After three and a half years at an institution dedicated to studying the Bible and training men and women for Christian ministry, you'd think that I'd have ironed out the things that are...troublesome to me in theology. At the very least, you'd think that I would cease to be surprised by them, perhaps even to expect them.
Nope.
Tens of thousands of dollars and one diploma later, I find myself sitting on my bed, Bible open in front of me, irritated that once again my paradigm must shift. I wish that Bible college was some magical place that resolved everything. I wish that there was some class that could address everything that might surprise you about Scripture or God or one that could teach you a balanced theology.
Of course, I say this somewhat tongue in cheek. If I have learned anything in my years of following Christ it is that my paradigm is constantly shifting and balance is a lie. I once read that the church goes through phases in the way that we primarily view God - sometimes we lean hard into a kind, merciful God and other times we stand trembling before a Judge. At the time I had a hard time reconciling that to my desire to have a comprehensive and unadulterated view of God. I want to know God fully and to be able to identify all of his attributes. The fact is that God is too big for that to be possible for my tiny mind, and so I find myself focusing on certain traits that are entirely dependent on my season of life and experiences. In the midst of establishing my independence and learning to manage my finances, I find myself viewing God as my Provider. When I find new opportunities to use or sharpen the gifts that God has given me, I marvel at the faithfulness of God. When I have once again stuck my foot in my mouth or done something to remind myself how much I need God, the revelation of His grace and mercy surrounds me. In moments on the country roads near camp where I am breathless and inspired by the beauty of the creation around me, I feel the joy and peace and love of God.
So when I find myself in passages that discuss the sovereignty of God's choice and His severity towards those who have not believed in Him, I shudder. I want to relegate words like "wrath" and "hardening hearts" to the Old Testament. Even the word "severity" makes me uncomfortable. Unfortunately, these are still New Testament words. As I was reading them today, I found myself unwilling to reconcile these words into my picture of God. I love thinking of God as a Father who only gets angry about injustice and terrible things in the world - a faithful provider full of mercy and joy and peace and giggles and butterflies. But that's not accurate. And that makes me angry. Which really isn't fair because God isn't a cardboard cut-out. He's God.
Right after reading these chapters, I read Hebrews 11. As I read about the champions of faith, I realized how weak my own faith is. I got angry because I read things that I already knew were true about God. At no point did someone tell me that God wasn't all of the things that I was having difficulty reconciling into my view of Him. In fact, I am sure I have been told several times that those things ARE still true of God. In my human ignorance, I had chosen to block those truths from my mind.
The truth of the matter is that I would rather serve a God that remains a mystery to me than one that I fully understand and anticipate. I have seen enough of God's goodness and love to say with confidence that He is a good God, unwilling to have anyone perish. I don't fully understand Him and there are aspects of Him and things in this world that I can't easily (or at all) reconcile to what I know of Him, but I can trust in His goodness and grace. My faith may be simple, even naive in this way, but I would rather spend my life seeking Him on a wild adventure than giving up and chasing the American dream.
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Independence.
The past week has taught me more about my view of independence than any amount of philosophical study or reflection could. For the past week, I have been anything but independent. Starting eight days ago, I have relied on other people to dry me off, to dress me, to do my hair or make up, to carry my books, to drive me around, even to feed me.
For a girl who so highly values her independence, that's a whole lot of frustration. And I think the most frustrating thing hasn't been an inability to perform some of those tasks, but its been relying on people to do them for me and allowing them to. It's hard to be the recipient of grace, to be the inconvenience. I so desperately long to suddenly have full range of motion, full function, to be able to do everything for myself. I keep trying to steal back pieces of my independence, but I feel like God has to have a greater purpose for my frustrations than the injury in of itself. Perhaps I am reading too much into this, but I feel like God is using this uncomfortable time to teach me that I don't get to be independent. As much as I value going where I want, when I want, doing what I want, I am learning the beauty and joy of interwoven lives, of together time pushed to the breaking point.
I love living in a time and place that allows God to speak to me so personally and clearly. I love being challenged to grow, even when it hurts. Even when God is wrenching away from me the thing that I have spent so many years fostering and cultivating and desiring, there is some sort of beauty. I love that the God I serve does not fix me overnight, but allows me to be a part of the process. I love that God loves me enough not to leave me the way that I am.
The past week has taught me more about my view of independence than any amount of philosophical study or reflection could. For the past week, I have been anything but independent. Starting eight days ago, I have relied on other people to dry me off, to dress me, to do my hair or make up, to carry my books, to drive me around, even to feed me.
For a girl who so highly values her independence, that's a whole lot of frustration. And I think the most frustrating thing hasn't been an inability to perform some of those tasks, but its been relying on people to do them for me and allowing them to. It's hard to be the recipient of grace, to be the inconvenience. I so desperately long to suddenly have full range of motion, full function, to be able to do everything for myself. I keep trying to steal back pieces of my independence, but I feel like God has to have a greater purpose for my frustrations than the injury in of itself. Perhaps I am reading too much into this, but I feel like God is using this uncomfortable time to teach me that I don't get to be independent. As much as I value going where I want, when I want, doing what I want, I am learning the beauty and joy of interwoven lives, of together time pushed to the breaking point.
I love living in a time and place that allows God to speak to me so personally and clearly. I love being challenged to grow, even when it hurts. Even when God is wrenching away from me the thing that I have spent so many years fostering and cultivating and desiring, there is some sort of beauty. I love that the God I serve does not fix me overnight, but allows me to be a part of the process. I love that God loves me enough not to leave me the way that I am.
Sunday, January 13, 2013
Goodbyes
Goodbyes are awful. People don't tell you that when you're young, but they should. Or maybe some people do, but I don't remember anyone telling me that.
Yesterday I said goodbye to my oldest and dearest friend. After 5 days of literally doing everything together, it was weird to watch her walk through airport security alone. It kind of felt like she took a part of me with her.
It's different when you're the one leaving. As you go through security, you are thinking of the life that you put on pause, the things that you need to get back for, even the simple joys of flying. You think of the people you met and the things you did, trying to stamp them perfectly into your memory for fear that the instant the plane touches down and vacation ends, everything that happens will be forever erased.
But when you're the one that is left, you feel the emptiness and the loneliness. Vacation ends differently, suddenly. Rather than spending seven hours traveling home and hanging out in airports, it is just over. There's no buffer or transition. It all just kind of hits at once.
And then the next day is when the sense of loss hits. Because when she's still traveling, you have other things to think about. But when she lands at her home airport, it's truly over. And maybe this time next you'll fly to see her. But maybe it won't work out for one reason or another. And a year is hard enough to wait to see someone, let alone adding another six or ten months.
Because it isn't just anyone you're waiting to see. It's your person. It's the one person that you call when everything is bad. Or when everything is okay. Or when you're bored. It's the person you call so that they can tell you you're stressing over stupid things or that everything will be okay. It's the person that you've spent the past twenty years talking to - the person that you can't lie to, the person that can simultaneously drive you crazy and make themselves invaluable to your life.
And that's why goodbyes are awful.
This post could've been about any number of things we did. I could've talked about how much fun we had ice skating, about how wonderful it was to go out to dinner with my parents, about the time we spent in Joplin. I could've described the joy that I felt introducing Sarah to everyone that I know in Joplin - at the Sister Mountain Brother Sea concert, at a dinner party we hosted, at a breakfast we made, or even the lunch we cooked. I could've spent this post elaborating on the recipes we tried, on baking bread, making our traditional Chicken Divan, or the crazy places I made Sarah go to eat good local food. I could've even made you laugh with stories of dying our hair or shopping or the ridiculous things that Sarah said to me. This post could've been all about the incredible talks that we had and the decisions that we discussed.
But those memories - the funny or sad or ridiculous or happy stories - are the things that I have to hold onto as I wait another 300 or 400 days to see her. And I know the miracles of skyping and texting and facebooking and calling, but it isn't the same. I am grateful for those things, but I want to live in the same city as she does, to be able to walk down the street and have a cup of coffee with her. Because then we don't have to say goodbye, we just have to say see you later. And that has a much nicer ring to it.
For happier posts* about Sarah, you can look at these:
2011
2012
*sorry if this post is super depressing and a crappy first post in four months. first off, it's my blog - you don't have to read it. second, its second day blues. and school starts tomorrow. third, my hair and my nails are black. and I wore almost all black today. I get to be moody and depressing.
Yesterday I said goodbye to my oldest and dearest friend. After 5 days of literally doing everything together, it was weird to watch her walk through airport security alone. It kind of felt like she took a part of me with her.
It's different when you're the one leaving. As you go through security, you are thinking of the life that you put on pause, the things that you need to get back for, even the simple joys of flying. You think of the people you met and the things you did, trying to stamp them perfectly into your memory for fear that the instant the plane touches down and vacation ends, everything that happens will be forever erased.
But when you're the one that is left, you feel the emptiness and the loneliness. Vacation ends differently, suddenly. Rather than spending seven hours traveling home and hanging out in airports, it is just over. There's no buffer or transition. It all just kind of hits at once.
And then the next day is when the sense of loss hits. Because when she's still traveling, you have other things to think about. But when she lands at her home airport, it's truly over. And maybe this time next you'll fly to see her. But maybe it won't work out for one reason or another. And a year is hard enough to wait to see someone, let alone adding another six or ten months.
Because it isn't just anyone you're waiting to see. It's your person. It's the one person that you call when everything is bad. Or when everything is okay. Or when you're bored. It's the person you call so that they can tell you you're stressing over stupid things or that everything will be okay. It's the person that you've spent the past twenty years talking to - the person that you can't lie to, the person that can simultaneously drive you crazy and make themselves invaluable to your life.
And that's why goodbyes are awful.
This post could've been about any number of things we did. I could've talked about how much fun we had ice skating, about how wonderful it was to go out to dinner with my parents, about the time we spent in Joplin. I could've described the joy that I felt introducing Sarah to everyone that I know in Joplin - at the Sister Mountain Brother Sea concert, at a dinner party we hosted, at a breakfast we made, or even the lunch we cooked. I could've spent this post elaborating on the recipes we tried, on baking bread, making our traditional Chicken Divan, or the crazy places I made Sarah go to eat good local food. I could've even made you laugh with stories of dying our hair or shopping or the ridiculous things that Sarah said to me. This post could've been all about the incredible talks that we had and the decisions that we discussed.
But those memories - the funny or sad or ridiculous or happy stories - are the things that I have to hold onto as I wait another 300 or 400 days to see her. And I know the miracles of skyping and texting and facebooking and calling, but it isn't the same. I am grateful for those things, but I want to live in the same city as she does, to be able to walk down the street and have a cup of coffee with her. Because then we don't have to say goodbye, we just have to say see you later. And that has a much nicer ring to it.
For happier posts* about Sarah, you can look at these:
2011
2012
*sorry if this post is super depressing and a crappy first post in four months. first off, it's my blog - you don't have to read it. second, its second day blues. and school starts tomorrow. third, my hair and my nails are black. and I wore almost all black today. I get to be moody and depressing.
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