Perturbed By Purpose

This morning I am thinking about the lesson I learned while in my car, right outside of a school.  I was feeling a bit annoyed because I wanted to turn, to move, to go!  But I had to sit and wait.  And, the reason I wasn’t able to go?  Students.  Several of them.  Walking, talking, giggling, texting and protected by the authoritative, outstretched arms of a dutiful crossing guard.  In that moment, I didn’t admire the crossing guard.  I wanted her to get out of the way.  And I wanted the students to hurry up.  I just knew they were going to make me miss my turn signal, and then I’d have to wait some more.  In retrospect, I’m not even sure why I was in such a hurry.  It’s not as though I was running late.  I guess I just wanted to arrive in my time, on my terms.  But as I became increasingly caught up in futile frustration, a thought came to me, so simple and so clear:  “If it were not for those students, you really wouldn’t have a reason to be here.  Just calm down and wait.”  How sobering.  How very true.  There, passing before me, was my real purpose for being where I was.  I desperately needed to see and be reminded of that before I made another move.  So it is sometimes in life when I find myself in quite a hurry to get THERE…to that desired relationship, to that dream home, to that ideal job, to that sweet spot of ministry.  Sometimes I might see favorable signs that suggest it’s okay to move forward.  Yet something seems to hold me in place, requiring me to wait a while, even as I fret about the possibility of missing my turn.  It occurs to me now that the “something” is Grace.  So often it restrains me from recklessly plowing ahead and causing great harm, rather than good.  In my heart, I don’t believe that getting THERE is so much about ceremonies, celebrations, certificates or other superficial tokens that signal “I have arrived.”  Instead, I believe it’s about flowing in my purpose to be a conduit of compassion, faith, peace, light and love.  And when I quiet myself, I see my true purpose developing and unfolding…slowly, but surely…right before me.  I pray that I will remember this lesson the next time I am feeling perturbed by purpose.  I pray that I will have the wisdom to just calm down and wait, trusting that I will get THERE right on time. 

Missing Andy

This morning I am thinking about how much I miss my big brother, Andy.  I’m trying to come to terms with the fact that I seem to have somehow lost a treasured picture he gave me…the one on which he had written the words:  “My dear little sister, God has not left your destiny to chance.  Believe His promises.  Love, big brother, Andy.”  Since I pretty much carried that picture with me everywhere, it really could be anywhere.  But after searching in all the places I thought it could be, I can find it nowhere.  I’m wondering if losing the picture is a necessary next step in the process of releasing hurt to receive greater healing.  I don’t know.  What I do know is that I miss his calls when he would be laughing so hard that it would take him a while to tell me what had him so tickled.  I miss being someone he trusted.  I miss calling him on the way home from work to tell him about my day.  I miss how he listened and how he’d pray for me.  I miss him teasing me about my future husband and how he imagined my honeymoon would be!  I miss him always encouraging me to keep believing for love.  I miss his joyful singing.  I miss his playfulness and mischief.  I miss his kindness, wisdom, and strength.  I miss his hugs, and I miss his smile.  I miss communing with someone who loved beautiful words and ideas as much as I…someone who also enjoyed questioning, wondering, being surprised, and learning.  I miss the one person who always seemed to know just how and when to give me a break from having to be strong all the time.  I have heard people talk about losing a piece of their heart.  For me, it’s more that the parts of my heart Andy spoke to just really miss hearing his voice.  I’m so thankful that I had memorized the words on the back of that picture.  Likewise, I am thankful for all the wonderful memories of Andy that are written on my heart.  They are a comfort and a blessing on days like this, when I am missing him so.   

Soaked

This morning I am thinking about one of the rides at a local theme park.  It’s called the Congo River Rapids, and it involves being carried with the current in a boat that’s shaped like a large, round tube.  At different places along the watery route, riders are splashed or doused with water as they spin and turn, encounter unexpected dips, crash into cave walls, or pass under free-flowing waterfalls.  There is even one point where mischievous spectators can take aim and blast unsuspecting riders with strategically concealed water pistols from a bridge above.  Ironically, right at the entrance of this ride there is a shop that sells rain ponchos for riders who don’t want to get wet.  Admittedly, I’ve bought those ponchos a few times.  At the end of the ride, what set me apart from my poncho-less companions was that I would still be mostly dry, neat, and tidy.  What set my poncho-less companions apart from me was that they looked a mess, with dripping hair and clinging clothes that often revealed whatever was underneath.  But they experienced the real purpose of the ride, whereas all I had done was go along for the ride.  Eventually I realized the folly of my poncho purchasing, so I gave it up.  And I have to say, that’s when Congo River Rapids became one of my favorites…one that I usually want to ride again.  Sometimes as I am preparing to go forth to face a new day, it feels a bit like I’m about to board another kind of river rapids.  I know that, throughout the course of the day, there may be unforeseen events that cause me to spin and turn.  I may encounter unexpected dips from plans that don’t work out as expected.  And I might sometimes I crash into walls of misunderstanding or opposition.  So, sometimes I have paid a price to cloak myself in a poncho of pride, woven tightly with materials of fear, doubt, anger, and selfishness.  But I’ve come to understand something about the purpose of my path each day.  With each unpredictable or unsettling spin, turn, dip and crash I am being splashed with the water of faith, confidence, and persistence.  Though pistols of gossip and criticism may be fired at me from hidden places, I am actually being saturated with the grace to truly love, trust, and forgive.  And, all along the way, I am periodically passing under refreshing waterfalls of grace and favor.  When I consider these things, I am made mindful of the folly of my pride and I am anxious to cast it aside.  Because at the end of the day, I want more than just knowing I’ve gone through the motions.  I want to know that I have felt, that I have loved, that I have lived.  I may look a mess, and I may be exposed for who I truly am underneath.  But, still, I want to be absolutely soaked with hope for each new opportunity and every new day to come.                   

Earplugs for Worship

This morning I am thinking about the account I recently heard of a particular church where earplugs are handed out for those who request them, right before worship begins.  The image of people sitting with their ears muffled to songs of praise and words of exhortation was a strange one indeed.  At first I thought to myself, “How odd.”  Then I thought, “How insulting.”  (To God, I figured.)  Finally, I thought, “Wow.  How very much like me!”  To someone looking on from the outside, I have certainly mastered the popular mechanics of worship.  You’ll see me standing, arms raised, hands open, eyes closed (or focused upward to the ceiling), perhaps swaying to the music, singing sweetly.  But you might be very surprised to know that, in spite of all that, I’m sometimes wearing spiritual earplugs.  I may be all in to what’s going on around me, but totally tuned out to the One I really need to see and hear.  One thing I’ve learned is that worship is so much more than songs and music, regardless of the type or the tempo.  Worship is about surrender.  It is about yielding to Someone greater.  For me, true worship only happens when yet another layer of the thick, hard shell of my self-will is broken.  That is when glimpses of God’s glory, goodness, and purpose are revealed.  In such moments, I may be kneeling rather than standing.  I may have my head bowed, rather than tilted upward.  I may be silent and still, rather than swaying and singing.  And, whether open or closed, there will be tears of release flowing from my eyes.  I recognize that this tends to happen when I practice my ABCs of worship:

1) Acknowledge God- I focus my mind and soul on the truth that God is.

2) Believe the Word- I choose to put down and let go of my doubts, fears, hurt feelings,  

    frustrations, concerns about tomorrow, and anything else that is in conflict with (or a 

    distraction to) the exceeding, great and precious promises of God.

3) Change My Mind- I shift from thinking and acting from a place of selfishness, 

    stubbornness, and pride to one of humility and acceptance.

I have to admit, this doesn’t always occur.  Sometimes the song of surrender is just a bit too loud for my tastes.  The truth that God’s ways are not my ways and His thoughts are not my thoughts can be deafening, especially when I have resolved to remain committed to my own agenda.  But when I do engage in true worship, I hear wonderful things.  I hear amazing things that heal my soul and bring about strength and peace.  I hear that, in spite of what my trials and struggles may suggest, I am being made into all I was created to be…beautiful, whole and free.