Let Me Be Your One and Only

I was at work listening to Pandora, and Adele’s “One and Only” came on.

I started singing along. I sang it for real, like I was in my car or in the shower, and nobody was around.

Then my voice got wobbly and realized I was crying.

I felt like I was singing to myself (because sometimes I’m afraid I’m losing my gift), and to God (because I just want Him to trust me with this again), and to anyone who will listen (because I just want someone to listen).

“I promise I’m worthy! Come on and give me a chance!”

I Get Out!

I think when you dream about driving/riding/operating a vehicle, that vehicle represents your life.

That said, for several years when I’ve dreamt of driving, I couldn’t see. Sometimes the windshield was blocked; other times it was foggy outside. But most of the time, I was falling asleep at the wheel and couldn’t keep my eyes open. I was terrified I would crash. Yet I was so tired that I couldn’t apply the brakes.

I think it’s fair to say I’ve been navigating my life feeling out-of-control, powerless, blind and terrified.

That’s why the dream I had this morning feels significant:

I was sitting in a minivan in a parking lot. Some people were trying to get at me. I wasn’t scared of them, but they made me nervous. I hit the lock button to keep them out, but they kept trying the doors. Finally I started up the minivan and drove away. The weird people followed on foot.

Suddenly I was driving a huge bus–like a Greyhound. I was in a big closed-in building, and there was no door big enough for the bus. So I put my foot on the gas, maneuvered this huge steering wheel, and busted through the door. Brick and mortar flew everywhere. And I laughed out loud because I was free!

Yeah. I get out of your boxes.

The Icing on the Cake

Special Note: Much as I dislike Christian-ese, I’m going to use a word straight out of the Church and Religious People’s Vocabulary Handbook: “Anointing.” Just so no one gets lost, I’ll define it: To be anointed means to have been chosen by God to do a specific thing especially for him.

I was thinking today about the difference between talent and anointing. I was thinking about this because I would consider myself a talented singer. But I have this wonderful, beautiful, amazingly talented friend who is very obviously anointed to lead worship through music. So I wondered today (and not for the first time) if I’m an anointed singer. After I mentally compared myself to my friend, I decided that I’m not.

But today for some reason, it didn’t end there. I felt like God stopped me and asked, “Who said you can’t be anointed?” He impressed on me that he wouldn’t give someone talent in an area if he wasn’t also prepared to anoint in that area. It was simply a matter of wanting it, and that would come by wanting him.

So, what kind of music do I listen to? What are my thoughts toward God? What am I doing to demonstrate to him that I want the honor and responsibility of being anointed? I felt like God said to me, “If you want it, come get it.” And then he reminded me that he’d said the same thing to me years ago. Instead of working toward it then, I spent years gradually letting fear lead to apathy. ”I’m not confident enough. I’m not smart enough. I’m not talented enough. I’m not compentent enough. God doesn’t even like me. Who wants it anyway? Who cares.” I eventually buried what he said beneath fear and presumed rejection.

Over the years I’ve often compared myself to my friend, and I always fell quite short. That’s stupid of me, of course. I’m not her. Despite my worst thoughts of myself, me being me doesn’t equal automatic disqualification. I think probably the number one requirement of anointing is that you’re you, not wishing you were someone else…

What is the difference between talent and anointing? That’s like asking what’s the difference between cake and icing: They’re not meant to be the same, they’re meant to go together (and quite deliciously). If God baked it, and you offer it back to him, he’ll totally frost it. And then it will be delicious for everyone, and God will get all the glory for making such an awesome cake.

No Pretty Bows

*Dusts off blog. Clears throat.*

This year has been a trip. I can’t begin to address all that has happened in one post, so I won’t try. But I’ve been seeing many things so much more clearly lately, and I wanted to share something I saw today.

I have this group of friends I meet with. They’re like my lifeline. (I never realized how much I needed safe people until I had them. Get yourself some. ) In candid conversations with them I realized that for years I’ve avoided facing my feelings. When it became clear I’d need to cut that out, I was afraid. I likened facing my feelings to voluntarily falling into a deep pit. I avoided the pit with vigor. I saw myself in the mouth of the pit, arms and legs stretched out, fingers and toes clenching dirt and roots to avoid the dark bottom. Pitfall prevention.

Eventually I chose to willingly go in. It was sort of like the dark tunnel. Scared as I was, I knew somehow God would be waiting for me there.

It’s been about a month since I made that decision, and I find I’m in a better place than I’ve been in years. Oddly, falling in wasn’t as grueling or horrible or dark as I thought it would be, and today I wondered why. The answer floated to the surface like one of those magic eight ball thingies.

I’d already fallen in a long time ago. I’d been at the bottom of the pit all this time.

And realizing I was in a pit gave me the resources to get out. So … lately I’ve been climbing out of the pit, not falling into it. The more I climb, the more light there is. The easier it is to breathe.

I could summarize with some super spiritual, super deep conclusion for you here, but I feel that tying a pretty bow on this would diminish it. So [draw your conclusions and insert them here].

God In Time

We pray about what will happen. But we don’t typically pray about what already happened. Why?

***

I got to be part of an amazing conversation with some friends recently. It was one of those conversations that shifts paradigms.

Who’s seen the movie “The Kid” starring Bruce Willis? It’s the story of a 40-ish man who meets and gets to hang out with his 8-year-old self. Somehow we began chatting about this movie, and then we began to wonder what we’d say if we could talk to a former version of ourselves. We all shared about the things some former version of ourselves needed to hear. For example, I would tell my 14-year old self things like: you are valuable; though you’re the only stepchild of three children, you are just as important as your siblings; you belong; you’re not invisible; you’re accepted.

It was an emotional conversation. We wished and hoped that we could have somehow helped our former selves and unravel knots that still affect us today. We wished and hoped that God could somehow have healed us from the pain we endured then, thereby helping our present selves.

We dug deeper into thoughts about time and God. We shared snippets of things we’d heard or thought or felt.

• One of us shared a story she’d heard: God showed a man a vision of a moment in his childhood when he was wounded by someone he loved. The person had since died–but in this vision, the person apologized for wounding him as a child.
• Another of us shared about a story in the book “A Million Miles in a Thousand Years” by Donald Miller. In it, Donald was trying to comfort a family member who had lost her father. He told her that they were all together in heaven already with her father, because heaven is outside of time.
• Another shared a vivid childhood memory of being at church with her mother. A few years ago, God reminded her of that day. He shared that He had been there in that moment, looking down on her and thinking joyfully about the day of her salvation more than 20 years later.

After these stories, we began to wonder:

God exists outside of time; we know this from the teachings in the Bible. So … if God can see/use time as the thing it truly is (not linear, but something else), if He can place Himself in or out of it, or use it as a tool to accomplish His will and serve His purposes … then why do we restrict our prayers to the future? Why shouldn’t we pray, today, for the hurting and struggling versions of ourselves that only God–unbound by these earthly restrictions–can reach?

If we could do this … what results would we see today? Imagine! Go ahead!

Remix: Out of Control

This is a remix of “Laundry Ruminations: Control or Out of Control?” (Summer 2008).

***

One day as I was doing laundry, I started thinking about cake, frosting, cookies, chocolate and other delicious gooey things.

Then I thought about the passage I’d read in the book of Romans about a month before. In it, Paul said we should give our bodies to God as a living sacrifice. To me this meant (among other things) I should let God control what I eat. This lined up with what I’d felt God saying to me for awhile. Thing is, I hadn’t been sure I wanted to give Him control, because He wouldn’t want me to eat cake with two inches of frosting. (Maybe occasionally, but not 2-3 times a day as I’d prefer.) This irritated me. Why shouldn’t I dang well eat whatever I want? Why doesn’t God want me to have any fun?!

So I’d rebelled. I didn’t quit going to church or anything; I just started eating like a pig. I couldn’t bear the thought of God saying I couldn’t have a Sonic Fried Ice Cream shake, so I shut off my filter and ate as I pleased. I wanted control of what I put in my mouth.

One day someone brought brownie bites to class. When I saw them I said, “Aw, who did that? Oh well, I have no choice …” A classmate said, “Yes you do have a choice!” I quickly popped one into the mouth. “Oops, too late!” I joked. But it was true: in the face of brownies, I didn’t feel like I had a choice. After class I took two more on the way out.

So that day as I did laundry, indignant with my Father over cake, I had a ridiculously obvious revelation: I didn’t have control. I’d been so determined to have it, but I’d given it up to brownie bites and things of that ilk. BROWNIE BITES. How was I in control if, whenever I saw cake, I had to eat it? If I was so much in control, then what happened to my ability to choose, to say no?

Then God asked me why I was I fighting Him so hard over garbage? It looks and even tastes good, but it’s not good. Seriously, whose health has ever been vastly improved by cake? Has anyone lost weight on the Cake and Frosting Diet? Whose cholesterol level has dropped thanks to sugar? I’d fallen for old lies: my way was better than His, and He wanted to ruin my fun. The result was an old deception: I was out of control because I’d willingly given it away.

FRICK’N DEVIL!

Junk food is a huge temptation, putting a wall between me and God. So I can tell myself I’m in control when I’m not, or I can let God handle it. When I crave junk, it helps to remember that it’s garbage. (“Filth” as Dr. Rubin calls it.) My Father wants what’s best for me. It’s stupid to put garbage ahead of life.

And that lesson applies to much more than junk food.

Deciphering Me

 

I never thought of this as a worship song, but it was for me today.

God, speaking to me:
Friend, it’s getting late. We should be going. We’ve been sat here beneath these flickering neons for hours.

Me, distracted by flickering neons:
While I am cracking their code, You are deciphering me. For I am a mystery, I am a locked room in a tall tower.

My spirit to me:
Oh can you feel the gravity falling, calling us home? Oh did you feel the stars colliding? Shining just to show, we belong.

Me, forgetting the stupid neons and looking at God:
Your telescope eyes see everything clearly. My vision is blurred, but I know what I’ve heard echoing all around. While I am tuning You in, You are deciphering me: Not such a mystery, not such a faint and far-away sound.

My spirit to me:
It’s love, it’s love that holds us! We will be alright. It’s truth, it’s truth that shows us, if we’ll walk in its light.

My Personal Q&A

These are the questions I’ve been asking myself lately:

1. Was it wise for me to examine my past? It’s trendy for Christian to look at our childhood to understand our actions/reactions today. I’ve gone that route myself. I saw a counselor for about a year. He was (and is) very good, and I’d easily recommend him. Together we dug deep and uncovered all kinds of buried crap! Things long forgotten were exposed, and old wounds were re-opened to bleed afresh. I’d go home feeling angry, sad, frustrated, victimized. It was painful, but I thought it would eventually lead to something good. Because that’s what everyone says is supposed to happen.

But here in 2011, I find I regret the exhumation. The wounds are still open, and now they’re festering. I don’t feel as though I’ve moved forward at all. In fact, I’ve used my past hurts as an excuse not to move. It wasn’t a conscious choice (I don’t think). I find a strange comfort in rehearsing the pain. It’s like pushing my thumb into my mouth, or a needle into my vein.

2. Why should I move? As much as I dislike the person I am today, it’s the daunting thought of moving forward that keeps me here. Leaving this person behind would also mean leaving the comfortable house of pain I built. I’m like an agoraphobic! Even though my house of pain only provides the illusion of safety, that seems better than being outside, uncovered. In or out, there will be pain. It’s a choice between familiar pain (comfortable) and unfamiliar pain (unknown). Either way I’m screwed.

Why does life have to have pain? I hate that crap.

3. Should I trust God? This is supposed to be a no-brainer. But it’s hard to believe he cares for me when long stretches of our relationship include me wondering where he is. God’s kind of caring is nothing like human caring. Which is scary, because with humans, it’s pretty obvious if someone cares or doesn’t care. God’s caring sometimes feels like loneliness and rejection. God, why do you do that? I don’t like it.

Yesterday my pastor gave us a simple prayer: God, teach me to think the way you think. I know the first step to leaving the house of pain is to change the way I think. That seems entirely impossible right now. I want to believe God wants better for me. So I’ll pray it and see what happens.

Break Free, Get Up and Dance

I was meant to dance. I know it.

I just finished watching several back-to-back episodes of So You Think You Can Dance. It’s always bittersweet: I love to watch the interpretation of rhythm with body, the exertion of such beautiful control, the making of every emotion into a physical expression. But at the same time I feel jealous and unfinished, like a put-together puzzle with just two or three small, missing pieces.

I have always, always wanted to dance. My mom took me to see The Nutcracker when I was 4, and I knew it then. All my friends (and any grown-ups who asked) knew I was going to be a singer, an actress and a dancer when I grew up. But I was a military brat, and travelling overseas meant there just weren’t opportunities. We finally returned to the States when I was a pre-teen, and moved again to Fort Meade when I was 14. I quickly discovered my high school offered dance, both as a PE elective and as an extra-curricular activity. Nothing could’ve stopped me! I finally got to do what I knew I was made to do. Years of pent-up wanting were released. I felt real and solid and free. I saw a picture of myself in the yearbook, leaping through the air with one leg straight ahead of me and one behind, my toes pointed. I looked like I was made to fly! Sure, there was teenage angst and confusion and all that garbage. But when I danced I was entirely myself and entirely confident.

Less than two years later we moved again. And a few months after that, I got pregnant. My life wasn’t mine anymore, and I had to grow up, let go of hopes and dreams, and be practical.

My oldest son will be 21 in a few weeks, and I still dream of dancing. While I watch those children perform miracles with their bodies, I am so filled with regret. Some would say, “Why not take a dance class?” But let’s be honest. I’ll never be able to move that way again. At least not here in this body on this earth. I’m sad about it.

Nonetheless, I was meant to dance. I know it. This being true, I can only conclude that I have to dance.

I read this book called “Rescued” years ago. It ended with a man who had gone to Heaven by the skin of his teeth. His role there was a gardener. The biggest thing I took away from that book was that we will still work in Heaven, but our work won’t be drudgery. It will be a fulfillment of the things we were created to do here on earth, and therefore work will be a joy. So I’m convinced that in Heaven, somehow I’ll be a singer, an actress and a dancer. I don’t know how, those things don’t seem practical for Heaven. (Well, a singer might be.) No matter, I just can’t imagine He created this natural pull in me, only to let it die with my body. (And really, it’s time for me to lose the notion of Heaven being all clouds and choirs and harps. How stupid.)

I’m going to dance in Heaven, unbound by bum knees and chubby legs. I’m looking forward to it with every fiber of this being He created in me.

The God of 80s Music

I’ve found God’s love of diversity and creativity in the music that defined my 80s and 90s. It’s laced into the chords of the electric guitar, in melodies, in keyboards, and in the voices of artists like George Michael, Prince, Duran Duran, Tears for Fears, Paul Young, Simply Red, Michael Jackson.

I wonder if they could feel the holy partnership in the sounds they made? Did they feel God in the joy of fingers on strings or on keys, in the rightness of lyrics unfolded, in the warm round perfection of a sung note? Maybe they just didn’t know it was him, because they had to have felt it. I hear it!

How can you overlook God dripping out of your pores when even in your plainest or ugliest moments, you are so beautiful? I see the outline of all his wonderful and patient creativity in the things you are, the light that makes the shadows. In your lust or pain or anger or confusion, he’s rendered that much more beautifully through your distortions. He’s still beautiful and because he is, so are you. His gifts given are still lovely, even if you don’t sign his name to them, even if you try to scratch out his name and scrawl yours over the top of it. I think he’s a beautiful God who plops himself in the midst of such an ugly humanity like ours and gives us the means to make beauty and to be beautiful.