Free...To Be Me

This morning I am thinking about the time I cried at the circus.  I was not a child when this occurred.  Quite the contrary.  I was an adult, a mother, and an educator who had been asked to accompany a class of Kindergartners for a wonderful learning experience...and to be a chaperone.  I chatted excitedly with the little group of students that had been assigned to me, as we settled into our seats.  The show began with dramatic and captivating sights and sounds, just as I’d anticipated.  Something happened later, however, that I definitely had not anticipated.  I felt tears welling up in my eyes, and I found myself being comforted by 5-year-olds on either side of me.  They must have seen my facial expression go suddenly from happy to horrified.  They held my hands, saying, “It’s okay.  Don’t be scared.”  I didn’t try to convince them that I wasn’t scared.  I didn’t try to explain that I wasn’t afraid of the animals, but rather afraid for them.  I felt an overwhelming repulsion to what the animals were doing.  There were tigers jumping through hoops of fire.  There were elephants lining up with their feet on one another’s backs.  And there were horses, dancing, prancing, and running around with people standing on their backs.  I wondered how I could have possibly enjoyed this when I went to the circus as a child.  I remember thinking, “That’s not what they’re supposed to be doing.  That’s not what these animals were made for!”  And it made me cry.  The memory of that field trip came back to me today, as I reflected on the ongoing process of liberation that is taking place in my life.  I recall the various, cruel ringmasters to which I have been subject over the years—Fear and Recklessness, Anxiety and Apathy, Cynicism and Gullibility, just to name a few.  It’s almost as if they passed me around, so that each one could take a turn training me to be someone I was never created to be.  They certainly made me jump through hoops, and frankly, it makes me cringe to remember the dancing, prancing, and running around I’ve done.  I can’t say I understand why, but I do know that one day Love paid a price for me to be released from the bondage of those old ringmasters.  To be honest, I can still sometimes hear them calling out orders to me, but their voices are growing increasingly faint.  There is another Voice to which my ears are inclined.  It is One that tells me I am made to live in the power, beauty, and grace that are inherent to walking in my true purpose.  With gratitude, I daily embrace this gift of being free…of becoming me.                           

Progress Monitoring

This morning I am thinking about some of my aspirations and declarations over the past year.  While reading over some old journal writings, I began to reflect on the questions:  “Have I applied this?  Have I really grown and changed in these areas?”  In my work, we call this progress monitoring.  It’s a way of maintaining focus on important goals.  It holds us accountable for doing what we say we’re going to do.  And, if we realize we haven’t done what we said, progress monitoring reminds us to get back on track.  Some of the striking things I wrote, not quite one year ago, were:

“This morning I am thinking about how I have often bought into the well-intentioned but insufficient counsel of people, rather than truly trusting the wisdom of God. The result was that I would find myself "upside down"--owing much more (emotionally and spiritually) than the flawed counsel was worth. Now I will meditate on I Corinthians 2:5: "That your faith should not rest in the wisdom of men, but in the power of God." #stillgrowing” 5/29/12

“This morning I am thinking about the time a student showed me a picture that had captured his attention. His voice was full of excitement and wonder as he said, "Look, Ms. Conage. It's an obstacle illusion!" I knew he meant "optical illusion," but I also recognized that he said exactly what I needed to hear that day. God's Word assures me that, by faith, even mountains will move. So I move forward with confidence that illusory barriers will dissipate, allowing me to see the manifestation of His favor, grace, and blessings.”  6/12/12

“This morning I am thinking about bullies--specifically, two formidable ones named Fear and Doubt. Many times they have threatened me, chased me, and beat me up. But today, when I heard them taunting, I resolved not to run...but to stand and face them. I realize that in running away and trying to "save myself", I remove myself from the very position where God will manifest a miracle. So, today I will stand still and watch Him do exceeding, abundantly above all I could ask or think. Amen.”  6/21/12

Looking back, I am amazed at the progress I have made.  What I find most ironic is that I my growth in each area was provoked by trials, disappointments, pain, and challenges of various kinds.  There were times when I would have counted myself out…done…a colossal failure.  There were times when I felt like I was regressing or, at best, just standing still.  But, I thank God for His grace!  I see that, in spite of it all, He has helped me to move forward with favor and purpose.  Moreover, He has brought me out with some “stuff”—more wisdom, more faith, and more joy.  Amen.

Surrendering To The Big, Bad Wolf

This morning I am thinking about the story of The Three Pigs, and I’m chuckling.  I’m tickled because I drew a somewhat humorous parallel, while engaging in some self-reflection.  To cut to the chase, I acknowledge that I’ve spent a whole lot of time over the past year, running from what I feared was a “big, bad wolf” knocking at the door of my heart.  My goodness, was it ever persistent!  It would call out, “Let me in! Let me in!”  I didn’t exactly respond with, “Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin!”  I did, however, try to run away from it, to places I thought might be safe.  I ran to take cover in my job.  But it found me there.  “Let me in!”  I ran and tried to barricade myself in my studies.  Still couldn’t ditch it.  “Let me in!”  I even tried to take refuge in church stuff.  Even there, it tracked me down.  “Let me in!  Let me in!”  So, a few weeks ago I knew I wanted to stop running.  I mustered the courage to open up my heart, just a bit, to at least peek out and see what was chasing me so persistently and consistently.  I have to say that what I saw was quite surprising.  It was ME!  The real me.  The one who sings out loud in the car.  The one who enthusiastically dances…however poorly…to her favorite songs.   The one who is convinced that no act of kindness is ever wasted.  The one who looks for miracles.  The one who prayed a simple, sincere prayer a long time ago:  “God, please keep my heart so I won’t ever stop believing in love.”  While this revelation was definitely big, it certainly wasn’t bad.  As a matter of fact, it was wonderful!  It exposed the guarded, self-conscious, and increasingly cynical person I had started to become…running, hiding, trying to avoid or avert disappointment, rejection, and any other source of emotional anguish.  So, in an interesting twist to the story, I surrendered to the “big, bad wolf.”  Instead of running, I am now resting in confident trust.  I know that I'm always, forever in Love, no matter what happens.  It’s a truly beautiful thing.  And I’m finding real joy and wholeness again.                

The Confrontation

This morning I am thinking about the mystery and wonder of hearing from God.  Perhaps surprisingly, I am often skeptical of people who claim to have had such an experience.  I guess I’ve become cynical after witnessing many instances in which the “voice of God” suspiciously endorsed or promoted someone's personal agenda that was anything but divine.  So, to say I heard God speak to me is not without much consideration.  It happened the other morning.  I was praying that I would be focused and consistent in doing what I know is right, and not be so easily distracted or diverted by shifting circumstances.  Right as I was speaking my own pious words, I heard some other words.  There was not an outwardly audible voice, but what I would describe as a loud thought.  The Voice said, “You’ve never thanked me for calling Anthony home.”  I was startled and rather dumbfounded.  Had I heard what I thought I’d heard?  For one thing, I felt like this had absolutely nothing to do with what I was praying about.  Moreover, I was flat out offended.  I could literally feel my stomach tighten in a ball of pain, anger, and confusion.  I sat in silence for a few seconds, and then I asked, “Why would I thank You for that?”  I was thinking, “And I’m not going to be thankful for it, either.”  But, I didn’t say that out loud.  With a tenderness that melted me like warm butter, the Voice said, “When you refuse to thank Me, you’re saying that you think you understand more than I do.  Do you trust Me?”  In that moment, it was as if someone turned on a light in a very dark room.  I suddenly had a profound sense clarity and peace.  I whispered, “Yes, Lord.  I trust You.”  And I really meant it.  Over and over, I said, “Thank You, Lord.  Thank You, thank You.”  I felt as though a massive chain was broken from my heart and mind.  For the first time since my brother’s death, I was free to really be happy…for him.  I don’t know why God chose to speak to me that day, in that way, but I am grateful for the confrontation.  I could have continued on among the ranks of those whose masked vulnerabilities drain them daily of strength, such that they ultimately fall short of victory.  But, that was not my destiny.  Instead, Love arrested me with truth.  A deep wound has been healed, and I will go on to live and to thrive.  Amen.                                  

Camouflage

This morning I am thinking about the little creature I almost stepped on while walking up to my office yesterday.  Its sudden movement saved it from what would have certainly been death by high heel.  I’ll just call it a creature because I’m not at all sure what it was.  I kept my distance lest it should crawl, hop, fly, or otherwise move in my direction.  I was curious, but I was also chicken.  The way it blended in with the color of the sidewalk was something I’d never seen before.  It was a scary sight indeed!  Mercifully, a very busy time at work allowed me to quickly forget about my sidewalk encounter yesterday, but now its image has come back to me with an unmistakable lesson.  As odd as it may sound, I can picture a speech bubble coming from the little creature’s mouth, saying to me:  “I know why I’m hiding.  Why are you hiding?”  The question startles me and gives me pause.  There are things that I know, deep in my soul, God has created and equipped me to do and to be.  I’m talking extraordinary things.  Yet, I sometimes feel threatened, insecure, and uncertain.  So, I find myself trying to blend in with the familiar, with the popular, with the acceptable…with the ordinary.  I contemplate what I call “the burden of the standout”—namely, criticism, second guessing, ridicule, envy, misunderstanding, and the list goes on.  Honestly, I’m not particularly fond of that burden.  I’ve seen what sometimes happens to people who bear it.  And I don’t like the idea of feeling exposed and vulnerable.  So, I hide.  There is a noteworthy irony to this line of logic, as I learned yesterday from almost unwittingly crushing the poor creature with my shoe.  My supposed defense mechanism of blending in could actually end up doing me tremendous harm!  Pardon the pun, but the thought crushes me.  I am truly in awe of how God could use an encounter with a random, creepy, creature on a sidewalk to capture my attention and instruct me in wisdom.  Today, I pray for freedom from the dangerous mindset that renders me frightened and perfectly fitting in.  I pray that I will be empowered by the Holy Spirit to discard the cloak of camouflage and clothe myself fully in His rich, beautiful, and unique purpose for me.                  

In The Meantime

This morning I am thinking about the relative banality of the Saturday that falls between Good Friday and Resurrection Sunday.  Every good Easter narrative depicts a striking contrast between the suffering and humiliation of the Christ’s crucifixion on Friday with the glory and victory of His rising again on Sunday.  Knowing how the story ends, I understand that what happened on Sunday is what made the events of Friday “good.”  But I wonder what that Saturday-in-between was like for Jesus’ closest disciples and for others who had followed His ministry.  The embodiment of their hope had been brutally and publically slain.  There was no denying that a beautiful season of learning, laughing, loving, and living had come to an end.  What did they do?  What, if anything, did they say to one another?  What was going through their minds on that silent Saturday?  I suppose that for some, it was a day of abject sorrow and despair.  Perhaps for others, it was a day of hope-filled expectation.  I think it all depended on the degree to which they had really heard and believed the words He had told them.  And, so it is for me in my “meantimes.”  At the end of certain beautiful seasons in my life, I felt so overwhelmingly sad that it was hard to remember to hope.  It was hard to imagine that any good could possibly come out of the pain.  It was a struggle to believe that what appeared to be a tragic conclusion was only a necessary transition to something greater…something more wonderful than I could even imagine.  I have learned, however, that there is grace in the quiet waiting.  I have found that there is power in enduring the “silent Saturdays” of life, to see the resurrection of faithful promises that seemed hopelessly dead.  I have discovered that indescribable peace, joy, and freedom are imparted to me whenever I choose to view those times of patient waiting as seasons of preparation, rather than desperation.  Regardless of how dire temporary circumstances may look or feel, I know that God will always bring to pass a good and perfect outcome.  I will watch and wait with confident trust in the meantime.

Uncommon

This morning I am thinking about the statement I heard a woman make on the news.  There had been a shooting, and a reporter had asked the woman to share what she may have seen or heard.  Her quote, which captured my attention, was, “Well, I did hear some gunshots, but I didn’t think anything of it.”  All I could say at the moment was, “Wow.”  I found it sobering to imagine the life conditions or circumstances under which the sound of gunfire is so common that it would not provoke deep concern, or at least some level of curiosity.  I understand, to some degree, the desensitizing effect of repeated exposure.  I realize that it can significantly dilute, or completely destroy, a sense of awe and wonder.  I’m certain that I am not the only person who is vulnerable to the powerful lullaby of Familiarity.  Its haunting melody of “ho hum” creates a space in which I can mentally and emotionally disconnect, zone out, and chill.  Sometimes, I guess this is a good thing.  But there are other times when I know I want to be intentional and vigilant to tune out the song of the common.  One such time is this season of the Passion.  Every year, since I was a very young child, I have heard how “God so loved the world,” that He offered up His only Son.  I have heard that Christ suffered, was crucified, and was buried for my sin.  I have heard that the blood Christ shed was for my cleansing, healing, and redemption.  And I have heard that on the third day, Christ was raised from the dead for my justification.  Such wonder!  I can’t imagine ever responding to the recounting of this amazing act of grace by saying, “I heard it, but I didn’t think anything of it.”  But, beyond my words, I want my thoughts and actions to reflect uncommon gratitude and uncommon praise for God’s uncommon love.