gather 'round the table

One week before Thanksgiving I got an email from "Neighbor's Table" telling me that they would be delivering tables to the southeast region of the states...would I like one?  I had been wanting a big farmhouse style table for several years now, and had inquired about one when we first moved here.  However, the timing wasn't right.  And Pete said he would build me one.  Two plus years later and I read the email with a glimmer of excitement.  "Pete, what do you think?..."  He could see my excitement and this time he agreed to the idea.  But I wasn't sure if there was still time...I hadn't responded to the email immediately and several days had passed.  Would it still be possible to get a table?  I tried not to get my hopes up too much.  But within 24 hours of my first email I heard back that a table would be loaded onto the truck from Dallas, Texas and I would be the final stop on Wednesday night (the day before Thanksgiving).  Sarah (the one behind Neighbor's Table, and also the one to deliver my table) wondered if I'd like to put together a dinner party for Wednesday night...and she would love to stick around and eat with us.  A dinner party the night before Thanksgiving?!!  Pete and I decided it would be worth the chaos and stress of fixing another meal...a way to celebrate the arrival of my table.  And not just any table...a table that held meaning for me.  You see, I have come to see that one thing I have done whether living in Kentucky, Laos, Chiang Mai, or Florida is have people sit around my table and eat.  I love to bring people together.  I love connecting people, and to welcome people around the table.  Whether it's a birthday party or a holiday or just a weekend evening gathering, I love to share my home and life with my friends.  It's one way that I feel I can love others, and build community/relationships with others.  It's a great way to introduce people to each other and help them leave feeling like friends.  And Neighbor's Table is exactly this: a love mission.  The vision behind the table is gathering people, and loving people.  My heart says YES, YES, YES!!  And so I was super excited about the arrival of my table.  It was not "just a table".  It was a vision of sharing love, resources, space, stories, friendship, around food...around a table.  In the midst of a time when politics seem to be causing division, when we hear of fear and hatred, when we begin to feel despair over the condition of our country...I feel that I can offer my table as a place to bring people together.  To live out the Kingdom of God...a place where all are welcome.  None are turned away.  The invitation is open.  The invitation is love.  And no one leaves the table empty.  May my table be a place where many gather, and where our stories are shared, and where love grows.  Amen.

ready or not

Ready or not, here I come!! Words from our favorite game of hide and seek.  And true now as Christmas approaches.  IT's coming whether we are ready or not.  How are you making yourself ready for the holiday?  It's easy to get swept up into the commercialism side of Christmas...my boys have been telling me what they want for Christmas since Halloween (it seems).  And I've been annoyed to be honest.  I wish they didn't assume Christmas meant they could ask for the most expensive and longed for thing that they've laid eyes on since last Christmas.  I wish they were into the deeper meaning of the holiday...reflecting on the birth of Jesus, and what an amazing gift this little baby was to all of us.  BUT...they ARE CHILDREN!  So Lord, have mercy.  I will be buying my boys presents...
But seriously, we all have associations with Christmas that are not all "spiritual".  And I think that's okay.  It's a time of gathering with friends and/or family to share warmth, listen to Christmas songs, put up the tree and be enamored by the lights, drink hot mulled cider or hot chocolate, and do nice things for others.  These are good things.  These are even holy things.  I don't really like to separate what is "spiritual" and what is not.  I think it is all sacred and wonderful as we lean into each other, lean into God, lean into the empty spaces that we feel the rest of the year.  We long for community, deeper relationships, closeness.  And this is the time of the year that we feel freer to exhibit these emotions of delight, laughter, joy, even a childlikeness as we touch the ornaments and remember years past when we put these same ornaments up on our trees.  Christmas brings back memories.   Memories of childhood.  Memories of the birth of our first child.
I am not ignorant to believe that all the memories are good, or that all of you reading this have good associations with Christmas.  Perhaps some of you have closed your heart because Christmas carries with it bad memories.  Or maybe you felt disappointment with it as a child when the presents you wanted were never under the tree.  Maybe you don't see any reason to get joyous this Christmas season.  That's ok.
But that is where the simplicity of the first "Christmas" (I realize it wasn't really called Christmas y'all...) causes me to pause in awe.  A woman carrying a child that she had not been dreaming about before she got news that she was pregnant (she was just planning to get married!)...a woman who really wasn't "special" by any earthly means.  A woman who was not known by many.  In fact, when she and her husband came to Bethlehem on a donkey, no one was laying out the red carpet to welcome her in.  Nope.  She was told "sorry, there's no room here.  Move on." and probably she heard lots of annoyed sighs, mumbled phrases behind her back, or even doors closed.  She and her husband were nothing special.  They kept moving along, even with a very swollen belly that made moving along a slow laborious task.  But they knew they needed to find somewhere to lay their heads and welcome this little child into the not very welcoming world.  A world that needed hope.  A world that was in need of love.  A world full of fear.  And so they kept searching for a place that would be their place to give birth and life.  And finally, someone said "Yes, I have a small simple place for you.  IT's nothing much, but you can use it..."  And with no other choice, this simple woman and man entered into a humble place to give birth to a little child who was coming to bring hope and light to a world full of despair and darkness.
Does our world not feel similar even now?  In light of all the hatred and fear that we hear rumblings of on the news.  Does it not feel that we, too, are longing for hope and light and healing?  Are we not quite similar to the condition of the world then, when a little child was born?  And so I look around and wonder how I might make room for life and love and hope to spring up in my home.  Can I make room for people to gather around our table?  Is there room here for a little one to show us the way to heal and have hope?  Yes, Lord Jesus, we welcome you here.  We need one who can help us.  There is so much fear and hatred and hurt and pain in the world we live in.  Sometimes it feels like we have no way forward.  Sometimes it feels like there's nothing that will change it.  But we make room for you. We make room for hope, and light, and the birth of a little baby who came to show us another way.  Come, Emmanuel, come.

colors of autumn

breaking the silence

It's easy to not post anything here because I often get stuck between "great thoughts in my head" and actually sitting down to type these great thoughts.  And then those "great thoughts" disappear.  So instead of waiting for those great thoughts to return, I'll just write something to break the silence.  Just because.  Sometimes I get caught up in trying to say something "great".  And then my posting stops because sometimes I just have things to say...are they great or not?  There's a lot of felt pressure to write cool things, funny things, wise things...but why not take the pressure off and just write?  I've been asking myself this lately.  So...here I am just writing.  Just being myself.  Or at least trying.  And so I am going to stop as quickly as I started because if I keep going, I will start trying to be "great".  Sometimes it's nice to just be.  And let that being be enough.  The end.

remember who you are

Sometimes I forget who I am.  I start trying to be someone I am not--forgetting that this isn't going to lead me anywhere but to emptiness and loneliness.  This forgetting comes when I start to lose sight of the beauty of who I am--uniquely myself.  Just as we all are and should be.  But when we are surrounded by others who have forgotten--or who have never really seen their own unique beauty--we start to question ourselves.  I have found myself doing this recently.  I have been on a LONG journey of finding myself.  Asking "who am I?"  This question has meant getting to know God and believing that he created me just right.  But our world tells us there's something wrong with us.  Marketing makes sure we always feel a sense of incompleteness and need (you can't make money off of people who are content and don't need anything).  And so our world, and likely our friends, are reminding us constantly that we are not enough.  We need to change something.  Buy something.  Be more of something.  Create something.  Do something.  We are NOT ENOUGH.  We can't possibly be valuable as we are.  And so we become forgetful of who we are.  Or maybe we never really knew (since we left childhood behind...)

But doesn't it feel good to be with old friends who really knew us back when life seemed less complicated?  Or maybe they knew us during a season when we were walking through something hard and they stuck by us.  Or maybe you have a friend who you feel safe to be yourself in a way you can't be with anyone else.  And when you get back together with that person you feel a deep sigh of relief...like you have just kicked your legs back in a recliner and you don't have to do the dance of trying to prove or become for the moment.

This past weekend my husband had this opportunity.  His dad passed away which meant flying up to New England to be with people he doesn't know very well (and who don't know him very well).  After the family time he was able to make a short three hour drive to be with a good friend from college.  A friend who knows Pete in a different way than most other friends.  As I talked with him this morning he said it was so good to be with this friend because he felt like he could be himself--even after seven years of not seeing each other!!  No sorting through layers of insecurity and self-doubt.  Just being appreciated for who he is, and appreciating another friend and his wife for who they are.  This is rest. This is a gift!!

Gosh, why do we forget so easily?  Why do we so quickly get swept up into a current that pulls us away from our centeredness?  Forgetting who we are is tiring.  Remembering who we are allows us to rest.  "Oh, yeah, this is me.  I am not all those other people.  I don't have to prove myself to them.  I'm enough as I am."  

There's just one me.  Just one you.  When I make room for all the diversity of beauty and stop trying to find myself in you or others I can rest.  I can stop relating to others in a way of trying to find myself, and just BE MYSELF.

But to remember takes an intentional stepping out of the busy-ness of life.  It takes a stepping outside of the school of fish and looking around.  I have to quiet myself and allow myself to listen to what's inside, listen to the voice of my Creator.  I cannot find myself when I am busy swimming around with everyone.  

The invitation is to remember, and to know.  If you feel weary, it might be because you (like me) have forgotten who you are...and who you aren't.  It's okay my friend.  Step aside.  Remember who you are...and then you can step back in.

arms open wide

I found myself glaring at the man standing just opposite from me on the subway.  He stood out and I couldn't help but watch him and feel deep hatred towards him.   It was obvious that this man was in Thailand as a sex tourist...or at least that was what I perceived.  It was hard for me to ignore him and go about my own business.  Everything in me wanted to go tell him that what he was doing was wrong.  Instead, I just glared at him...hoping he would feel that he could not just be anonymous with what he was doing.  Someone noticed.  I noticed.  Even if everyone else remained aloof and diverted their eyes...I noticed.  My heart ached for the young woman who was trying her hardest to appear that she was happy to be with this man...this man at least three times her age.
But I felt helpless, and the anger (hatred) that I carried within me did no one any good.  It did not stop the man from buying sex from this young woman.  It did not free the woman from the sex industry that night.  The hatred just stayed within me, burning and leaving me weary.
Over time I found myself suspecting all the men around me.  We were in a small country in Southeast Asia for the purpose of helping some of these young women who wanted to leave the sex industry.  I had left America to serve these women...with a desire to help them find emotional healing and spiritual freedom.  But instead I found myself weighed down by the heaviness and the darkness that seemed to be lurking everywhere.  When I would drive around the city I saw it everywhere.  Perhaps my imagination was on overdrive and began seeing it everywhere...or maybe it really was.  But instead of being energized to do my part in helping, I felt the heavy burden placed ever increasingly on my shoulders.  Only when we would leave for our brief vacations would I feel a sense of weight lifted...only to return one week later and find it was all still there.
And then one weekend I went down to Bangkok in order to see a doctor for health issues I couldn't resolve (likely a result of the stress I was carrying around).  As I got on the subway, I at once noticed these men lurking everywhere (yes, they are many).  But something happened.  I found myself moved to pray for them.  Instead of cursing them under my breath and shooting fiery hateful arrows towards them, I smiled and prayed blessings over them.  "You are loved!" I whispered under my breath.  Why?  It was a strange thing.  But I realized that these men needed love and prayer and blessings just as much as the women.  These men were hurting, too.  I found myself moved deeply with love and care for these men.  It was a new feeling, but so much better (and lighter) than the hatred I had allowed to simmer all too often.  It reminded me that these men needed people to love them and see them as humans just as much as the women needed love and dignity.
Perhaps one might say that neither my hatred towards these men, nor my love towards these men did anything to change the situation.  But I would disagree.  Something big changed.  Me.  With the hatred I carried a heavy burden with me that I could do nothing about.  But with love I found myself open and light, allowing the burden to be God's.  Not mine.  My heart (and arms) could open to these men and women, not be closed.  Today as I sat at church taking communion I looked up and saw Jesus in our stained glass window.  His arms were extended and open wide.  That is the Jesus who says "come to me all who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest."  That is the Jesus who welcomes the sinners and lives are changed.  That is the Jesus who offers love to the sex tourists, to the broken sex workers.  That is the one who offers life, not death.  Love not hate.  And that is the one I wish to carry around and offer.  That is the one who gives us hope in a world so broken and full of hate.  I wish to open my heart and arms to the hurting.  Those arms are the arms I have needed.  Those are the arms that the world needs.  Those are the arms I wish to extend again and again to others.  May it be so.

hitting the bottom

One year ago plus a few months, I found myself at my very bottom.  It was a scary place to be, but there was no avoiding it.  All my coping mechanisms had failed, and I was mentally/physically/spiritually exhausted.  There was nothing left to fight with...so I guess you could say that I finally surrendered to my bottom.  Finally allowed myself to let go of fighting it.  Perhaps that is the place we all have to hit in order to finally allow a deeper work to happen in our lives.  I imagine it's what an alcoholic must come to in order to finally admit they need help and begin the long hard recovery process.  So long as we can keep fighting against the bottom and avoid going there, we will. No one in their "right" mind will choose the bottom as long as they believe they don't have to.  So long as we think we can figure the way out, we will keep figuring our way out.  But eventually, some of us will hit the bottom.  The dark, scary, low place where we have been avoiding all these years.  And once we've hit it, the only way forward is to embrace what the bottom has to teach us.
When I was on my fast landslide down I was in full panic mode.  Reaching out to everyone I knew to pray for me, shield me from my bottom.  I didn't want to go down.  I wanted to go up.  But all my efforts to go up were only taking me a little further down.  What had worked for years before was not working anymore.  In a way I knew that I was heading down.  A good friend of mine that I've known since my seminary days (15 years now!!) Skyped with me once a week.  There were several weeks when I didn't want to talk because I knew that I was just going to do "more of the same"...meaning sob.  Big weepy sobbing.  It was scary.  It was messy.  It was not pretty.
But she stayed.  She insisted that we Skype.  She insisted on being there even if all I could do was say a few words through my snotty nosed sobs.  She was there for me, helping me see that I was not alone.  That she would stick it out to the bitter descent to the bottom.  On one of these calls I expressed a deep fear..."I feel like I'm going to end up in the mental hospital!"  And instead of gasping in horror or shock, she assured me that she had known good women who had been in the mental hospital, and that it had been okay.  While I was still horrified to think of myself going to a mental hospital, somehow knowing that my friend would not stigmatize me or look at me with anything but love...it lost some of its FEAR factor.  Even my worst fear would be okay.
In the end, I did not end up at the mental hospital.  But I don't really say that to boast.  I actually am quite humbled that I didn't end up there.  But I was close.  The doctor started me on anti-anxiety meds to help me deal with the state of anxiety I was stuck in.  These meds started to bring immediate relief, though they were not the answer.  They were merely the ticket to begin to step away from the edge of the cliff.  I was able to sleep again.  But the hard journey was yet before me...
For the next two months I spent hours just being.  Journaling, resting, being still.  Meditating.  Finding my Center (for me God is that center).  I went on daily walks.  EVERY THING I DID was with the hope of finding peace.  My thoughts were consumed with how I would get out of this dark low place.  How I would overcome the anxiety.  How I would climb up the tall mountain looming before me.
I still remember one day when I went for a walk and the whole way home thoughts of wanting to die loomed in my head.  It was SCARY.  I was afraid of this desire to not be alive.  I had to fight for my life because I had two boys who needed a mom.  When I got home I immediately started texting any friend I could think of who would lovingly respond to me in my time of need.  PRAY FOR ME!!!  I texted.  I knew I could not fight this darkness alone.  I needed friends to pray for me and fight for me.
During this time I found a verse that said "I will fight for you, you need only to be still."  The idea of God fighting for me was novel.  I had tried to fight against the anxiety for so long, and I was exhausted.  And I knew that there was nothing in me to muster up and pretend that I knew how to fight the anxiety.
Surrender was the invitation.  It continues to be the invitation in my life.
I'm not really sure what has inspired me to share all of this today, but in the last month I am finding myself in a very different place.  A place where I do not feel threatened to think about the dark pit of one year ago.  I am no longer standing on quicksand.  I can sense a firm ground beneath my feet.  Perhaps I sense that God is with me, allowing me to look at that place and see where he has brought me up and out of.
And what is interesting to me is that I know that my story is not merely my own story...it is our story.  We are all interconnected (whether we want to be or not).  And so I do not think that what I have learned from this past year is only for me.  It has deepened me, changed me, done something in my very being.  I am not the same person.  And I believe that this work is God's work in my life.  And it's the kind of work he wants to do in each and every one of our lives.  Your bottom doesn't look like my bottom.  In that way our stories are different.  But we all have those places of darkness.  Some of us have met those places already.  We have encountered those places and discovered the treasures that lie in the muck of surrendering to His work in our lives.  Or perhaps you are IN that place of darkness right now, still wondering what the path up and out will be.  Some of you have not encountered the darkness, or perhaps you are avoiding it.
But I feel like my life is a testimony to the truth that the fear of the darkness is much scarier than the actual darkness itself.  And as we let go of all our own attempts at saving ourselves--in this act of surrender--we will find that true life is there waiting for us.  And God will fight for you...you need only to be still.  Peace be with you!

a new song

There's an old joke that goes like this "What happens if you play country music backwards?....You get your wife back, your house back, your kids back, your broken heart back...(add whatever else you lost)"  HA!

  Job might have appreciated this joke, though I'm sure that after actually living out the reality of having everything taken away he might have given a half-hearted grimace to this joke...because even the country singers out there really don't understand all that Job lost.  And it wasn't as simple as playing the song backwards to get it all back.

  This past year I sometimes found myself identifying with Job.  Feeling like so much had been taken away...so much loss.  And I would entertain the question of whether that meant in the end it would all be given back (only better?!)  But of course, my reality was so different from Job's.  I still had my husband, my two boys, my dog, my house.  Nothing materially had really been taken away.  So where did my sense of deep loss come from?  As I sat and reflected this morning it occurred to me that my loss was at an unseen level...but quite real nonetheless.  What had been taken away from me?  My illusions, my "gods", my securities, my worldview.  And while these are not seen with our eyes, they are the wallpaper of our lives...the setting and the background of how we relate to our children, our friends, our spouses, our very own selves, and most of all--God.  

  Returning to the states from overseas was a loss.  We chose to return, but it was a loss all the same.  It was a loss of a dream, loss of an idea of how our lives would look.  We had imagined ourselves living overseas ALL OUR LIVES...raising our boys there.  And the reality was that it wasn't working.  The better decision was for us to return to the states and...for a while...raise our boys in America.  Loss of dreams.  Loss of ideals.  Loss.

  For many years I have tried to figure out how to help my youngest son's skin to heal from eczema.  And instead of watching it get better--no matter how hard I/we tried--I watched it get worse.  I watched my son become moodier, more withdrawn, less carefree as his skin became redder and itchier and more uncomfortable.  Loss of health.  Loss of ideals of having a healthy child.  Loss.

  Then anxiety hit because my worldview was challenged.  I had been trying so hard to search for answers.  Trying so hard to fix my son's skin.  And it just seemed to keep getting worse.  Why wasn't God healing my son?  Why was God allowing this?  Why wasn't God answering my prayers for direction, wisdom, insight in how to help?  Why was God (seemingly) silent?  Instead of leaning into God and trusting Him regardless...I found myself like a rebellious child.  Wanting to shake my fist at God.  Wanting to ask why he was allowing us to suffer.  Wanting to scream "enough!" to the darkness I was finding myself enshrouded by.  I couldn't keep pushing through anymore.  I couldn't keep trying to fix my son's skin.  I couldn't keep living in the prison that I had created for myself.  Waiting for my son's healing before we could really go on living.  Waiting for all to be "restored" before I could be free and joy-filled.  Loss of illusions.  Loss of beliefs.  Loss.

  When anxiety hit this time, it came like a huge wave in the midst of a storm.  I was hit hard, and I went down.  I couldn't get up for air long enough to get my feet back under me.  I was swept with the current, and everything that I had been standing on was swallowed up by the tsunami that overtook me.  I tried my old ways of dealing with the anxiety, but this storm was too great for what had previously worked.  My tool bag was useless to right myself up again.  And so I was swept up into the storm.  Loss of worldview.  Loss of beliefs.  Loss.

  But in the midst of the storm, there was a sense that surrender and letting go was the only way forward.  The person who tries to flail their arms and swim in the middle of the ocean will not survive.  But learning to float...leaning back and letting the water buoy you up...that is the way to survive the storm.  Loss of trusting myself.  Loss of securities.  Loss of control.  Loss.

  And while it was not that simple...it was that simple.  Floating is relatively easy.  It does not require that I am a strong swimmer.  In fact, it really doesn't ask me to be strong enough at all.  It requires me to stop trying, stop using my own strength, and to trust.  And that is the very invitation that this loss has opened up for me.  For SO LONG I have been trying to do it all with my own strength.  And I have felt like a failure.  And then I have tried harder.  Only to hit another wall.  When the tsunami hit, sending my world upside down, I felt completely disoriented.  I was devastated.  I couldn't see how any of this was going to be a way forward.  But the more I fought it, the further back I found myself.  Until little by little I would lean back in exhaustion and float.  This was my first lesson of trust.  And how loving and patient God was in teaching me this lesson.  He did not let the waves crush me or swallow me up.  He allowed me to try again and again to fight, and then again and again to let go and float.  And each time that I would float, I would see that I was ok...that I was surviving!!  And hope would begin to rise up inside of me.  Loss began to birth something new.  Loss opened up a doorway for restoration.  Loss became hope.

  I can only write from this perspective now...one year after the great tsunami hit.  I could not have seen this lesson of floating along the way.  There were times when to trust God felt like I was being asked to jump off the top of a tall building, not knowing if anyone would catch me.  And the very thought of this would send me running (flailing) into the darkness of anxiety and fear.  But slowly, so subtly, I began to learn to float.  And then one day I began to realize that floating was the way forward...the way to heal.  

  I don't want to play this last year's song in reverse.  I don't want all that I lost back.  And then it hit me--he doesn't play the old song backwards.  He gives us a new song.  And that is what I want.  A new song.  The old song was getting me by, but it was holding me back from true life in so many ways.  I was not free.  I was imprisoned by my illusions, my beliefs, my "gods".  The new song is one of freedom, life, trust, letting go.  And it is his song sung over me and in me.  As I learn to float (because I am still learning) I will come to know more and more the beauty of his song.  

Step into trust

When I woke up and looked in the mirror this morning I was once again reminded of loss.  My hair is thin because a lot of it fell out in June last summer.  Nobody could tell me why--was it the medication I was on for anxiety, or was it the anxiety itself?  Whatever the cause, there was no clear answers as to whether it would grow back.  It was hard for me to accept this, in fact it still is.  Hair is said to be the woman's crown of glory.  Well, my crown of glory isn't feeling so glorious these days.  And so in a world that clearly prizes outward beauty, I am struggling to dig deeper into the unseen beauty we all possess...and to let it rise up.  Quieting the inner critic that meets me each time I look in the mirror is far from easy, though.  I'm afraid that so far I still hear the critic's voice louder than my creator's voice.  "Your hair is thin.  It's not what it used to be.  It's not beautiful."  And my stomach clenches in a tight fist, ready to punch something...but what?!

Since the mirror cannot tell me anything comforting, I cannot bear to look too long.  So I go downstairs to make coffee.  Coffee=momentary comfort, does it not?  So in the midst of a Saturday morning when the boys are home and making their own noises, I still manage to steal a moment to myself on the couch with coffee in hand.  As I look outside at our beautiful green garden (I love living somewhere where it's green year round!) my mind goes back to a phrase that I clung to in another difficult experience..."I don't understand, but I will trust you."

It was 1997 and I had just celebrated my 21st birthday on an airplane headed from Oklahoma to Cambodia.  I was surrounded by classmates from college and at the hour when we crossed the international time zone, my friends sang "happy birthday" to me.  It was the shortest birthday I ever had...and my 21st nonetheless!  We were heading to Cambodia to teach English for the summer between our junior and senior year of college.  I was excited and nervous.  I had never been to Southeast Asia, but we had spent the last month learning about Cambodia's history and reading books.  Cambodia's history from the years following the Vientam war was unstable, and so the books we had read spoke of the horrors of the Khmer Rouge.  But we were all assured that it would be okay.  In fact, our original destination had been a small province in China, but then we were told it would not be "safe" to go there.  So the destination was changed to Cambodia.  (There's a lot of irony in all of this...)

We arrived to Cambodia on July 3 and got settled into our guesthouse (full of cockroaches that walked across us in our beds).  The next day was July 4--strange to think that it was America's day of independence, and we were all the way over in Cambodia.  Worlds apart in so many ways.  Outside it rained (poured) and we watched children come outside and play soccer, even in the big puddles that were forming in the mud.  Our eyes were taking in so many new sights that were unfamiliar but beautiful because it was like opening our eyes to see for the first time.  That is what visiting a new country will do for you--help you to see again.

On July 5 we toured many of the important sights in Cambodia.  We visited a sight where many Khmer had been tortured and killed during the Khmer Rouge.  It was heavy to be in a place that spoke of death of so many innocent children.  Each person had been photographed, and their pictures hung on the wall--children, women, men.  It was a lot to take in for young American college students.  Then we drove over to the palace.  A place of beauty.  We were walking through casually listening to our tour guide when we noticed that tourists were running towards the exit.  Our guide spoke "don't worry, it's okay."  But the tension in the air was noticeable. Quickly we were escorted to our van, and we immediately noticed that the streets were eerily vacant.  There were army trucks in the street, and we quickly drove back to our guesthouse.  We still had no idea what was going on, but it was obvious that this was serious.  Though my memory is a bit piecemeal on all that happened next, what I recall is stopping in front of our guesthouse where we thought we would be going in, but instead we were told to stay in the van and go to the local American host's home.  At this point I believe we had heard some loud booming noises and knew that something bad was happening.  But no one was telling us anything yet.  The van hurriedly made its way to the home of an American family whom had helped arrange our trip to Cambodia.  The family's home of 3-4 bedrooms became a guesthouse for 30+ college students for the next three days as we waited out the shelling beyond our walls.  I shared a pillow on the tile floor with my friend for the next 2 or 3 nights.  It was intense, and hard to understand.  It was during this time that the words came to me "I don't understand, but I will trust you."  Strangely I felt peace even in the midst of a high stress time.  

During an intense three days, we somehow managed to keep our spirits up.  Several of us got sick to our stomachs (the loud rumbly kind of sick), but we pressed on.  The young men on our team (we later found out) were trained on how to defend the home should anyone come to attack.  They would take turns sleeping outside where they could guard the home.  Meanwhile, we still managed to eat good food as the American family had just been to the market to buy food.  And we had plenty of clean water to drink.  We never went hungry or thirsty (though some of us were not hungry for stomach reasons!)  We had a guitar and would sit around singing songs and talking to pass the daytime hours.  We also had drills on how we would all fit into a room should we need to retreat and take refuge--trying to fit nearly 40 people and water and supplies into one room would definitely be tight.  I think we were all hoping it wouldn't come to this.

Though my memory is a bit sketchy--I believe it was July 7 or 8 that we heard rumor that there was an emergency airplane to evacuate foreigners in Cambodia.  We were told that each person would only be able to take one carry-on item, meaning we would be leaving most of our belongings behind.  I had brought my guitar over to Cambodia (looking back I am not really sure why I did this?!) and so I chose to bring it back.  This meant not having much space for clothing.  I asked a friend if I could stuff a comb and contact solution into her bag, and I managed to stuff a shirt and underwear in with my guitar.  When it was time to go we drove through the city for the first time since it had all started. We could see signs of the shelling and looting as we drove through.  There was still smoke in the air, and the streets were eerily silent.  Everyone was hiding in their homes, while the civil war raged all around.  The airport was all shut down and had been one of the places targeted by the shelling.  We arrived to a scene of hundreds of others waiting to board the emergency airplane.  Everyone was sitting outside (the airport was closed up) and waiting to see if they would be able to get on.  We had managed to secure just enough seats for our large group--we could see this as a miracle when we arrived to the large gathering of people, all equally desperate to leave Phnom Penh behind.  I'm not sure how long we waited, but the time came when the doors opened and we began to board the plane from outside.  I'm sure that many of us were holding our breath as we boarded the plane.  After the doors closed and everyone was seated and buckled, we began our lift-off.  As the wheels left the ground and we found ourselves in the air, everyone broke out in simultaneous cheers.  Clapping and cheering all around.  Breath held became breath exhaled.  We were safe.  We had made it out!

The plane took us to Bangkok, Thailand where we would spend the next few days processing the intense three days in Cambodia...

So how does thin hair and a civil war in Cambodia even begin to compare?  That's a good question.  But what spoke to me this morning was the very same words that brought me comfort nearly 20 years ago "I don't understand but I will trust you."  

There are more opportunities than one would hope for in life to trust God during an otherwise uncomfortable experience.  I have struggled with anxiety for so many years, and yet the same invitation is out there...to lean into God and trust him.  To stop trying to figure it all out with my head and step into the unseen where hope and love and peace exist.  When I grasp for explanation I am left with anxiety and turmoil.  Because honestly, there are so many experiences in life that just don't make sense.  And even if they do make sense, we are not comfortable with the explanation.  I still have plenty of opportunities to worry and be afraid and try to fix the "problems" I am faced with, but when I step into the worry arena, I am beginning to lean on my own understanding.  I am leaning on my human ability (inability) to solve the problems, to find solutions.  But when I step out of the worry ring and step into God's invitation to trust, I find that I am in a place of wonder, peace, and a different kind of living.  One where my physical senses do not guide me to what is true.  One where I must lean on what is unseen and gather up the courage to trust that there is no fear in love.  And if God is for me, then who can really be against me?  That is where I want to live.  That is where I will find rest.  That is where I will find my beauty and worth.  "God, I do not understand, but I will trust you."

tall mountains

Rich Mullins song has come to mind a lot in this past year...in a season where I've wrestled with myself, with God, with my demons.  "Surrender don't come natural to me, I'd rather fight you for something I don't really want than to take what you give that I need."
And I wonder why I am so weary.  Why I feel so anxious.  Why I can't sleep at night.  Why life feels like it's against me.  Why won't God take away the hard things?  The suffering?  The problems that are obstacles to the life of joy and peace that I so long for?  I have prayed for peace and joy for so many years of my life.  Sought after it like holding water in a hand...watching it trickle out the bottom, gone.  It has felt like an elusive pursuit.  One that perhaps is just not my lot in this life.
And yet...I am told that he has come to give us life.  To give joy and peace!  We are told that he does not give us a spirit of fear, but a spirit of power, and love, and a sound mind.
I know most of the verses that talk about peace.  I have prayed them, cried over them, shaken my fist at God because they just aren't happening in my life...
And he says that anyone who has the spirit of God living in them does not have fear living in them.  The two cannot exist in the same place.  And yet fear is lingering in me.  I have asked over and over for this fear to leave. Asked God to come and fill me.  Why is it still there?  And the possible answers fill me with more fear.  Perhaps I'm not praying the right way.  Perhaps I've missed something.  Perhaps I don't have enough faith.  Perhaps...
"Come to me all who are weary and I will give you rest."
I have cried out for this rest.  Longed for it.  Wondered what it would feel like to feel at rest.  To me that means the opposite of anxiety.  The opposite of banging my head against the wall.  Perhaps it looks like surrender.
But how does one actually surrender?  I have thought about war and how when the side that is losing finally faces the fact that they don't have what it takes to win, they surrender.  I've wondered if there is a sense of peace when they lay down their weapons and stop fighting?  Perhaps they are terrified and at peace all in the same moment.
"Surrender don't come natural to me..."
I've wondered what surrender looks like.  How does one surrender?  How do I let go and let God?  How do I stop fighting and trying and fixing?
I'm a pro at trying to figure things out in my head.  And internet has really helped a person like me to feel like all it takes is typing in the question and finding the answer, and then trying it.  I've tried lots of supplements, I've bought lots of products that tell me they're the thing I'm missing.  I've believed that if I just eat this way I'm going to get better, and I'm going to sleep well tonight, and my son's eczema is going to get better...
BUT the problem is, there is always the next website that tells me why this won't work, or why this other supplement will work instead, or maybe I need to worry that there's something wrong with me that isn't wrong with anyone else in the whole world...so there's not a solution for me (even though there's a solution for everyone else).
Half empty supplements standing in my closet remind me daily of all my attempts to find answers for my anxiety, insomnia, and eczema, etc.
And yet I keep trying to figure it out.  Trying to fix the problems that stand between me and that abundant joy-filled life.
I have struggled with this tendency for most of my adulthood, though it's looked different in different seasons.  But I can look back and see the thread of fear, and my response to it by looking for answers, trying to control the situation...and how sometimes this will temporarily hush the fear.  Temporarily problems will seem fixed.  Sometimes the problems go away, only to be replaced by another...darn it.
So what's a girl supposed to do?  
Nothing.  Stop.  Cease striving.  Quit.  Surrender.
Oh my, oh my, oh my...I feel like I'm being stripped of my weapons, laid bare.  How do I stop doing when that's all I have practiced?  My weapon in the face of fear is to fight it.  To figure out how to overcome it.  But I'm discovering in this past year that no matter how much I try, this mountain is too tall for me to climb.  All the self-help books, all the counseling, all the doing...it's just not getting me up the mountain.  Because I'm trying to walk up the mountain on my own path.  On the path of my own strength, my own doing.
I look around hopelessly.  Straining to see if there are any other paths that will enable me to get to the top of my fear mountain, to overcome it (and not be overcome by it).  I feel like the rock climber who has scaled a great cliff, but have 10 feet above me that I just can't get up and over.  It's the hardest part.  The rock is lose, crumbling, and I'm not able to get my footing.  Weary, shaking, and very aware of the long fall below.
And this is where the story shifts.  I hear a voice say "Lori, you can't.  Now it's time for you to sit back in the harness and trust me.  Surrender.  Stop looking at the mountain above you and relying on your strength.  You and I both know that you don't have what it takes..."
And I'm left on the side of the cliff knowing that I don't have the strength, but not sure that I can let go of the side of the  mountain and trust the rope and the harness.  But the invitation sounds nice...sounds restful even.
In the last few days I've had this realization...I don't have the strength to summit the mountain that is my fear.  I don't have what it takes.  My hope lies in an invitation to let go.  It feels strange to "do nothing".  But it also feels freeing.  If it's not up to me to overcome my fear and anxiety, then I can rest in this place of listening and waiting.  It's a different kind of doing...it takes intentionality.  Because each time I begin to attempt to fix or do something, I have to stop myself and say "nope, not going to play that game anymore.  Lay down your weapons, sit back and trust."  So it's a new way of moving forward.  With no guarantees of what the road ahead looks like.  But instead of asking Google to figure out what is going to work for me, I'm asking God...who knows me and understands me.  He gets me.  I'm not his guinea pig.  I'm not even the exception...the one that can't be helped.  Nope, there are no exceptions with God.  And that is why there's hope, even for me. (and you)

Hold Me Jesus--Rich Mullins
Well, sometimes my life
Just don't make sense at all
When the mountains look so big
And my faith just seems so small 
CHORUS:
So hold me Jesus, 'cause I'm shaking like a leaf
You have been King of my glory
Won't You be my Prince of Peace 
And I wake up in the night and feel the dark
It's so hot inside my soul
I swear there must be blisters on my heart 
CHORUS 
Surrender don't come natural to me
I'd rather fight You for something
I don't really want
Than to take what You give that I need
And I've beat my head against so many walls
Now I'm falling down, I'm falling on my knees 
And this Salvation Army band
Is playing this hymn
And Your grace rings out so deep
It makes my resistance seem so thin 
CHORUS 
You have been King of my glory
Won't You be my Prince of Peace