There may not be a sweeter sound in the entire world than hearing your child pray The Lord's Prayer. Even though I know he doesn't likely grasp what he's saying and sometimes gets it wrong ("Deliver us to temptation.."), it is a pure love song from his lips to God's listening ear. And it melts me every single time I hear it.
Isn't that what God thinks of each of our prayers? We get so caught up in whether or not we are doing it right, remembering to pray for the right people and situations, or putting it off until a better time. But to God, it is the sweet sound of his child calling out to their Heavenly Father.
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Monday, August 13, 2012
Same Kind of Different As Me
If you've read my previous post, you know that I struggled to enjoy reading, writing, praying, and just being in my quiet moments in Plano this summer. I kept a few books in my nightstand during those months, even though most of our books had been packed up and stored in the garage for our staged house. One book, in particular, Same Kind of Different As Me (by Ron Hall and Denver Moore), was one that I kept out because I was determined to finish it. I had read about 75% of the book a few years ago when it came out and loved it, but I am notorious for only reading partial books and never actually finishing any of them (which is why even in audiobook form, it was a big deal that I finished Tina Fey's Bossypants this summer). For whatever reason, I had an internal need to keep that book out. I had a desire to read it a few times this summer, but could never remember where I had stored it. I never did find it until we moved and I put it on top of my nightstand so I wouldn't lose it again. While this all seems like extraneous detail, I believe this little book is part of a plan of God's pursuit in my life.
This past weekend, my uncle was in town (as were about 20 of my nearest and dearest family members, here to surprise my mom) and mentioned to me that he wanted to visit Ft Worth so he could see the homeless shelter that was the focal point in Same Kind of Different As Me. That was the final straw for me, so I came home last night after mom's bday weekend and pulled it out, nervous as to if I would remember enough details to just pick it back up where I left off. I started reading it and it was as if Ron and Denver were just sitting in my apartment telling me their story.
I am not finished yet, but I have read almost 100 pages in the past 24 hours. This is abnormal for me (which I realize will be a challenge in seminary, and is another reason I'm trying to retrain myself on how to focus and read better/more). I am no longer in my funk. I am reminded in Ron and Denver's gentle words that life is bigger than our everyday routines. Our everyday career paths. Even bigger than our nuclear family groups that we tend to idolize at times. Through this amazing story of a homeless man and an art dealer, I have been reminded of what it means to show love to someone. Particularly someone who you wouldn't normally feel inclined to show that you love. I have been reminded of my calling to share God's love with the world through leadership in the local and universal church. I have been reminded of life and death and hunger and longings and joy and pain and grief. All I could think of as I read the words in this beautiful book was how overwhelmed I was that God will still allow me to be a vessel used for God's greater purposes. I am so unworthy.
Ron's words echoed in my heart as he described how he felt after Denver had prayed and spoken God's word in his life.
"I marveled at the intricate tapestry of God's providence. Deborah, led by God to deliver mercy and compassion, had rescued this wreck of a man who, when she fell ill, in turn became her chief intercessor. For nineteen months, he prayed through the night until dawn and delivered the word of God to our door like a kind of heavenly paperboy. I was embarrassed that I once thought myself superior to him, stooping to sprinkle my wealth and wisdom into his lowly life." (p 183)
Oh, how it convicted me today to be reminded that my status in life, in my current or former career, my place in this world are all fleeting things. I love how much I have learned from a homeless man on the pages of this book. That he would be the one to write words that would comfort me and assure me that I have heard God and have answered God's call. That the art dealer who took him in would remind me that I am superior to no one and I have everything to learn from those who I view as "ministry opportunity." I love that a book copyrighted in 2006 would still be spreading love and acceptance and encouraging my faith six years later.
I'm headed off to read now - hoping to finish it tonight. In the meantime, I'm pretty excited for the other amazing and mysterious ways that God will continue to hammer me over the head to recognize that helping others understand how much God loves them has better eternal reward than any career path or perks that I selfishly continue to long for. Loving the homeless in Austin has been thrown in my face a few times in the past month I've been here and I imagine the conversation and response to this book could continue to inspire me to understand how the local churches in Austin are responding to the needs of those people.
In case you haven't read this fantastic story, please go check it out -
http://www.samekindofdifferentasme.com/purchase.aspx
This past weekend, my uncle was in town (as were about 20 of my nearest and dearest family members, here to surprise my mom) and mentioned to me that he wanted to visit Ft Worth so he could see the homeless shelter that was the focal point in Same Kind of Different As Me. That was the final straw for me, so I came home last night after mom's bday weekend and pulled it out, nervous as to if I would remember enough details to just pick it back up where I left off. I started reading it and it was as if Ron and Denver were just sitting in my apartment telling me their story.
I am not finished yet, but I have read almost 100 pages in the past 24 hours. This is abnormal for me (which I realize will be a challenge in seminary, and is another reason I'm trying to retrain myself on how to focus and read better/more). I am no longer in my funk. I am reminded in Ron and Denver's gentle words that life is bigger than our everyday routines. Our everyday career paths. Even bigger than our nuclear family groups that we tend to idolize at times. Through this amazing story of a homeless man and an art dealer, I have been reminded of what it means to show love to someone. Particularly someone who you wouldn't normally feel inclined to show that you love. I have been reminded of my calling to share God's love with the world through leadership in the local and universal church. I have been reminded of life and death and hunger and longings and joy and pain and grief. All I could think of as I read the words in this beautiful book was how overwhelmed I was that God will still allow me to be a vessel used for God's greater purposes. I am so unworthy.
Ron's words echoed in my heart as he described how he felt after Denver had prayed and spoken God's word in his life.
"I marveled at the intricate tapestry of God's providence. Deborah, led by God to deliver mercy and compassion, had rescued this wreck of a man who, when she fell ill, in turn became her chief intercessor. For nineteen months, he prayed through the night until dawn and delivered the word of God to our door like a kind of heavenly paperboy. I was embarrassed that I once thought myself superior to him, stooping to sprinkle my wealth and wisdom into his lowly life." (p 183)
Oh, how it convicted me today to be reminded that my status in life, in my current or former career, my place in this world are all fleeting things. I love how much I have learned from a homeless man on the pages of this book. That he would be the one to write words that would comfort me and assure me that I have heard God and have answered God's call. That the art dealer who took him in would remind me that I am superior to no one and I have everything to learn from those who I view as "ministry opportunity." I love that a book copyrighted in 2006 would still be spreading love and acceptance and encouraging my faith six years later.
I'm headed off to read now - hoping to finish it tonight. In the meantime, I'm pretty excited for the other amazing and mysterious ways that God will continue to hammer me over the head to recognize that helping others understand how much God loves them has better eternal reward than any career path or perks that I selfishly continue to long for. Loving the homeless in Austin has been thrown in my face a few times in the past month I've been here and I imagine the conversation and response to this book could continue to inspire me to understand how the local churches in Austin are responding to the needs of those people.
In case you haven't read this fantastic story, please go check it out -
http://www.samekindofdifferentasme.com/purchase.aspx
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
I Think I Made a Mistake
I need to write about 12 different posts to describe the last month or two. I think I need to write about 10 of those 12 just describing the emotional upheaval that I have experienced since last Friday when I left the Southwest Airlines' headquarters for the last time for the foreseeable future. I am not entirely sure where to begin the story, so I am just going to start typing.
It hurts. A lot. A choice I made, willingly, to depart a decade-long career, is causing me some of the most immense emotional turmoil I can recall. It seems ridiculous to me that I would be so upset by a decision that a) I made myself and b) I am excited about, but every seed of doubt that has ever filtered into my mind about doing this is rearing its ugly head right now. I am feeling attacked by Satan in every place in my life that he knows I can be vulnerable. My marriage, my self-esteem, my intelligence, my desire to be loved and safe and comfortable. It seems like the easy road would be to just hit the delete button on about the last 6 months. Maybe 8. Let's wipe out 2012 and go back to December and let me go get on that airplane to Vegas with Lynn before I had been approved by the church to pursue ordination. Because then, I would not have submitted my intent to matriculate letter that I received from Austin Seminary the following week Adam would not have moved in April to Austin and I would not be sitting here in my 987 sq ft apartment crying while I write this post about how ridiculous it all seems.
Have I totally lost my mind? Did I hear God's voice clearly enough as I discerned this call? Was I supposed to minister to people in Dallas, at SWA, or in some other capacity of my suburban existence? Why in the world did I walk away from the people and the perks that I had right in front of me? Why is it that "everyone else" seems to be able to live out their lives in ways that seem so much easier than me? I know academically and spiritually that Jesus did not call Christians to an easy existence, but I'm pretty sure I could have ministered to others just fine while living in Plano and working at Southwest.
My heart is grieving for the loss of friendships. I know they are still there, but I am not physically there. I miss the camaraderie. I miss the laughs. I miss people who know me and hug me and have a love/hate relationship with all of my quirks. I miss evening walks with Lynn. I miss ridiculous humor from Tracey. I miss singing across the cube as Kris and I joke around. I miss coffee dates with Tammy. I miss listening to Rishi chew in the cube next to me. I miss laughing with Ang about the chaos of children, work, and life. There are so many more, but too numerous to list. I miss my life. I feel like I am living a part in a movie. It's not a bad movie, just not the story-of-my-life movie. Or if it is, there was this really abrupt scene change that I wasn't quite prepared for, even though I had seen all the previews.
I know it will get better. I know I will make new friends. I can know all of this in my heart and still cry and grieve. Because I truly believe that even when Jesus told his followers to "Take up your cross and follow me," he knew that they would miss their families. He knew that Simon would miss the smell of fish on the boat, the feel of the nets running through his hands. He knew that they were good at their trades too, but it didn't matter. Jesus had a bigger plan for how they would be spending their days. And it wasn't necessarily the easy road. I am guessing the disciples looked at others as they were following Jesus and thought, "Why can't I be more like that guy? He is going to bed, tucked away with his family, and doesn't have to come over here and stay awake all night like Jesus has asked me to." But in the end, Jesus gave them so much more than any profession or family or friend could give them. And that is what my hope is based on. And even when I don't feel that way, I know the victory has already been won and the Holy Spirit will carry me through these dark days. I know the true truth. The reality of a risen Christ, who prepares a place for me someday. I just wonder if it will have tan leather seats and pictures of my friends and 737s on the wall.
It hurts. A lot. A choice I made, willingly, to depart a decade-long career, is causing me some of the most immense emotional turmoil I can recall. It seems ridiculous to me that I would be so upset by a decision that a) I made myself and b) I am excited about, but every seed of doubt that has ever filtered into my mind about doing this is rearing its ugly head right now. I am feeling attacked by Satan in every place in my life that he knows I can be vulnerable. My marriage, my self-esteem, my intelligence, my desire to be loved and safe and comfortable. It seems like the easy road would be to just hit the delete button on about the last 6 months. Maybe 8. Let's wipe out 2012 and go back to December and let me go get on that airplane to Vegas with Lynn before I had been approved by the church to pursue ordination. Because then, I would not have submitted my intent to matriculate letter that I received from Austin Seminary the following week Adam would not have moved in April to Austin and I would not be sitting here in my 987 sq ft apartment crying while I write this post about how ridiculous it all seems.
Have I totally lost my mind? Did I hear God's voice clearly enough as I discerned this call? Was I supposed to minister to people in Dallas, at SWA, or in some other capacity of my suburban existence? Why in the world did I walk away from the people and the perks that I had right in front of me? Why is it that "everyone else" seems to be able to live out their lives in ways that seem so much easier than me? I know academically and spiritually that Jesus did not call Christians to an easy existence, but I'm pretty sure I could have ministered to others just fine while living in Plano and working at Southwest.
My heart is grieving for the loss of friendships. I know they are still there, but I am not physically there. I miss the camaraderie. I miss the laughs. I miss people who know me and hug me and have a love/hate relationship with all of my quirks. I miss evening walks with Lynn. I miss ridiculous humor from Tracey. I miss singing across the cube as Kris and I joke around. I miss coffee dates with Tammy. I miss listening to Rishi chew in the cube next to me. I miss laughing with Ang about the chaos of children, work, and life. There are so many more, but too numerous to list. I miss my life. I feel like I am living a part in a movie. It's not a bad movie, just not the story-of-my-life movie. Or if it is, there was this really abrupt scene change that I wasn't quite prepared for, even though I had seen all the previews.
I know it will get better. I know I will make new friends. I can know all of this in my heart and still cry and grieve. Because I truly believe that even when Jesus told his followers to "Take up your cross and follow me," he knew that they would miss their families. He knew that Simon would miss the smell of fish on the boat, the feel of the nets running through his hands. He knew that they were good at their trades too, but it didn't matter. Jesus had a bigger plan for how they would be spending their days. And it wasn't necessarily the easy road. I am guessing the disciples looked at others as they were following Jesus and thought, "Why can't I be more like that guy? He is going to bed, tucked away with his family, and doesn't have to come over here and stay awake all night like Jesus has asked me to." But in the end, Jesus gave them so much more than any profession or family or friend could give them. And that is what my hope is based on. And even when I don't feel that way, I know the victory has already been won and the Holy Spirit will carry me through these dark days. I know the true truth. The reality of a risen Christ, who prepares a place for me someday. I just wonder if it will have tan leather seats and pictures of my friends and 737s on the wall.
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