A couple of posts back, I wrote about how it can sometimes feel like God is trying very hard to get a message across. He knows us so well, He knows exactly what speaks to that place within us that wants to hear Him. I think this is particularly true in those times that we find it hardest to hear His voice, or when we don't want to listen in case He says something we don't want to hear. Personally, I find it difficult not only to hear God but to talk to Him when I am in pain, or otherwise in a dark place. It's not that I don't want to; those are the times I want communion with Him more than ever. I just can't. I'm too distracted by the storm. I can't hear Him for the roaring of the wind, I can't see Him for the ten-foot waves between us, I can't feel him for the rocking of my little boat.
So I go away in search of silence, and the first thing I see on walking into this place is a board with these words: "Serenity is not freedom from the storm, but peace amid the storm". It's the message of Matthew 14:22-32, the same one that's been coming at me from all directions lately. Peace amid the storm, stillness in its midst. The world does not have to come to a standstill for us to be at peace. The peace of the Lord passeth all understanding, and it is where God is, which is everywhere. God is always there. We may leave, but He is constant, waiting with open arms for us to come back and be comforted, celebrated, cherished, loved.
Which is all very well, but how do you find this peace when the reality of life as you are living it is anything but? I wish there were an easy answer, but it's complicated. Because we are human, and imperfect. Because it is connected to our relationship with God, and relationships are complicated. Because an ant can only see so much of a mountain at once. So I don't have the answer, and there isn't a magic wand we can wave, but something helpful has come my way. This is what was prayed at evening prayer, the night I had spent the whole day asking God how to find the still place.
You, Lord, are in this place.
Your presence fills it,
Your presence is peace.
You, Lord, are in my heart.
Your presence fills it,
Your presence is peace.
You, Lord, are in my mind.
Your presence fills it,
Your presence is peace.
You, Lord, are in my life.
Your presence fills it,
Your presence is peace.
Help us, oh Lord, to know that we dwell in You and You dwell in us, this day and for evermore.
That's a pretty good place to start, don't you think?
Do you ever get the feeling God/the universe is trying to tell you something? I spend quite a lot of time asking God questions, ranging from "what am I supposed to be doing with my life?" to "why can't I just eat cake all the time?" - and He never, but never, seems to give me a direct answer. Most annoying, but I suspect God doesn't work that way for most people. What I think He does do is keep open the lines of communication from His end; God constantly reaches out to us, but we don't always see or hear him, because sometimes we just can't or just don't want to. It's scary to listen to God. He might be saying something you really don't want to hear, and what happens then? So we put up walls, or I do anyway - because I am scared, suspicious, stubborn, worried, angry, or for whatever reason have too much internal noise to hear the still small voice of God.
He is always there though. That is the point of Him. He doesn't go away. Not ever, believe it or not, and it can be so hard to believe it sometimes, even if you know it. And while most of us probably don't have daily visions of Him, or hear him a la the Metatron in Dogma or Morgan Freeman in Bruce Almighty (you might, I don't), I do believe He tries to get through to us all the time. He is there in prayer, in the people we meet, in the books we read, the music we hear, the art we create, the world He has made - look at a sunrise or a sausage dog and tell me God had nothing to do with that.
This is all wonderful but not terribly specific. However, now and then I think there is something God really wants us to hear, and then I think He goes all out to make sure we get the message. Now I don't know about you but I tend to be fairly oblivious and usually need to be hit over the head with it before I get it. And that's the kind of week I've had. Everywhere I've turned, every other person I've spoken to, every random moment I've experienced, I've been hearing the same thing.
There's this great story in Matthew 14:22-32: Jesus has fed the five thousand, and tells the disciples to get in a boat and cross the lake at Galilee while he goes off alone to pray. A storm arises in the middle of the night when the boat is far from the shore and everyone panics. Jesus walks out on the water to the boat, and everyone freaks out, convinced he's a ghost or spirit. Jesus tells them not to worry, it's just him, and Peter says, "If it really is you, tell me to come to you on the water." Jesus does so, and Peter start to walk towards him on the water. Everything is fine while Peter keeps his eyes on Jesus, then he notices the wind, panics, and starts to sink. He cries out, "Lord, save me!", and Jesus reaches out to him and catches him saying, "You of little faith, why did you doubt?". And when Peter and Jesus climbed into the boat, the wind died down - at which point the relieved disciples worshipped him saying, "Truly You are the Son of God."
Wonderful, and so apt for me at the moment. I feel a lot like Peter; as long as I keep my focus on the Lord, everything's fine - or at least I feel like it's all going to be ok. I trust. But I get distracted, and panic, and then I flail. It reminds me of when I was learning to play the piano and my teacher used to get me to memorise the music. I'd be playing along from memory quite happily, with the score in front of me "just in case", and it would be perfect until I suddenly realised I hadn't turned the page in ages, doubted myself, and my beautiful Chopin would collapse into a rubble of dischord and missed notes. Oh you of little faith, why did you doubt?
I also feel a lot like the disciples: I'm inclined not to really believe with all my heart until the storm has been calmed. The problem is, some storms keep raging for a lot longer than I can keep my focus.
Anyway, everywhere I have turned recently I have been hit over the head with Matthew 14. I went to the BBC Proms for the first time this year, and randomly chose a performance of Elgar's The Apostles - guess what a big chunk of that was about? My favourite stained glass window in my new church (shown to me by the lovely, intuitive vicar who thought it would speak to me) depicts - you guessed it - Jesus calming the storm. The readings in every other service/bible study/random discussion I've had in the last week or so? Matthew 14. The passage a spiritual director gave me to read on retreat? Matthew 14.
You think He's trying to tell me something? I don't believe in coincidence, but I do believe in a divine plan of such magnificent scale that it's beyond my comprehension. And in the meantime, while my bark is tempest tossed, it's rather nice to know that He will calm the storm and as long as I keep my eyes on Him, anything is possible.
This is really two posts in one, two stories I felt I needed to tell. They are separate, but connected by what they meant to me, and by the loving place they came from.
The Lady and the Cushion
I went away on retreat over the weekend, to a still, peaceful place where beauty lives. It was a gift I decided to give myself, but the giving of it cost me a lot, because I find it difficult to be kind to myself - as I suspect a lot of people do. Anyway, I spent the first couple of days in silence, trying to quiet all the internal noise I put between myself and God. For me, this is a worthwhile exercise, and a necessary once, but it's also emotionally intense and I find it challenging on many levels. The point of me telling you this is to explain that by the time Sunday morning rolled around, I was in a vulnerable place - not that this was a bad thing, but when you make the effort to open your heart, take an honest look at what's inside and turn your will to being receptive, it's going to feel raw.
So that's where I was on Sunday morning. It was a gorgeous sunny day and after breakfast I took myself off to a quiet spot by the lake just to sit and be. It had rained the night before, so the wooden bench I chose was well and truly cold and damp but I couldn't be bothered to move so I was prepared to put up with it. It wasn't conducive to calm and relaxation though!
A few minutes later, one of the women also there on retreat came trotting cross the lawn, lugging an enormous cushion. "Right young lady, you haven't been well and you cannot, you simply cannot, sit there getting cold and damp. Honestly, it can't be comfortable! Now you sit on this, you'll feel much better." And so saying, Eileen hauled me (gently) out of my seat by the elbow, plopped down and plumped this cushion, sat me back down, threw a rug over my knees and strode away again without another word. The whole exchange probably took less than a minute but it touched me to the very core of my heart and changed the complexion of that day for me. This kind woman had seen me from the house, and decided that I couldn't be allowed to sit on a wet bench slowly freezing. She didn't have to do it, and I know it sounds like a small thing, but it was just this pure expression of loving kindness, no strings attached, and it made all the difference to me. Because the truth was that I didn't love myself enough to care for my comfort, and to find that someone else could and did was incredibly moving. God was there, in that moment, in that love.
The man and the tea
This is something that happened a couple of years ago, and I don't know if I've since told the person involved how significant that moment was for me. If not, I hope he'll know now.
My world had been gradually crumbling for some time, and on this day I reached a point of total collapse. There was only one place, one person I felt I could go to and so I did - even though we'd never met and he didn't know me from Eve. I will say until my dying day that God led me there, because I certainly didn't know what to do. This nice man listened to me, and really heard me, and has continued to be there for me, all of which has meant so much to me a little blog post isn't going to do it justice. But you know what rocked my world? He made me a cup of tea. That's it. That's what changed everything. Because I could not remember the last time anyone had done that for me. I'm usually the tea-maker, the care-giver, the organiser, the Martha. To be taken care of in that small way was the most loving thing I had experienced in a very long time, and it did something to my heart. It made healing possible; I felt it, but it took me a long time to understand.
The point of all this is that it doesn't take a lot. Grand gestures not necessary. A random act of kindness, which costs you nothing, can change someone's world. These two blessed mine, and I give thanks for them.
“We should challenge the relativism that tells us there is no right or wrong, when every instinct of our mind knows it is not so, and is a mere excuse to allow us to indulge in what we believe we can get away with. A world without values quickly becomes a world without value.”
“Forgiveness is the name of love practiced among people who love poorly. The hard truth is that all people love poorly. We need to forgive and be forgiven every day, every hour increasingly. That is the great work of love among the fellowship of the weak that is the human family.”
"... follow your heart. I know it sounds trite, but it's the only thing to do. Because at the end of the day your heart will stop beating, and it will be too late to regret that you didn't go where it prompted you to go." (Berthea Snark, "A Conspiracy of Friends", Alexander McCall Smith)
God knows what He's doing. It's a truth I find it hard to hold on to sometimes, especially when nothing seems to be going the way I'd like it to, but it's an unshakeable part of what I believe and therefore of who I am. It doesn't mean that bad things don't happen, or that life isn't full of disappointments and unfairness. But it does mean that when I remember to stop being such a type-A control freak, I have the exquisite luxury of knowing that the guy in the driver's seat knows where we're going and how we're going to get there. All I have to do is go on the journey - and try to remember to enjoy the ride.
I have spent most of my life fighting my own heart. I am used to putting everyone else's expectations before my own desires, everyone's wants before my own needs, other people before my self. Not because I'm particularly good or kind, but often because I have felt that is precisely what I am not. I have a terror of being selfish, and so I find it very hard to say "no". I have been conditioned to put duty and responsibility above all else, and certainly above that pesky little ego and id - my super-ego reigns supreme.
Don't get me wrong, duty, responsibility and moral obligation are important. There are far too many people with no sense of how what they do affects the people in their lives - or who just don't care. But how do you take care of the people you love if you won't even give yourself permission to breathe?
Rob Bell, writing in Velvet Elvis, puts it better than I can ever hope to:
"I started identifying how much of my life was about making sure the right people were pleased with me. And as this became more and more clear, I realised how less and less pleased I was with myself. What happens is our lives become so heavily oriented around the expectations of others that we become more and more like them and less and less like ourselves. We become split.
...I had all this guilt and shame because I wasn't measuring up to the image of the perfect person I had in my head.
...I meet so many people who have superwhatever rattling around in their head. They have this person they are convinced they are supposed to be, and their superwhatever is killing them. They have this image they picked up over the years of how they are supposed to look and act and work and play and talk, and it's like a voice that never stops shouting in their ear.
And the only way not to be killed by it is to shoot first."
The very first time I read this passage, a few years ago now, I felt the power of what Rob Bell was saying. It scared me how close to the bone this man, who had never met me and didn't know me from Eve, had come. I read this, and I saw myself, and I knew that he was right. If I didn't stop living this way, I was going to end up dead.
I knew this, and still I could not, or did not, or was not quite able, to stop myself. And so I kept going. I fought it, and I tried, but I kept going. I didn't want to, but I kept going, because that is how I am. I am a perfectionist, and I try hard, and nothing is ever good enough. I am never good enough. Way to miss the point, huh?
And finally, finally, it has almost killed me. It has almost, quite literally, ended my life.
There is a story that's been doing the rounds for years, told as a joke but with a serious point to make:
A religious man is on top of a roof during a great flood. A man comes by in a boat and says, "Get in, get in!" The religous man replies, "No I have faith in God, he will grant me a miracle."
When the water is up to his waist, another boat and rescuer come by but once again the man responds that he has faith in God and God will provide a miracle. With the water at chest height, another boat comes to rescue him, but he turns down the offer again because "God will grant me a miracle." Finally, as the man is almost completely submerged, a helicopter throws down a ladder and they tell him to get in. Mumbling through the water in his mouth, he says - you guessed it - he believes God will come to his rescue. Of course, he drowns. He arrives at the gates of heaven with broken faith and says to Saint Peter, I thought God would grant me a miracle and I have been let down." St. Peter chuckles and responds, "I don't know what you're complaining about, we sent you three boats and a helicopter."
I have turned down several boats, but there is no way I am not getting on that helicopter. It means letting go of a lot, and leaving people behind. It means having to fight a lot of learned behaviour. It means giving myself permission to be the person I really am, instead of struggling to be the person I am expected to be - which, horror of horrors, means accepting that maybe, just maybe, who I am is enough. No, not good enough, which has nothing to do with anything; just enough. It is the hardest, most terrifying thing I have ever done (and this is a lawyer speaking). But it is better by far than the alternative.
It is going to be a struggle, and I am going to need help - most of you will have no idea what it took for me to recognise and admit that, to myself much less to anyone else. But at this point I have nothing to lose. So I choose not to let the floodwaters close over my head. I choose to be free. I choose life. And it doesn't really matter that I don't know what I'm doing, where I'm going or how I'm going to get there, because God does, and I have found, in some of my darkest hours, that I really do trust Him. So, don't worry about a thing, 'cause every little thing's gonna be all right.
"The friendship of Jesus is lasting. Other friends may grow old and cold. It is not so with the friendship of our Savior. Other friends may possibly misunderstand us, Jesus never. His love is the same in youth as in old age. The friendship will rather grow stronger in old age. When you have lost what to you seemed everything, and you find yourself friendless and alone, despised and forsaken, Jesus will be your dear and precious friend."
"You who are letting miserable misunderstandings run on from year to year, meaning to clear them up some day; you who are keeping wretched quarrels alive because you cannot quite make up your minds that now is the day to sacrifice your pride and kill them; you who are letting your neighbor starve until you hear that he is dying of starvation or letting your friend's heart ache for a word of appreciation or sympathy, which you mean to give him some day; if you could only know and see and feel all of a sudden that time is short, how it would break the "spell." How you would go instantly and do the thing which you might never have another chance to do."
"Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her." Luke 10:41-42
Most of us are familiar with the Biblical story of Mary and Martha, told in Luke 10:38-42. Jesus and his disciples were on their way, moving from town to town, village to village. At this particular village, Martha welcomed Jesus into her home. Martha scurried around, making sure there was food, shelter - everything her guests might need. She didn't stop for even a moment, not while there was still work to be done. Mary, meanwhile, sat at Jesus' feet and just listened to what he was saying. Eventually, tired and frustrated, Martha appeals to Jesus to tell Mary to get up and help her. And what does he do? He rebukes her!
At least, that is how I saw it for many years, and I must say, I took it deeply personally. I was as hurt as if Jesus had appeared before me, tutted, and told me off. Because I am, and always have been, very much a Martha. I do. If I'm not doing, I don't feel right. I don't feel that I'm living with purpose unless I'm trying my hardest to take care of everyone and everything. And there has always been a part of me very much in sympathy with my Biblical namesake; I too feel like saying to Jesus that it's all very well to sit and listen, but if that's all everyone ever did nothing would get done! And then where would we be? Jesus hit the nail on the head with me - I am worried and distracted by many things.
But as with so many things, context is everything. The story of Mary and Martha is immediately preceded by the parable of the Good Samaritan, which suggests that comtemplating without doing is at best a futile exercise; at worst, it can cost a life. Yet Jesus tells Martha "there is need of only one thing" - to listen. So which is it?
Once I stopped being so offended at Jesus for speaking to Martha as he did, I grew puzzled. Because Martha was an important part of Jesus' ministry. Jesus could have provided food, water and shelter for himself and his followers but he didn't, not on this occasion anyway - Martha did. She provided hospitality and in doing so, helped make it possible for Jesus to provide for others, to do what was important for him to do. In her own small way, she helped to enable Jesus' ministry. Taking care of people was her ministry. Martha served.
And perhaps this is why Jesus tells her to take a time-out. No one can keep going and going and going without burning out, as I have learned the hard way. Martha loves Jesus, so she serves him the best way she knows how. Jesus loves Martha, so he tells her she needs to strike a balance. He is not telling Martha her work is worthless, or to stop completely. He is telling her not to get so caught up in it that it takes over her life, that her purpose is lost in the sheer volume of tasks she takes upon herself. Jesus reminds Martha of the importance of giving him her undivided attention.
Returning to the idea of context, I also think Jesus is offering Martha a kind of freedom. Jesus was unconventional, he challenged expectations; and I think he is letting Martha know she can do the same. At that time, in that place, a good woman's place was very much in the home, her role largely domestic. Women were not supposed to be scholars, or agents for social or political change. By allowing Mary to sit at his feet, Jesus was going against religious and social custom on at least two fronts. It was not quite the done thing to be in such close physical proximity to a woman one was not related to, nor was it usual for a Rabbi to be imparting his teachings to a woman. Jesus was inviting Martha to draw nearer to Him, and showing her she too could listen and learn. She did not have to be confined to a single role, important as that role was.
There is nothing wrong with Martha, nor is there anything wrong with Mary. But what I need in my life, what so many of us need, is to strike a spiritual balance between these two seemingly conflicting aspects of our personalities. As an inveterate Martha, it is such a gift to me to be reminded just to stop and listen. To be given permission to let go of my concerns, my busyness, the fragmented nature of my life, is a blessing indeed. To be invited to stop for a while, and just be with the God who loves me, is truly wonderful. To be reminded to listen, and be guided in my actions by what God has to say to me, by what he wants for me, is a necessity I have realised I cannot live without.
I didn't fully appreciate the value of just listening until I drove myself to a breakdown. Even then, I found it almost impossible to stop. Sheer momentum, force of habit, and a distorted sense of self-worth tied to the accomplishment of concrete tasks kept me going. When I couldn't keep going, I became depressed. And then I lost my words. When I can't do, I begin to have trouble speaking, writing, sharing. I withdraw into myself, and I struggle to break free again. The sense of my own failure oppresses me and smothers my voice. I am so thankful to have people in my life who understand this, who point it out to me when it's happening, and who just keep loving me through the hard times. I am so thankful to the people who helped me understand this about myself, and who did (and keep doing) me the service of listening to me.
How ironic, that I have always valued myself by how much I can do for others - and the greatest gift I have been given is to be listened to, to be heard. Thank God for Mary! Thank Christ for the listeners! I have always been happy to be a listener, but I never appreciated this aspect of myself. I thought it was nothing. I thought it was not enough simply to be present - largely because I always thought I was not enough. I have had, for years, a monumental double standard when it comes to valuing service, with myself on one side, always having to do more and try harder, and everyone else on the other side, where it is enough that they just be who they are.
It is temping to vilify Martha and exemplify Mary. It is tempting to dismiss Martha, as Jesus seemed to be doing. It is tempting to criticise Mary as being selfish, taking the opportunity to learn and letting Martha do all the work without offering to help. But the scripture is more complex than that, aslife is more complex than that, as we are more complex than that.
It is not about being one or the other. We are called to be Martha: to provide food and shelter to all God's children, to nurse them when they are ill, to provide for their physical needs, to fill the need that surrounds us. We are also called to be Mary: to sit, to listen, to provide a safe space for people to tell their stories, to let people be heard. We are called to serve, and Jesus through his life has shown us just how many ways there are to do this, all of which mean something, all of which are part of the larger design.
We are called to be like Jesus: to provide hospitality to everyone, even if - especially if - society considers them "second class" for some reason. We are called to make space at the margins, and to do what we can to free our brothers and sisters from the roles and ties that bind and oppress them. We are called to extend freedom to all God's children so that they can simply be.
And that has to start with me. With you. We have to give ourselves the freedom to be who we are, and then just to be.
"Lord, make me an instrument of Your peace. Where there is hatred let me sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; and where there is sadness, joy."
- Francis of Assisi -
It seems like the least we should be praying for, but oh how huge it really is! How crucial, how challenging, how small, how life-changing - like so much of God's work :)
*I pray this prayer in the spirit of yesterday's post. It's the same message, though obviously St Francis was much more articulate, concise, and got to the rub of the thing far more effectively!
"Many a humble soul will be amazed to find that the seed it sowed in weakness, in the dust of daily life, has blossomed into immortal flowers under the eye of the Lord."
"Many of the world's finest Oriental rugs come from little villages in the Middle East, China, or India. These rugs are hand-produced by crews of men and boys under direction of a master weaver. They work from the underside of the rug-to-be. It frequently happens that a weaver absentmindedly makes a mistake and introduces a color that is not according to the pattern. When this occurs, the master weaver, instead of having the work pulled out in the order to correct the color sequence, will find some way to incorporate the mistake harmoniously into the overall pattern. In weaving our lives, we can lean to take unexpected difficulties and mistakes and weave them advantageously in the greater overall patterns of our lives. There is an inherent good in most difficulties."
Today is my 30th birthday, generally considered one of life's milestones, and for various reasons I am not in a position to have any kind of celebration to mark it. Over the last few months, I suspected that this would be the case and was pre-emptively disappointed. What did it bode for the year to come if I couldn't have some serious fun even on this special day itself? It didn't look good for the next 365 days...
But why this fixation on turning 30? To be honest, it hasn't been so much about the number itself; it's not like I feel "old". If anything, I often feel more like a child than a grown-up. And that's probably part of what was bothering me. By 30, I was supposed to be a grown-up. I was supposed to be married, and have a child (or at least one on the horizon). I was supposed to be several rungs up the ladder of my chosen career. I was supposed to have a few mortgage payments under my belt. None of these things have happened, and it hasn't helped that it seems as if most of the people I grew up with have managed to achieve what I have failed to do. They have grown up and ticked the boxes we were all supposed to. If they could do it, why haven't I been able to?
I have worried about these things for years. People I love and trust have been telling me for at least the last couple of those years that all this anxiety is misplaced and unnecessary. What is all this "supposed to" talk? Who decided that there is only one way for life to go, and that if you take the scenic route rather than the expressway you might as well be walking around with a big fat red "F" on your chest, like some kind of post-modern scarlet woman? Of course, lots of people tell you, constantly, what is expected of you; and it is almost impossible not to listen and be affected. And a lot of the advice we are given is good - about working hard and being responsible and so on. But to be told that there is only one acceptable way to live?
I don't think anyone has the right to tell me exactly how I should live my life except God. And He has given me free will! What does that say?
I have had so much time for contemplation this last year, and a lot of it was time I did not want. I wanted to be up and doing, not forced to keep still when I wanted to move forward. I spent so much time fighting the stillness, and the harder I fought, the more gently but firmly I was made to be still, until I resigned myself to it. Even that was not enough. Resignation, in my case at least, contained a strong element of resistance, and so more and more obstacles (for want of a better word) turned up and pushed me beyond what I thought were my boundaries, to a whole new place of stillness, until I began to learn acceptance.
And now, I am so deeply deeply thankful that I was forced to learn this lesson. It has been a hard, painful few years, and there is still a struggle in front of me. I am pretty sure that I have only just begun to catch a glimpse of what God has been trying to show me, but that glimpse is changing my life.
Finally, finally, I am letting go of all the "supposed to"s. I am letting go of everything that kept me toiling on the path I was on, banging my head against a brick wall, even though I knew in my heart of hearts it was wrong; even though I knew it was not my purpose. I don't "have" to do anything. But there is a lot that God has planned for me, and it is better than anything I can imagine for myself, even now.
So, I am not going to rush into anything. I am not going to make any decisions based on what anyone else wants or expects. What happens next is between me and God, and having decided that feels more "right" than anything has in a long time. I think I know what I want to do, for the first time in my life. I've had this idea for some time, but I remained unsure because my vision was clouded by self-doubt and fear. Once I accepted that it was ok to make a mistake, I felt a lot happier about trying these new things.
It took a lot of pain and heartbreak, but I have come a lot closer to trusting unreservedly in the God I love so much. I needed to see that He would not let me go, no matter what. He has stood with me through all the awfulness of the last few years, never leaving me, never giving up on me, giving me what I needed to get through it, and more. He has kept teaching me, though it must have pained Him to watch me struggle as much as it hurt me to go through it. He has suffered with me, for my sake, though I have been able to give so little in return and can never match His love and selflessness.
So, it is fitting that my 30th birthday will be a day of ordinary things. I will spend it making plans and running errands for a celebration in my late grandfather's honour. The 20th anniversary of his death falls on the 1st of March, and I would rather spend this time remembering him and his life. I am glad that I have been given the opportunity to spend my birthday in the service of another. There could be no better way to begin the rest of my life.
Do you ever get the sense that someone is trying to tell you something? I have spent a lot of time, especially in the last five or so years, wishing and hoping and praying that God would speak to me, give me direction, explain a few things - explain everything. I've always been a woman with a plan (usually at least a ten year plan) and I find it really difficult to not know what is coming next. For most of my life, I have fought, hard, to maintain as much control as possible over those aspects of living I thought I could control. I worked hard and tried my best, and expected things to turn out well because I had always been told that if I did what I was supposed to, if I did what was expected of me, I would get what I was striving for.
And it worked, for a while. I accumulated degree after degree, and kept waiting for the happiness to kick in. I did all the things I was supposed to, and could not understand why that unspecified, nebulous something wonderful I was waiting for didn't seem to be materialising. Then the concrete markers of success began to fail me; or rather, I felt that I was beginning to fail - at life in general. I couldn't seem to achieve enough any more. After years of being a super-achiever, I seemed to hit a brick wall. My best was no longer good enough, for myself or for those I had been trying to please. Worst of all, I didn't really know why I was doing any of it.
So, I started asking myself what I wanted (I'm not sure I know the answer yet by the way). And that led me, mercifully quickly, to asking what God wanted of and for me. Which led me to pleading for a word, a sign, something! Because discernment is hard (as so many of you know)! It is hard to try to hear what God might be saying to you, to listen to what you know or are discovering about yourself, to face what others have to tell you about yourself. What if you are asked to go in a direction you are not inclined to follow? What if it makes you uncomfortable, or doesn't match the plans and expectations you had for yourself? What if people say things to you about yourself you find difficult to just to hear, let alone truly confront? But how will you change and grow if you don't face these things? And you know what the really challenging thing is?
"In obedience to discernment, more discernment will come. We need to be attentive and alert in order to hear and understand God's call and then act, knowing that God blesses even our mistakes." (Unknown)
Well! That's all very well, but it's really challenging for a control-freak, type A personality like myself! And therein lies the rub: control. Or rather, relinquishing control. Anyone attempting any form of discernment (spiritual, directional, practical etc) is sooner or later going to come across some form of advice on getting out of one's comfort zone, making a leap of faith, letting go of whatever you've been holding on to so tightly... you get the picture. I don't know about you, but I find letting go absolutely terrifying. I have often thought that if I could get to the place where I can genuinely hand everything over to God, I would be so much happier.
Because what a wonderful idea, what a generous offer! Hand it all over to God. Trust in Him. How positively restful! But much as I want to, I just. Can't. Do. It. I fight to retain some semblance of control, even as life proves to me how futile that is. And for me, what it all boils down to is fear. Fear of letting go, fear of failing, fear of the unknown, fear of disappointing everyone, fear that I am going to make some horrible, catastrophic, irreversible mistake. Fear that I am somehow going to lose everyone and everything. Nameless, bottomless, all-consuming fear.
Which is madness (but very human). What do I, who am so loved by my Father that He made the ultimate sacrifice for me, really have to fear? Sure, nasty things happen, but that is not the sum of the human experience. The cross did not make Christ's life less.
So, what has God been saying to me? I haven't got the answer I've been praying for - but that might be because I'm asking the wrong question, or because I haven't learnt how to listen. There is still a lot of noise in my head and my heart drowning out the still small voice of the One who loves me. But what I have been told, again and again, in one form or another, is this: Do not be afraid. In preparing this blog post alone I randomly came across the following (and quite a bit more):
"Never be afraid to trust an unknown future to a known God." (Corrie Ten Boom)
"All I have seen teaches me to trust the Creator for all I have not seen." (Ralph Waldo Emerson)
"Do not be afraid. Our fate cannot be taken from us; it is a gift." (Dante Alighieri, Inferno)
It might not be the answer I was looking for (I do so love specifics). But it is what I need to hear, to comfort me, to strengthen me, and to move me forward. It is what I keep hearing, and so it is what I feel I have to share with you. Do no be afraid.
"None of us knows what might happen even the next minute, yet still we go forward. Because we trust. because we have Faith." (Paulo Coelho, Brida).
