him to experience the kind of growth I desire. That, I confess, I’d been relying on “watching church” through my church’s online streaming feed more times than I’d actually been going to church. That maybe, this might be good for me. Instead of a sacrifice, I’ve actually been given an abundant blessing. Now I won’t be distracted by the temptation to waste hours at home surfing, shopping, IMing. Now I can curl up with a good book or spend quality time in verdant prayer more. Now I can challenge myself to break out of my introverted habits and be out in the public, spend time with my friends and family face to face, and actually improve my relationships! Novel idea.

When I went to bed last night I prayed that God would let me know what to do about it in the morning. So when I woke up this morning I felt He offered me a choice. I truly believe that all I have to do is call the phone company and God can and would be willing to resolve the issue. Or I could not call and instead enjoy this time of peace, enjoy this opportunity to interact with actual people instead of getting everything through the internet, and soak my weary soul in the warm quiet of God’s arms. I turned on my computer, wrote out this long blog, and I’ve now made my choice- I’m going to thrive, not survive, without the internet in my home.