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.

Hidden Bruises

I am the walking wounded. I am a broken survivor. I am crippled irreparably.

But you cannot see my bruises. My scars are deeply hidden. I limp with secret devastation.

For years I suffered silently, ignorant that I even possessed a voice. Or that anyone would hear it. It never crossed my mind to tell. Maybe it was the innate protector in me wanting to make everything smooth, everyone happy. Maybe I was afraid of the consequences. What if they didn’t fight for me? What lesson would that cement in my soul?

I made assumptions at a very early age, that I was not important enough to cherish, that I was not worthy of love.  I accepted abuse without even questioning my abuser. I understood his message and believed his manipulations. I let this lesson permeate every area of my life, convincing me I deserved nothing better.

I heard the unspoken pronouncement and scripted a story from declarations. I was mean. I was a bad girl. I was the instigator. It was my fault.

I decided to keep certain things hidden, wounds that tore at me, scars that I was ashamed of, broken places. I felt so terribly alone. And so horribly ashamed. If I was the bad guy, then these injuries must be my fault.

It was true. My heart was neglected and responsibilities abandoned. Sexuality was exposed and I was taken advantage of. Trust was abused. Innocence was stolen and blame was shoved onto my shoulders. Burdens were heavy, messes were devastating. Betrayed, lied to, misused, and attacked.  Some screamed in my face and called me names, while others simply forgot I was there. Leaders lied to me. And pushed me to the ground. They said I was bad. They said it was me.

And I believed them.

I stayed quiet and accepted the blame. I shouldered their consequences and their quiet rage. My body was wracked with the trauma. My mind learned to disassociate from life. Some tears were swallowed and others absorbed into my pillow. My trembling hands were shoved deep into my pockets. Every bruise from their unceasing slaps was carefully covered for their protection. Every scar was tenderly hidden.

And now I stand here feeling the pain of those old wounds, seeing the effect of each violent shake.

Everyday I fight my own defenses, I struggle against my own demons.

My heart shivers with truth as I stare it in the face, as I begin to unload what isn’t mine to carry.

And I pray. I pray that His healing will continue to miraculously flow, His grace sheltering my  open spirit, His love filling each empty space. I pray that the new script I have worked so hard to finally recognize, with the reality of my true identity in Christ, will overcome the past’s lies and remind me of God’s solid grasp on my life.

I also pray that He will use me, that I will be willing, with His strength, to expose my scars and stand proud. I pray that God will increase my awareness, that I will be able to see the wounded around me and be part of God’s provision of comfort to them. I pray that He will make me a wounded healer.

Rejected

1 Samuel 8:6-9

            “But when they said, Give us a king to lead us,” this displeased Samuel; so he prayed to the Lord. And the Lord told him: “Listen to all that the people are saying to you; it is not you they have rejected, but they have rejected me as their king. As they have done from the day I brought them up out of Egypt until this day, forsaking me and serving other gods, so they are doing to you. Now listen to them; but warn them solemnly and let them know what the king who will reign over them will do.”

            Samuel was chosen by God, called out at an early age to be His servant and work in the temple. He was a faithful prophet and judge over the people of Israel. When his sons were appointed as Israel’s judges, they showed themselves to be corrupt men. The people were justified in their complaints about this new leadership. They did not turn to God to address this, but instead demanded a king in place of the system of judges God had established. Feeling greatly rejected, Samuel went to God with the people’s request. God’s words to Samuel were comforting. “This isn’t about you. They are not rejecting you. This is about their rejection of me.” They had forsaken God, continually choosing to focus their attention and adoration on everything else but Him. And then God told Samuel how to handle it: Listen to their complaints. Hear their hurts, frustrations, and desires. Warn them of where their refusal to turn to me will take them. And then….give them what they want. “Give them a king.” Vs. 22

            Often, I accept the weight of rejection as personal and deserved. I have felt great shame in my unnamed failure that seemed to have caused such painful circumstances. I have been crippled by the burden. Did Samuel blame himself for the upheaval around him and the people's refusal to follow God and His ways? Did he wonder if his mistakes, his flaws had brought him to the place where his sons were choosing to live sinfully and his countrymen were rejecting him? Did his shoulders start to hunch as depression set in? Did he feel like who he was, all he gave just wasn’t enough?

            I’ve felt Samuel’s great disappointment in being rejected and wondered where I went wrong. Why I was so deeply flawed? What did I do to deserve betrayal? Why would our friendship end so suddenly? Why would they tell lies that destroy my family? Why would they behave in such an incredibly hateful way?

             I’ve always, in one way or another, shouldered the blame. I wasn’t desirable enough. I was too selfish and wasn’t worth the trouble. I failed to live up to their expectations. I wasn’t important enough for reconciliation. Maybe my family was bad. Maybe others abandoned me because I deserved it. I am the cause. I have failed. I am the reason for these cruelties.

            The Lord spoke into Samuel’s life then with undeniable clarity. “They are not rejecting you, Samuel. You have no shame to bear in this. They are rejecting me, my ways, my laws, my love. This is about their lack of awareness in what I can do, lack of willingness to obey me no matter the cost. This is all about their relationship with me.”

            “Will they have a love that is willing to lay down life for another? Will they have a faith that will step out into a torrent of troubles to be by my side? Will they allow transformation to make them different, ready to stand in the full armor of my provision? Will they refuse temptation’s call and accept vulnerability’s cost? Will they show humility to forgive and sacrifice to love?”

            When the answers are no, when God’s urging is ignored, I am to respond  as Samuel was directed, first by listening. With an empathic attitude, I am to hear them. Without taking responsibility for their choices, I am to open myself to their words, thoughts, and unspoken messages. To understand their fears and frustrations. To release my need for acceptance. To listen to their story.

            God then tells me to warn them. I make an effort to understand their feelings and desires so I can warn them of what’s to come. With concern and love, I can express the consequences clearly visible. Lies will permanently damage the bond we cherish. The loss of connection will be grievious. The destruction of trust, devastating. I can ask that we turn to God, stepping away from our perception of injustices done and heartaches experienced, and choosing to follow His leading towards love.

            If they won’t hear me, if their decision is to go their own way, then I can do nothing but let them. I don’t carry the burden of their choices. All that I can offer is to listen and warn. Even when their complaints are justified, turning away from God is never the right answer. To recognize that they are rejecting God and not me is to free myself from the burden of shame wrongly shouldered.  We are all flawed, we all want to do it our way, but I am not responsible for anyone's choices but my own.

            Will I show the kind of love that Jesus did? Will I experience the storm walking life with God?Will I be transformed by His power, not conformed to this world? Will I run from the temptation to make it all about me and gladly take the risk of being vulnerable?

            I will choose to hear God’s clear voice and take comfort in His reassurance. I will be humbled by His forgiveness and love. I will hold out my hand to receive and outstretch my arm to offer.

Other People's Messes

“Stability means not being side swiped at every corner by someone else’s chaos.”

Session 1

When I was a child, other people’s messes were all over me. I was surrounded by chaos and sadness and struggle. Other people’s hurts and bad decisions came crashing down on me often. So, I took on the responsibility to be the one who cleaned up the mess. I spent my life energy feeling that heavy responsibility that should’ve been shoved back onto their shoulders. I was angry and resentful and frustrated.

I wonder, when their messes came falling down on you, how did you react?

A man I knew tried to push himself on me… that was definitely someone else’s mess spilling over into my life. I looked to others for help cleaning up this disaster, and they laughed. So I kicked that mess as hard as I could and watched it roll on the ground moaning in pain. Good for me right?

You cleaned up someone else’s mess when no one would help you. You then had a choice to either tell someone else and let them help get rid of the mess or to keep it to yourself. What did you do?

 I decided to keep it to myself.

How did that feel?

I cannot express how terribly alone that felt.

 To have cleaned up someone else’s bad decision, to have suffered from their mess and to have stood up and said no… but then to have walked away with that secret to carry alone. I can understand that was horribly sad for you. Did you ever tell anyone?

I chose not to tell someone else. What if they wouldn’t help me? What if they would’ve said it was partly my fault? Maybe the shame and responsibility would’ve crushed me.

But maybe they would’ve stood up and fought for you. Can you imagine how that would’ve felt?

Oh the love and importance I would’ve been filled with! I would’ve known I was cherished. I would’ve felt such pride and connection! I had choices. No matter how hopeless it felt, no matter how unfair the circumstances were, I had choices.

 And I have choices now, whether it’s a literal mess I come home to or the figurative mess made when others strike out. When other people make messes and the feeling of responsibility starts to crush me, I can recognize the truth of my past and my present. And I can let go.

No matter how much I know this truth, I don’t succeed often. I feel the loneliness of being the one who has to clean up other people’s messes start to envelop me, and it hurts, and I get angry! I am powerless to make others change, to get them to help, to show them how much it hurts me even when it’s something as simple as the kitchen sink over running. It is hopeless that they will ever take the need for cleaning up their messes seriously.

You still have a choice.

I can live with it, the pit of anxiety and frustration firmly in my gut. I can accept the mess. Or I can clean it up. But it isn’t mine!!!

I get that, but those are the choices. You are not powerless. You have choices. Which one is better?

I want to live in a clean house, so I will clean it, knowing it isn’t my responsibility. But then how can I get back at them? What can the consequences be? What’s the punishment?

 There is none. You clean it by choice for your peace of mind. You clean it because you want it clean. You clean it without picking up the weight of their burden. And you forgive them, you let it go. You love them.

But that’s not fair!! They are getting away with it. What would make them ever clean up their own mess when they know I will just do it for them, without any consequences???

Maybe, just maybe, they will pick up the weight of your love. Feel it deep down in their wounded places. And maybe they will respond.

Take My Hand

Take my hand. I will hold onto yours with strength and calm. I won't let go when trouble comes, when heartaches threaten, when tear drops fall. My head will bow to weep with you. My hand will grasp tighter, and we will walk together through it all.

I want to offer you, with the grip of my fingers, endurance, companionship, comfort, courage. Anything can be faced by two. Everything can be walked through with someone at your side. I will not abandon you when wounds need healing. I will love you with grace.

I offer you my outstretched hand, a friend who sees you and accepts you just for who you are. Without judgment, without rejection, I will listen to your open heart and love you for the beautiful creation you have always been. I won't try to carry you. Do not worry about burdening me. I can stand beside you without taking responsibility for your pain. I can journey next to you without dependence.

Our entangled fingers prove the consistent presence of our bond. With safety between us, we can travel together, blocking fear with love, soothing insecurities with honesty, crushing hesitancy with trust.

I am here, holding your hand to honor you. If you choose to let go, if you release my hand to follow your own path alone, I will smile in remembrance of my season with you. I will encourage your steps no matter how much distance they create. I will celebrate the growth we were allowed to share, and I will offer you the vision in my heart for your joy and peace. Grief may come, I will feel your absence, but mingled with my tears will be warmth residing in the palm of my hand.