Aimless Wanderings

Maybe it's just me, but I kind of thought there for a little while that life would somehow get easier or less complicated the longer I adulted.  As if the more I practiced, the easier it would get, or the longer I waited, the clearer the answers would become.

All I've learned, and especially this year, is that instead of answers, we only face more questions.  We all have our own battles that we're facing, and for the most part, we all just go around living like everything is fine. Is that because we feel we're supposed to be adults and just suck up our feelings and deal with our problems?  We hear screaming children from various corners of the store at work and we always sort of look at each other sadly and say, "That's how I feel inside."  It hurts my ears, but I admire the honesty of children, and I wish I could be that vocally honest about my own feelings sometimes.

Courtesy of my brother, from Fawnly Prints

Those brave souls who speak out about their struggles and insecurities--I admire their ability to be vulnerable, to bare their souls, to speak up so that others who are experiencing similar battles can know that they are not alone and can find comfort or perspective or fuel for their own fight.  But sometimes our battles are so deeply personal, or we are so deep in the thick of it that speaking up is not in the cards for us right now.  

So what do we do?  Keep plastering on our brave faces and plugging along like everything's fine?  

Some other alternatives are to 1) scream in the middle of the grocery store (tempting, I know) or 2) offer enough vague complaints that people have pity on us and begin to pry in well-meaning attempts to offer support, but then we remember that we actually don't want to talk about it because it's so personal and complicated that a general explanation will never do and neither will giving this person access to our deepest, darkest secrets.

Or, we can choose to continue to wander aimlessly as we strive to fight our battles with brave faces and find balance in our awkward, complicated lives.  We can learn to appreciate the present and enjoy life where we are while we wait for life where we want to be.  And we can take comfort knowing that God is with us in our wanderings.  He sees each (mis)step we take, and His hand guides us gently along the way.  

When we have a bad day--one where we're so physically, emotionally, and mentally exhausted that we actually feel like this might be it, this is where we lose it completely--He gives us a new day full of new mercies.

That's right, as we finish our Head and Heart Reset yoga flow with Adriene in the early morning before work, the final twist turns our head to the window so that we see the first glimmer of morning light through the trees, the beginning of the gentle fade from black night to blue day.  And as we sit outside for morning prayer, the cool fresh air fills our lungs and the chattering of the birds soothes our souls and we are reminded that He loves us, that He is working in us even when we are filled with pain--or confusion, or disgust at our own sin, or anxiety, or depression, or anger, or questions, or all of these things and more-- that the cross must come before the glory.

When we remember that He is there with us through it all, we learn how to accept these unpleasant things as they come, even if we don't always accept them happily or patiently.  And we learn, as Rainier Marie Rilke wrote in Letters to a Young Poet, to 

". . . be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves like locked rooms and like books that are written in a very foreign tongue.  Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them.  And the point is, to live everything.  Live the questions now.  Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.  Perhaps you do carry within yourself the possibility of shaping and forming as a particularly happy and pure way of living; train yourself to it--but take whatever comes with great trust. . .take it upon yourself and hate nothing. . ."

You can find Alanna's music on iTunes and Bandcamp!

As I've been learning this all the hard way in the last several weeks, I've been wandering aimlessly to the soundtrack of the lovely young poet Alanna Boudreau's album Goodbye Stranger.  Her music (especially this album and her previous album, Champion) helped me to the realization of what I've written here.  By providing a lovely sound to listen to along with intricately beautiful images and poetry, her music presents and reflects great mysteries that sweetly linger and haunt my thoughts. They leave me questioning and pondering, but in such a way that I find myself able to enjoy the uncertainty, that I'm now able to sit more comfortably with my constant questions, and to explore beauty from different perspectives.

Having realized that, I find myself here, telling you, dear reader, that you are not alone in your aimless wandering, in your questions answered with more questions, in your pain, in your fight.  We are all in this together, and the great God who loves us more than we know, has us all in His capable hands.

Fiat

As this short season of Advent swirls around us in a flurry of busyness, the word fiat has been on my heart.   It is after all, thanks to Mary's fiat, her "yes" to God's will, that the whole Incarnation came about as it did.  She said yes to something that could cause scandal, yes to bringing up the Son of God, yes to carrying Him in her body for nine months, yes to giving birth to Him.

She probably didn't know when she said "yes" that she'd have to give birth to Him after more than a week of bumbling along on a donkey while nine months pregnant, or that she'd have to give birth to Him in a cold, dark, dirty stable, or that after His birth they'd have to hide out in the desert for two years.  She probably didn't know when she said "yes" that she would have to watch him suffer and die at the hands of the people He loved so dearly.  But she said "yes" to God, and though it caused her times of pain and suffering, she allowed God to use her to help bring about the salvation of the world, through the miracle of a tiny baby.

In a way, this is how God uses all of our fiats.  Every time we place our trust in God, we say "yes" to His will for the salvation of the world.  Most of the time we don't have any idea how His plans will unfold, but we know that it likely won't be easy.  There will be sacrifice, pain, and suffering along the way, but it is through this sanctifying grace that we are transformed to become whatever God wants us to be.  It is through our fiats that He brings about the most glorious things!

This year, my greatest desire is for us all to appreciate more fully the love that God has for us.  He came to earth to be one of us, to share in our human experience, to be treated horribly and executed so that our sins will not be held against us.

The miracle of the Incarnation becomes more real for me every year, and when I close my eyes, I find myself on my knees.  I kneel beside the manger, holding Mary's hand as she rests and recovers from the difficult journey and the birth.  While she sleeps, I watch over her baby, my brother, my King.  I want to touch the soft cheek of the baby Jesus, because I know that with only a touch, I can be healed of my petty, whiny, selfishness.

O heal me, Jesus, and help me to embrace fully the plans You have for my life.  Help me to focus on the love and blessings I do have and not be so worried and anxious about what I don't have.  And thank You for coming to save us.

May the joy and peace of the infant Jesus fill our hearts this Christmas season!

(To see the sweetest interpretation of how God's ways are beyond our wildest imaginings, 

watch the video below.)

Merry Christmas!

To Believe or Not To Believe

On a cloudless autumn day, under the sky so peacefully blue, the sun shines down like rain.  The tops of the trees catch the light like fire and begin to flicker like flames in the soft breeze.

And in the midst of the warm, bright plans we make, doubt creeps in and darkness grips the soul of it all.

Sweet gray pots etched with silver words and holding baby flowers catch my eye and speak to me: Love, they say.  Joy.  Believe.  Words that remind me, words that call forth beauty, hope, peace, words that call me on to live these things in my life.

We don't need any more plants in our tiny apartment, but the words and the sweet baby orchid blossoms of white and purple beckon me.  On closer inspection, I see the pots are cracked--hence the reason they are sitting in the break room marked down for associates.   

I don't need a broken pot with another orchid in it, I tell my husband.

No, you don't, he says, but you're going to get one anyway.

He knows me well.

I find it difficult to choose only one, because I need all of these reminders!  I know that the greatest of these is Love and that in the humdrum routine of the daily grind I struggle often to be Joy, but I choose the healthiest looking plant with promising baby white blooms and it tells me Believe. 

Life goes on and continues to resist our efforts to move forward.  As darkness and doubt creep in, it would be easy to let them consume us, to crush our hope.  But there in the corner of our living room is a little broken pot that reminds us:  Believe. 

Believe.  And I know that this imperfect pot is a grace, a simple moment of beauty that God is using to show me my imperfect self and a deeper truth.

While we make our plans, we trust in God and His perfect plan.   We know that when the outcome is not what we would prefer it to be, ultimately it is what God wants, and therefore, it is perfect.  This is not always easy to grasp, but then, the cross never is.  And we know that without the cross, there would be no glory.

Without our cracks, our brokenness, our wounds, our weaknesses, our darkness, we would not need His Mercy. 

We are all imperfect, cracked and broken, but no matter how beaten and bruised we are, we always have a home with God.  He heals our wounds and uses them to make us more beautiful than we were before.  We learn to trust in Him.  And life happens and we get hurt again and again, but we continue to trust and believe in His Mercy, His Healing Love, His Goodness. 

Sometimes the wounds cut deep and take time to heal, and sometimes the darkness seems never-ending, and as we wait to feel healed, we wonder what the point is of continuing to believe, to hope.  But in the darkness and in our pain, we are closest to Him on the cross.  He holds us in His Heart so that our thirst is His thirst, and I have found that the surest way to quench this thirst for both of us is to choose to believe, to pray over and over, "I believe; help my unbelief!" (Mark 9:24).

And He will.  He will absolutely help your unbelief.  And it probably won't be at all in the way you think, but He will fix your broken pot, and in the meantime, He'll give you grace, which might look like precious baby orchids.  Or something else entirely.  Or something that you can't even see.  No matter how the grace falls--like petals, like snow, like an invisible strength deep inside you--never forget that He loves you, He loves you, He loves you!

HE LOVES YOU.

P.S.  If you're looking for a more book-length encouragement on how to keep hoping in the darkest darkness, check out Daring to Hope by Katie Davis Majors.  I highly recommend it! #goodreads