What Happens?

What happens when we pray?  I know that we pray, we grow in faith, God hears us, and answers our prayers, sometimes in ways we want, sometimes in ways we don’t want.  But on a cosmic level, what really happens?  I ask because I have been privileged to see BIG answers to prayer lately in the lives of people around me, or people who used to be around me.

                Example 1.  A former elder of my church in Atlanta has been fighting cancer for 15 or so years.  He and his precious family were told a few weeks ago that the end was near and he had mere days to live.  So people prayed.  I mean, prayed.  All across the state of Georgia, and elsewhere in the country, people who know this man and people who don’t all got down on their knees and cried out to God for a miracle.  Death retreated, and he’s still fighting, one of Christ’s great warriors on this earth, I know. 

                Example 2.  A couple in India whom I’ve never met adopted an infant boy born with several disabilities, who was unwanted by his mother and would otherwise have been left to die.  They brought him to Chapel Hill for desperately needed surgery, only to find out that they needed $100,000 to actually pay for the surgeries.  So people prayed. And gave.  And $100,000 was raised in one week.  ONE WEEK.  I get chills just thinking about it.  This beautiful child still has a hard journey ahead of him.  This isn’t over.  But God is working.

                So I wonder, what happens when we pray?  Are the powers of God unleashed upon this earth?  Are His warriors sent out to do His bidding and to answer the pleas of His people?  Are the forces of Satan pushed back as the sons and daughters of the Creator raise their voices?  When our hearts are in anguish, does He sing over us words of comfort and healing?

                I think yes.  I know in this lifetime, I will never know what that looks like in the spiritual realm, but oh, what joy it will be to gaze upon the face of my Savior and see how His mighty hand is outstretched over this earth.

What do you write about when there's nothing going on?

There’s a book out there entitled A Long Obedience in the Same Direction.  I’ve never read this book because the title alone scares me to death.  I’m not so good with patience…or boredom…or doing the same thing every day.  I pretty much HAVE to have something to look forward to or I start feeling antsy and going a little bit crazy. 

                The last eight years of my life have been nothing but constant change—jobs, cities, places to live.  Now I find myself in a “situation” that could realistically not change for awhile.  Oh, I’m sure that I’ll probably move to a different apartment or house at some time in the next year or so because that just seems to be my lot in life (one benefit: I am the most efficient packer EVER and I accumulate very little stuff).  But I’m at a stable job that I’m not looking to get out of, in a city that I really don’t see myself leaving anytime soon. 

                I know that God could totally change all of that without a moment’s notice, but what if He doesn’t?   I’ve learned so much over the last decade about how to deal with change, but very little about how to deal with sameness.  I think I’ve had my fair share of heartache and struggle this year, but I have to admit that it’s easier to cry out to God when I can really feel my desperate need for Him.

                It’s a lot harder when there is an established rhythm to life and nothing seems all that difficult.  I find myself a little bit envious of my friend who is living in India or other people I know who are preparing to move to different countries.

                I trust that the “boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places,” but will I be able to continue to believe that even if instead of calling me to go, God calls me to stay?  The sufficiency of God’s grace seems much more real to me in times of struggle and weakness than it does in the small, mundane stresses of everyday life.

                Most of the last 5 years of my life, God has been teaching me to trust in truth, not in my own feelings.  Perhaps this season of life is just a continuation of that.  Or perhaps He’s up to something bigger (He usually is) than I can even dream of. 

                Either way, subjects for blogging are more difficult to find J 

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

You might think I’m talking about Christmas (obviously), or how beautiful and wonderful fall is (it really is).  But nope.

I’m talking about college basketball.

Oh yes.  Carolina opens its regular season this Friday (on 11/11/11!) on an aircraft carrier.  Carolina’s first regular season game is quite possibly one of the highlights of my entire year.  I love it.  I know that from that day until the first Monday in April, I’ll get to watch good college basketball every single week. 

I love good defense and 5-second violations.  I love the emotion and the adrenaline.  I love beating teams by double digits, and I love buzzer beaters just for the rush.  I love hating Dick Vitale.  I love “One Shining Moment.”  I love when the score reaches 100.  I love when the walk-ons put points on the board. And I have a special place in my heart for scrappy point guards (and for Wes Miller). 

For this warm weather girl, college basketball is winter’s one redeeming grace.

I have high hopes for my boys this season, but even if they don’t live up to expectations, a small piece of me will always sing “Hark the Sound” at the end of a game. 

Go Heels! 

A Cure for Road Rage

From time to time, my dad likes to remind me that I'm impatient.  Unfortunately, he's right, as much as I would like to think that I have grown past this particular imperfection.  The main way this manifests itself in my life is in my car.  Not only do I drive too fast, but I also can have a bit of road rage when other people are preventing me from driving too fast.  Having been convicted (spiritually, not legally) of this lately, I decided to pray in the car when I start to get impatient (why this has taken me 14 years of driving to start doing is another issue entirely).

I thought I was doing a fantastic job on my way to church this morning.  I was behind a car with an older couple inside, driving rather slowly, and shortly before the turn to my parking lot for church, the driver of the car stopped and put on his blinker to turn left into his church parking lot.  The driver was a bit hesitant.  Technically, I had enough room in the bike lane to go around him, but I decided that I would be patient and wait the extra 10-15 seconds.  The car behind me had other ideas.  I saw in my rear view mirror a woman obviously yelling at me and gesturing.  The car turned, I moved along and turned into my parking lot.  So did the car behind me.  Huh.  Awkward.

I think one of the reasons road rage is so hard for me is because I'm anonymous.  Nobody knows who I am, and if somebody gets a glimpse of my face as I speed by, well, it's going to be forgotten in an hour.  I've heard it said that for Christian women in particular, the car is the only place we feel we can express anger.  If I'm frustrated at work, I'm probably not going to tell anyone (except maybe my best friend).  If I get angry at people in my private life, it's very rarely expressed.  While I think some of this is probably good and borne out of a genuine desire to be kind, some of it is decidedly less good and borne out of a desire to have everyone like me.  Either way, saving my anger for the road doesn't get rid of the root problem (my frustration when things don't go my way), it just transfers it to a less "dangerous" situation (assuming, of course, that I remain anonymous and nothing bad happens). 

This morning, my first reaction at being on the receiving end of road rage by someone in my church community was to be indignant.  "Um, excuse me, this is church!  I'm being all patient and godly and this woman is just screaming at me!  How dare she!"  The other word for my attitude is self-righteousness.  I go to a pretty small church, so of course, I knew this girl.  I couldn't really figure out a way to make it not awkward to talk to her, so I just didn't.  I'm an excellent conflict avoider. 

Anyway--as the worship service began, I was irritated and defensive, before remembering how often I have done the same thing to other people.  I just have never been on my way to the same non-anonymous place.  I was redoubled in my conviction and my intent to pray for patience in the car.  Woohoo!

Until about 2:00 this afternoon, when I was on my way home from lunch and got behind a car going 10 under in the left lane and I muttered my irritation at the driver instead of praying.  At which point I remembered just how desperately and continually I need Jesus.

I am confident that He who is doing a good work in me will finish it to completion; I just wish it were an easier process. 

Cheap Thrills

Molly tends to provide excellent entertainment---she'll occasionally play fetch with herself, she likes eating bubbles, and sometimes she "talks" or "sings" meaning, she howls and holds notes for a very long time).  But every once in awhile, she chases her tail...and I think it's hilarious.  I think she knows it's her tail, but she just wants to see if maybe she can get it this time.  I finally caught it on video, so I had to share :)

It's been a kind of strange evening--the smoke alarm (or carbon monoxide detector) went off twice, then stopped (I fully expect to be awoken at 2am), and when I went downstairs, I found the front door ajar.  So whatever strange electricity is in the air tonight seems to have affected my puppy as well.  

Choose Joy

Sara is a blogger I discovered a year or so ago, and she also has written for (in)courage, an online community of women writing about God and life.  I became immediately drawn in by Sara’s story, a young woman diagnosed with a debilitating disease and therefore robbed of everything she thought she had and all she thought life was going to hold for her.

In such a circumstance, I probably would’ve shriveled up and given up.  Sara, though, did the opposite.  Homebound for years, she loved and loved BIG.  She poured out her heart and she chose joy (also the title of her blog).

I have never met this woman, and she does not know that I exist, but I am inspired.  I know how often I choose to not choose joy.  I instead choose to complain.  I choose anger at God for what He has withheld from me and frustration at people who do not conform to my expectations.  I choose many things, but not often joy.

Sara’s story has taught me that joy is a choice.  Life will be hard.  Whatever course the rest of my life takes, however long or short, it will contain sorrow and grief and loss and pain.  I cannot prevent it or fix it or delay it.  It is a reality.

But I can still choose to praise the One who rescued me from the grave, the One who bought me from captivity, who gives me breath and life and purpose.  I can choose to be joyful that I stand redeemed and forgiven and whole.

Sarah is on her way home. 

And today I choose joy that one day, I, too, will be welcomed home
into a beautiful, perfect eternity where every sad thing will be undone.

Being Introverted in an Extraverted World

I am an introvert. It is part of my nature that I have fought against and complained to God about incessantly over the years.  I have cried in frustration at this aspect of my personality that I am completely unable to change.  I have begged God to take it away.  I read recently that our basic personalities are set by the time we’re in first grade, so as disheartening as it is, it appears that I am stuck this way.

I have been accused of being stuck up and standoffish, and, in one of the most hurtful things ever said to me, accused of not caring about people. (All of these accusations, by the way, have been made by extroverts.)  

The truth is not that I am uncaring, stuck up, or standoffish.  The truth is that I hate small talk.  I’m horrible at it.  Big groups drain me.  I feel awkward in a roomful of people I don’t well.  When I was living in Atlanta, a friend of mine and I used to drink a beer or two just to gear ourselves up for parties.  Alcohol makes bearable otherwise supremely uncomfortable moments.  I would not recommend employing this strategy on a regular basis, but it has its uses.

These introverted tendencies make being new very difficult, even in a fairly welcoming and inviting environment.  Extraversion is rewarded and praised, even often mistaken for kindness and warmth.  These characteristics can and often do coexist, of course, but the lack of one is not proof of lack of the other.  I have been taken in by outgoing charm, attracted to that which I lack, only to find that charm is, in fact, deceptive. I could’ve learned the same lesson by taking Proverbs to heart, but I’m too stubborn for that.

Introversion has its many overlooked qualities.  We tend, on the whole, to be pretty good listeners.  I love lingering, meaningful conversations with one or two or three other people.  I could get to know you over lunch or coffee, and we would probably walk away friends.  I don’t want to just know what you do for a living, I want to know why you do it.  I want to know what you care about, what you’re passionate about, what you’re struggling with, how you’re hurting, and how I can help. 

The trouble is figuring out how to get from the big groups that I hate to the more intimate setting where I can have the kinds of conversations that I like.  I’m convinced that there is a place in God’s kingdom for all sorts of personalities and talents and gifts; I’m not convinced that the church does such a great job of celebrating all of these differences, especially in a culture that so prizes the more outgoing among us. 

I know that my Father knit me together in my mother’s womb.  I know (usually) that I am wonderfully and fearfully made.  I can’t help but wish at times that I was made differently, but who am I to question God?  Who am I to criticize His creation of my heart?  I want to quietly trust that He has a plan for ALL of me, a plan for me to glorify Him and to love others in His name.  He is the author of my story, and He can’t be the author without writing the characters too.