Longings

            My lungs long to breath freshly kissed air.

            The sweetness of you shadowing me, warming my skin.

            The wealth of your voice sending hope into my ears.

            Bring me carefree gaiety, laughter burden less.

           

            I stretch my limbs to reach freedom.

            I pour out spirit to find solace.

            Take me into the refreshing place that is your embrace.

            Shelter me in the intimacy of us.



 

Not Good Enough

I am not good enough. That’s how I feel. That’s how I react.

If you ask me to tell you a story, even if it’s from my painful past, then I can sit down and share intimate details with you without a problem. But if you try to look me in the eye and get to know who I am in the here and now, if you focus on me and what I’m going through presently, I want to shrink and cry and run away.

Being loved by Peter, oh boy is that opening up these doors. He sees me in a way that I have never been seen before and he cares for me. So what do I do? Well, I push him away by focusing on his messiness, I pull away by distracting with school. I let him in for short times and then I try desperately to pack that vulnerability away before it gets to be too much.

Attending the Master’s program to become an MFT, the walls are being beaten down! I am staring into the face of a career where I am held to a higher standard than others, where I am positioned as the expert in caring for myself and others, where I am intently observed and asked to prove myself over and over. I try to hide behind papers and homework, thinking it’s an area I excel at and can feel confident in. Instead, it busts out the weak foundation I stand on. Nothing I do feels safe. Nothing I hear triggers assurance. Nothing I read squashes self-doubt.

 It all reminds me that I am not good enough and that fact is going to be exposed. Peter will see sooner than later that I’m not good enough for his love. Maybe he will become distant. Maybe he will be annoyed at me. Maybe he will just be disappointed. Somewhere along the way a teacher, a classmate, a client will see that I am not good enough to be a therapist. I will fall on my face and be exposed, humiliated, embarrassed, feel like a fool. Who do I think I am letting a man like Peter this close!! Or stepping into a program where quality people are choosing to become healers!! What made me think that I could move into such places and succeed?

After laying this out on the table, my fear lost some of its power. I went to school that night feeling excited and renewed. The deep wounds are still there, but they are being flushed, cleaned, exposed, and slowly healed. People told me this program would be an emotional one. I didn’t think it would be tapped into in the first four weeks. Let the healing begin!

Let Go

     Walking down the street at a quick pace, I told my Lord how extremely lonely I felt, sad and incredibly alone. I had been feeling this way for the past couple of weeks. What was I saying? I have felt alone my whole adult life! It didn't make sense to me; I'm married to a beautiful, completely available man who joins me wherever I am and loves me fully and generously. I thanked God for giving me such a partner and for such a bonded and intimate love.

     I acknowledged to God my deep need for security. And then questioned. "Do I not know my husband's love is secure?" Shaking my head, I began to bring his failures and my fears before God. "What do I do with all of this? If I don't step in and take care of everything, it may not get done!!" I stamped my inner feet and demanded validation that my way was the best.

     "I want you to trust him, Beloved." Tears sprang instantly as frustration and fear bubbled. I trust him with my heart, my love, my secrets, but I don't trust him to take care of me.

     "I need to make sure bills are paid, work is done, responsibilities are met!" I argued.

     "What would happen if you didn't?"

     "They could be forgotten!!" Incredulous, I debated stronger than before. The weight on my shoulders increased along with the lonely burden of carrying it.

     "What's the worst that could happen, Jenny?" He whispered softly.

     "Bills could be lost or paid late! Our credit could be affected! We may not be able to get a loan for the house!" Seriously? That's what I was worried about? It's all I could come up with.

     "Do you trust me?" I heard Him call. "Then do what I'm asking. Trust him. And even when he fails, Beloved, trust him, show him grace. Let go."

     "I don't believe this comes from you, God! These things are supposed to be taken care of! It's our responsibility to pay things on time and take good care of what you've given us!"

     "He is willing to love you like I love my church. He is willing to lay down his life for yours. Lay back, close your eyes, and rest."

     My face crumpled as my heart said no once again. It wasn't right! It wasn't fair to ask this of me! I searched my memory for proof that this is what God would really be saying, and found verses in Ephesians telling me to submit to my husband, telling him to love me fully.

     "Do you trust me?" God's beckoning stirred so deeply, swirling the desires and the truth that I knew in my core. But I was so afraid. He wanted me to let go of all control, to let these earthly things go, and to love my husband in a bigger way.

     "Take no thought for tomorrow; today has enough in it. Be anxious for nothing, but in everything with prayer and supplication, let your requests be made known. Let go."

     "But Lord!! I need more proof that you want me to let it all go. Please! I want to feel safe! I need that! And I am the only...:

     "Trust in me with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. Acknowledge me in all your ways and I will direct your path."

     "Lord, I am so afraid. When have I ever been safe giving control to someone else? How can I let go? How can I trust and show grace?"

     "I am holding you both in the palm of my hand. Even when he fails, and he will fail, I will not. Trust in me. This control you so desperately grasp for creates the anxiety, the conflict, the distance, the stress that hurts you. I want so much good for you, Beloved! Let go of this need. Let go and give it all to me."

     I want to love my husband fully. I want to be the woman God made me to be, to honor my husband and be his biggest support. I do not want to tear him down or to create walls between us with my critical heart that is urgently trying to prove that I should be in control of everything, to prove that I am only safe in my own care. I do not want this. I want to place my life in God's care and in the arms of the man He has blessed me with.

     I am terrified but feel the peace that goes beyond all understanding filling my heart. This is truly God's directive and His truth showing me what I've been doing and what He has planned for my good.

     My loneliness? It is simply a byproduct of my desperation to have all control. I push everyone away, and I stand alone. God, in His wisdom and grace wants to heal my loneliness.

     "Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief."

Watch and Pray

Matthew 26: 36-46

36 Then Jesus went with his disciples to a place called Gethsemane, and he said to them, “Sit here while I go over there and pray.”

37 He took Peter and the two sons of Zebedee along with him, and he began to be sorrowful and troubled.

38 Then he said to them, “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death. Stay here and keep watch with me.”

39 Going a little farther, he fell with his face to the ground and prayed, “My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will.”

40 Then he returned to his disciples and found them sleeping. “Couldn’t you men keep watch with me for one hour?” he asked Peter.

41 “Watch and pray so that you will not fall into temptation. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.”

42 He went away a second time and prayed, “My Father, if it is not possible for this cup to be taken away unless I drink it, may your will be done.”

43 When he came back, he again found them sleeping, because their eyes were heavy.

44 So he left them and went away once more and prayed the third time, saying the same thing.

45 Then he returned to the disciples and said to them, “Are you still sleeping and resting? Look, the hour has come, and the Son of Man is delivered into the hands of sinners.

46 Rise! Let us go! Here comes my betrayer!”

 

 

            Jesus asked his close friends to watch and pray for him in his sorrow. He went to commune with his Father about his impending suffering, agonizing over the knowledge of what he was about to experience. And he asked his disciples to watch and pray. He desired their presence, their love, their sacrifice of time and effort to hold him up in this way.

            And they fell asleep. He came back twice and asked for their dedication and encouragement. He told them of his neediness in this conflicted hour. His agony must have been evident on his beautiful, weary face. They fell asleep again.

            Was it too much to ask that they surrender their exhausted minds to pray for him? Was it simply too late at night, too great a request to expect them to focus their hearts on his broken one? They didn’t know, they weren’t aware of what he would soon endure. They had no idea how short their time with him was drawing. How were they to know how desperately he desired their love, how important it was that they stay awake and pray?

            His request was clear, watch and pray. His heart was pure, his love enduring, his word true. Wasn’t that enough? He had a habit of asking difficult requests: drop everything and follow me, drink of me, taste my glory and suffering, accept those who are different, believe in the impossible, step out in faith. They saw the results of following him, trusting his message enough to act. This wasn’t a request steeped in difficulty, requiring great faith, overcoming fear. It was his honest plea to them, “Watch and pray.”

            They had community. They weren’t alone in their exhaustion. Jesus invited three to accompany him. He asked them to band together, watch over each other, interdependently lock their minds in service, support each other as they honored him.

            Opportunities were abundant: to obey, lifting Jesus’ burden of this lonely walk, to encourage, loving his weary soul through this dark, shameful night, to reach the presence of God himself, to call angels to minister, to connect with the Savior in his time of need, to minister themselves to God.

            They were an intimate part of each other’s journey as well. They could’ve tasted the sweetness of trinity, three voices lifting in united benediction, three hearts attending his need for ministry. Opportunity was present for the holiness of community to share weakness, and experience grace.

            I know the failure of Peter and John. I’ve tasted the disappointment in myself when my attentions have drifted off. My eyes have focused on life’s wounds, my heart has been consumed with self-pity. Impatient without solutions for my problems, frustrated by how circumstances affect me, I disregard his simple request. I miss the vision he puts before me. My heart skips over the healing his truth offers.

            I hear the tender calling of his beautiful voice. I feel the gentle rousing of his hand on my shoulder. “Watch and pray.” His grace penetrates my self-centered dreams. I feel the unending adoration in his gaze, pulling my focus back. He loves unconditionally, forgives completely, and welcomes the renewal of my eyes and heart. “Watch and pray.”

We have moments of weakness, falling asleep exhausted from the weight of our journeys. We will have times our infallible minds drift away from the focus of ministry, swallowed up in the daily worries of our own little worlds. Still, choose with me to release fear, and engage in the love we are called into. “Watch and pray.”

Learning to Rest in the Palm of His Hand

12-30-12

I’m asking the question. I’m spending the time in a daily practice of meditation, listening for the answer.

The whispers of my heart tell me that I am successfully moving forward by carving out space to be with God. This is the beginning of finding what I’m looking so hard for: increased awareness, decreased anxiety.

The fear that often overwhelms me quiets as I focus on Him, invite Him in. The still, small voice inquires, “What is your definition of safety?”

“Not being hurt.” It is a child-like voice of mine that answers from a very fearful place. I don’t want to be hurt. I don’t want to feel any more pain.

“It’s time for a new definition of safety.” God promises that it will rain on the good and the bad, that we will face suffering, that trials will come. A new definition of safety… what does that look like?

“I am always with you. That is enough.”

 

1-9-13

I had surgery to remove the plate and screws in my ankle. Three week later, the infection on the incision site is making me ill, both physically and emotionally. I feel such intense anger seeping from my pores, souring even the air that I’m breathing. My little girl heart, terrified of pain, vulnerability and inevitable abandonment, wants to use the old familiar way of just mentally checking out. The habitual, fortifiable walls can slam down into place. Coldness can stand sentinel.

Peter’s hands embrace me as he prays over me. I quickly retreat, pushing away his touch and the faith of his words. I sleep in an effort to escape the panic climbing higher and higher. He quietly whispers, “Partners can carry the faith for both”, and he stays with me. Even in the face of rejection. He does not leave me.

 I still choose to sit and breathe, and I make an effort to quiet my spirit so I can hear His. I made this commitment to pursue meditation and yoga. It is something I’ve felt a yearning for, something I’ve been pulled to for years. I have been blessed with God sent teachers recently and have felt excitement and clarity that this is a path I’m meant to travel on. So, I sit, sinking into the center of the pain, feeling it suck at my ankles and envelope my heart.

This ugly, destructive, foreigner has planted itself on me. I can feel its teeth sinking in, its vile excretions dissolving my skin. The repulsiveness infecting my ankle in turn, desecrates all of me. And there’s nothing I can do about it. I cannot clean it, cannot scrub it off. I cannot get rid of it. I am nauseated and trapped by its incredibly strong grip.

I medicate with sleep inducing drugs and temporarily disappear.

The next day, I cry out, asking for help. I don’t get out of bed til 2pm. My husband stays by my side and holds me when I cry. I ask others to pray and they respond.

My heart hurts. My stomach feels raw and achy. I want to curl up under the covers and never move. Peter reads in a chair next to me. He doesn’t try to change me, improve me, comfort me. He just stays.

I type Peter the message, too fragile to speak it out loud, “This thing feels like the most germ-filled nastiness stuck to me, invading me, and there is nothing in the world I can do about it. I can’t scrub it off, I can’t disinfect it or cut it out. I just have to sit here while it eats away at me. And not only that, but it limits my abilities all over again, shoves me down and says you can't! It screams all the WHAT IFs in my face and I have zero control to stop it. I feel it with every movement of my body. I can't block it out. It is ugly, repulsive, destructive, and I am trapped with it.”

He is open to listening, unafraid of my confessions. He is willing to sit with me in those dark places.

Within the hour, after I have exposed the living fear that gnaws at my foot, I feel the light begin to permeate. I’m finally able to look into the eyes of my husband. He has physically lifted the weight off of my chest just by his presence, his love. I can breathe a little easier.

We go downstairs, have some dinner, and engage in a normal evening. I am able to receive the compassionate notes others have sent me. I can dismiss the guards, deconstruct the walls, and let in the encouragement from people who love me. “You are a child of God, protected, blessed, healed.”

My heart begins to return to a regular rhythm.

When it is time to meditate again, I sit in my chair, unable to fold my legs on the floor, and I close my eyes. My breath is ragged from the battle. “I am protected, blessed, healed.”

Immediately I am crumpled over, vomiting the painful admission. “I do not feel safe. I have never felt protected. Where were you when I needed you?”

“I am with you always.” I’m supposed to feel comfort with this new definition of safety. Instead, I feel rage. I want to slam my fists into His chest over and over and shove Him as hard and as far away as possible.

My new definition of safety… He is always with me. It isn’t enough. This dark ugliness of illness, of rebellion, of other people’s messes has clamped onto me time and time again, violently sucking away innocence and security. Where were you then?

“I was there with you. I will never leave you.”

I try to breathe. I close my eyes and place my arms on my thighs, palms facing up. I try to relax. The pain buckles my spine and rips at my abdomen. I want to fall into the fetal position with the groaning, the outpouring of tears. Instead, I bow my head and release the sobs.

Later, as I climb back into bed for the night, I read a message from my son. He says he’s been praying for me throughout the day, and asking others to join him in petitioning God for my sake.  While I am trying to block God out, He is sending others to intervene for me. Peter comes in and sits on the bed with me. I share with him the messages I have been getting all day, tears streaming down my face.

“I am so afraid that this isn’t going to get better. I am trying to protect myself with this anger. But I want to let go. I want to trust God. I have felt alone and let down so many times.”

Peter’s face is alight with joy and faith. He expresses the sense of empowerment he has felt the last couple of days as he tried to love me. He shares his feeling of spiritual gifting of faith big enough to hold us both.  “God has loved you through me. He has allowed me to stand here, to physically embrace you, in His place.”

I know this lesson. I’ve heard this whispered to my heart before. Just a couple of years ago I wrote this story…

“Do you feel God?”

“No.” She whispered quietly.

“Do you want me to tell you where He is?” My body cradled her, my hand rubbing her arm. I held my hand out in front of her and wiggled my fingers just slightly. “He’s right here.” I whispered excitedly, with childlike awe at this incredible truth. “He’s right here.” I told her, wanting her to feel the joy along with me. “Do you understand?” I asked.

She shook her head no.

“His Spirit is in me. He’s right here, in me. God sent you me.” Tears began to roll with my humility and gratefulness that God would allow me to honor and adore my child in such a way. Tears gathered and spilled over as understanding dawned for her.

“He sent you Nick. He sent you Jordan. And Merridee. He sent you me.”

She heard me. She understood.

“You know in those dark times when I couldn’t feel God," I started. "Do you know where He was?”

I held up her hand, pointing at the small, delicate fingers. “He was right here. He was in my children; you, and Nick, and Jordan.”

Oh Jesus, you were right there, with tiny smiles that filled my heart, you were in those sweet, little hands patting my arm. You were right there in their beautiful voices calling “Mommy.”

Thank you.

Where is God when you are alone? When you’re lying in the back seat of your car, crippled by the heartbreaking disappointments of being alive? When there are no hands to cover yours, no voices to speak comfort?

He is in the breeze that lifts the heaviness of air.

He is in the tear that traces down your cheek.

He is standing beside you, weeping with your pain.

He is here.

He is here.

When will it truly sink in?

I am in the palm of His hand and no one can take me from Him. I have perfect security in this. I can rest knowing He will never fail me. He has provided from me in every one of life’s circumstances. No matter what I face, I do not have to fear. He continues to reign as Jehovah- Jireh, the God who provides. In His grasp, I have all the strength I need to face life’s hurts. I can stand on the heights enabled by Him, and look with clarity at my life. He has kept me with His strength. His power has infused my mind and given me endurance. I can look out over my future. He is in control. I am in His hands.

 

ANXIETY

 

I went to my appointment with anticipation for healing and comfort, for renewal and more forward motion on the path I’m walking. I walked away with intense disappointment, mostly in myself.

For the past few years, I have felt my body growing tighter and tighter. I have felt my ability to relax lessen. Muscles have grown harder, not in sculpting and strengthening, but in knotting and stubbornness. Focusing on my breathing, accepting the gift of massage, or taking a relaxing weekend away, none of these have brought me relief. Not even the incredibleness of being loved has successfully convinced my body to let go.

My shoulders ache from their raised position. My neck cramps from the lack of oxygen my muscles receive. My lower back tenses and cries for attention. My jaw clenches, grinding my teeth. Migraines plague me for months at a time.

When I broke my ankle March 2012, my left thigh went on extreme high alert, guarding against anything that came within a ten foot radius. It’s still unable to let go of that 24 hour duty. It is hard and tired and unwilling to accept that my ankle is healed.

My stomach surgery in the summer of 2007 left me with more than the vertical scar that runs down my body. The muscles that were cut are still angry. I feel their protectiveness, the damage done.  I feel their fear.

I was told today that my body is not ready to let go.

I am in a constant fight or flight mode. I don’t release even when the danger has passed and I am safe. I’m afraid. I’m terrified of losing more than I already have. I’m sickened by the idea that my decisions have cost others dearly. I’m afraid of failing or being failed. I fear disappointment, physical pain, not being enough, and people finally recognizing that truth. I’m afraid of love dissolving, of security being jerked out from under me, and of discovering that I don’t have a true grasp on anything solid.

The Bible says that perfect love casts out fear. I’ve repeated that verse countless times to myself. And I pray, “I believe, Lord, help my unbelief!” Still, I am always poised for attack, and it is taking a heavy toll on my mind and body. I am choosing to start a daily practice of meditation and yoga in an effort to release this anxiety. I am crying out to God, confessing my inability and begging for His hope.  I don’t know what else to do.

Do I need to scream, wail, break things, burn things to let go of the past? What does grieving require of me? Where do I climb to throw this control off and be free? Do I have to confess to others, admit I need help? I am willing! I want release!! Is forgiveness required? Must I learn to trust in a deeper way? I will commit myself to these miraculous choices. Whatever it takes, I will do!

Phil. 4:5-7 Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near.  Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.