Discipline

The Superbowl is on and I'm not watching. Not intentionally. I was just caught up in trying to get it done--so to speak. While it embarrasses me to say so, I'm a remarkably undisciplined person. Life is full of great ideas, goals, and projects--inevitably, I begin several, attempt to meet impossible standards, and eventually move "it" to the back burner. For the past several months, the goal has been to finish. Just finish. Before moving on to something else. Focusing on the task at hand. Giving it my full attention--or as close to full as possible. Over all of this--I want to be aware of what's important, what requires my attention and what just sucks me in. I want to bear down on my gifts.

We've been talking about "calling" at church. One of the things I love about my 30's is perspective. In some ways, calling can be elusive--but sometimes it's just whatever sticks. Words have stuck to me. I teach about them, I write with them, I think about them, I explain them. But, what I lack is discipline. And here's what I'm wondering, if living in our calling requires us to recognize that our worth is found only in Christ, then we must immerse ourselves in that reality. Such an immersion requires a discipline of remembrance, constant referral to truth, whole faith.

Psalm 93, 96; 34 [morning/evening]
Genesis 24:50-67
2 Timothy 2:14-21
Mark 10:13-22

Fullness

This morning, Luke and I sorted through a closet shelf full of miscellaneous items I've been throwing there since his birth. I'm amazed by how soon we can reminisce. He's just two and a half, but he almost seemed to remember the favorite infant toy I pull from a box. Tiny hats, socks, and memories from showers fascinated him--but he seems more interested in the story behind it: "Mommy, what's this?" "Who gave this to me?" "What's this for?"

But the weather today feels like a March afternoon and we left his room in its disastrous state in favor of a walk. In fact, we stayed outside until oneish--he played in the mud with his dump trucks and a shovel and I sat in the sun and read about bread-baking. The house...well, the house is in various states of disarray. But my experiment today--of throwing my agenda to the side and listening to God? I think it's working.

Here's the thing--yesterday, in church, we talked about calling. Our pastor said that we're called to impact others' lives through Christ "for the common good." And truly his words hit the exact spot I've been bearing down on for several months now: Where exactly am I supposed to throw my impact? Logic isn't exactly my forte, however, it seems that wherever my impact is going to be, I'm going to have to be there too. In other words, my impact is going to occur wherever I am; whatever I do has some impact. We all know from direct experience that our impact can be negative; this is sin. But when our life is rooted in Christ's--this is when our impact directly adds to "the common good."

There's so much to say about this, and it's a train of thought I don't want to jump from. I know these things about myself: Right now, I'm called to be a wife and a mother...in my world, this means I want to build my home with grace, skill, and love. I keenly feel a call to use words to connect others to Christ--in varied forms and settings. And that's it. I'm not called to be skinny or a published writer--even though I judge myself by whether I've accomplished those things or not. (And I haven't.) But "size 6" and "Randomhouse" have nothing to do with my calling.

I sat and thought about Psalm 25 for a long time this morning...

"Show me your ways, Lord,
teach me your paths.
Guide me in your truth and teach me,
for you are God my Savior,
and my hope is in you all day long."
(vs. 4-5)

Psalm 25/9, 15 [morning/evening]
Genesis 8:6-22
Hebrews 4:14--5:6
John 2:23--3:15

Maturity

As I continue to confront an unhealthy dependence on my "agenda," I've tried to distill my major roles. What's absolutely necessary? What responsibilities have I taken on just because I feel them as expectations? So this morning, when I read "... become mature, attaining to the whole measure of the fullness of Christ," I read it as a command. It's not--Ephesians 4:13 discusses Christ gifting believers to lead others to that fullness.

But inwardly, part of me groaned. I just turned 33, and while I don't want to ever wax eloquently about my persistent insecurities, I just don't feel very different from Jess at 23 or 13. Or...the close to 3 me in this picture.... Right now? I'm learning how to be a wife and mother. But at 23, I was learning how to navigate life after college. And at 13, I was exploring my growing independence. There are mistakes galore, mis-steps--sometimes predictably so, and when I read about fullness, my first thought is, "Yes! I want that...but I am so immature..." Sometimes I sense I'm learning the same thing over and over again--it just emerges with a different frame.

Psalm 148, 149, 150/114, 115 [morning/evening]
Genesis 7:1-23
Ephesians 4:1-16
Mark 3:7-19

Shaking the Earth

I thought I was over indignant reactions to what amounts to crackpot comments from leaders. [Or people who are vociferous enough to be heard...it may very well have nothing to do with leadership.] But for the past several days, I've been unable to get Pat Robertson out of my head! While some friends I've spoken with are amazed I'm shocked at all (after all, what did I expect him to say?), I don't want to become accustomed to the mangled, distorted, misconstrued sides of life.
__________________

I've been writing this blog for over an hour and a half now. I'm stuck. I've started, stopped, backspaced, typed furiously...until I'm just now frustrated with every facile thought that starts its trip across my screen. Without hesitancy, I can say that events like Haiti's earthquake send me reeling into an apathetic coma. My desire for extreme action leads me to complete inaction. What to do? What to do? I honestly considered, on the way home tonight--with my chatty toddler in the backseat--how much I wanted to jump on a plane and head to Haiti. It was the same feeling I had in college when I daydreamed about joining the humanitarian effort in Bosnia. How much of this is some sort of self-aggrandizing fantasy and how much is my genuine heart....I don't know.

But I know this was outside of God's Design. Death, hunger, agony, blame, thirst--these things were not part of the picture when the world began. I mean, we're talking about a God Incarnate who chose to turn water into wine as one of his first demonstrations of his "glory." A God who favored Noah--a needle in a haystack. A Man who went through death, hunger, agony, blame, and thirst. As much as life before the Resurrection exemplified our desperate situation, life after should reflect our Redemption. I mean--believers in Christ are under grace, not the law. The law reflected our separation from God--the extent to which we can't be holy or righteous. Faith in Christ depends upon recognizing our inability to attain righteousness on our own.

And so, I guess I'm in the midst of a theological fog. Do I think God's ways change? No. Neither does his character. But I do think God's story reached a climax when death lost. And this was a turning point. Now, instead of a negotiated religion between men, priests/prophets, and God--it's us and Him. For some reason, this turning point also implies, to me, that God probably doesn't swoop down and wipe out nations anymore. Could he? I can't deny it. But that was a different part of the story.

Psalm 16, 17/22 [morning/evening]
Genesis 6:1-8
Hebrews 3:12-19
John 2:1-12

Beginnings

Psalm 1, 2, 3/5, 7 [morning/evening]
Genesis 2
John 1:1-18
Hebrews 1:1-14

I have to admit some disappointment this morning when I realized the coming weeks of Epiphany readings are sending me back to the beginning. In an effort to read the Bible through from beginning to end, I've read Genesis countless times...usually fizzling out somewhere in Leviticus. But each of these readings pointed toward the beginning of God's story in a different way: John highlights Christ's presence "in the beginning" and Hebrews differentiates that presence from angelic beings. And today, as I read Genesis 2, I reflected on the creation of humanity. Rather than simply speaking us into being, God formed us with his own hands, breathed his life into us, created us in his image.

I need to know that. It seems that lately I've been questioning God's story overall. Somehow it was easier to believe in cosmic significance in my early 20's...and now, as I approach [gulp] 33, I wonder if this is it. I've gone from lofty (but never enacted) plans to assist in humanitarian efforts around the world to a more practical day to day existence. But when I read Psalm 1, which contrasts the firmly planted believer with the unbeliever blown about by the wind, I found this written in the margins: "a heavy life." And I want that heaviness--not in a melancholy, self-absorbed sort of way, but in building a life of depth, deep connection, and beautiful weight.

"Is the Lord among us or not?"

Psalms 121, 122, 123
/131, 132[morning/evening]
Isaiah 45:14-19
Colossians 1:24--2:7
John 8:12-19

When the normal schedule resumes, blogging apparently proves challenging. Time has again become a commodity, and I determine the worth of a task or event by time-spent. In fact, this week, it occurred to me that I don't have an insatiable desire for money--I have an insatiable desire for time. To a fault, I don't care about clothes or make-up or cars; but, I'm greedy with each second of my day--also to a fault. I find myself planning ahead in terms of minutes, gathering seconds for myself whenever possible, and dreading bedtime because it means the end of the day and sleep seems unproductive. When the psalmist compares the length of our lives to the life of grass, I get it. I feel it. I hate it. More often than not, I don't know why I'm here. There's no melancholy attached to that statement; I'm just not sure how packing lunches, cooking dinner, or running like mad from activity to activity is serving the greater good or how it fits into God's story.

I've always wanted God's story to feel like something along the lines of The Lord of the Rings--a little bit of fairy tale, lots of beauty, and some struggle (but just a bit.) The other day I discussed a particularly brutal section of Joel with some friends. We've been reading through the minor prophets together--a task I haven't been excited over just because, to be frank, it's hard to take. And when someone asked, "How do you feel as you read these chapters?" [which are full of destruction, fear, and God's anger and judgment] I blurted out, "That could be me! God could exact that punishment on me...and he loves me?"

So today, as I read these pieces of scripture, I found a common theme that took this issue to the mat. In Isaiah, God says, "I have not spoken in secret, from somewhere in a land of darkness; I have not said to Jacob's descendants, 'Seek me in vain.' I, the Lord, speak the truth; I declare what is right." Paul, in Colossians writes of maturing in Christ to understand the mysteries of God. And it occurred to me that in many ways, I don't live as if I acknowledge the immensity of the cross--it revealed the mystery in God's story as much as it redeemed us. And it should reorder my time, or, at the very least change the reason I'm so greedy for it.

In another, unblogged, reading, Exodus 17:7 caught my attention: "Is the Lord among us or not?" The question comes from a place name Moses used after providing water for the wandering Israelites; he was understandably frustrated by their persistent doubt. I should ask the same question...it changes my interpretation of the story.