Between dust and flowing water

“Between Times
Paul Tournier, in A Place for You, describes the experience of being in between—between the time we leave home and arrive at our destination; between the time we leave adolescence and arrive at adulthood; between the time we leave doubt and arrive at faith. It is like the time when a trapeze artist lets go the bar and hangs in midair, ready to catch another support: it is a time of danger, of expectation, of uncertainty, of excitement, of extraordinary aliveness.

Christians will recognize how appropriately these psalms [Psalms 120-134] may be sung between the times: between the time we leave the world’s environment and arrive at the Spirit’s assembly; between the time we leave sin and arrive at holiness; between the time we leave home on Sunday morning and arrive in church with the company of God’s people; between the time we leave the works of the law and arrive at justification by faith. They are songs of transition, brief hymns that provide courage, support and inner direction for getting us to where God is leading us in Jesus Christ.

Meanwhile the world whispers, “Why bother? There is plenty to enjoy without involving yourself in all that. The past is a graveyard—ignore it; the future is a holocaust—avoid it. There is no payoff for discipleship, there is no destination for pilgrimage. Get God the quick way; buy instant charisma.” But other voices speak—if not more attractively, at least more truly.”

-Eugene H. Peterson
A Long Obedience in the Same Direction, p.20

In the previous post, I mention a fortuitous coffee-date that I got to have this week, where we closed down the shop and were asked to continue our conversation outside ;)...

At one point in this long conversation, we hit a silly note, referring to a need for a "dating tips" site in regards to the life of a disciple of Christ ("How to keep it fresh when you've been together for 20+ years",  ha!)...  It feels very laughable to have typed that out, but what hit a chord for me is that, especially in this year of transitioning towards the missionary lifestyle, far from family, friends, and often a church Body, I am on a quest to sort out what a mature, fully grounded and steadfast discipleship should look like, apart from the structure that I am blessed to have just because I grew up around established church programs and awesome opportunities to learn from other believers on a daily and weekly basis...

When I look at not being utterly submerged in that in the future, the urgency of personal discipline is unveiled in the most real way I've ever experienced. This is most certainly a concept I've taken seriously all my life, and I was blessed with parents and a church that never for a second let me think that faith is "grandfathered-in", but in my most honest moments, I know that the Christian culture in America makes it very easy to think I know how to feed myself, because there is never a lack of spiritual food at my fingertips, and I have surely fallen into living off of what I can absorb “just  by showing up” before. 

But the beautiful side-effect of living on a precipice is that it mirrors back to me what   should   not   be.   And so alongside this journey towards serving in the Bible Translation process, I am on a journey to live in that vulnerable, chest-cavity-open-on-an-operating-alter kind of honesty, and to rediscover, each day, what intimacy with Christ can look like--and how alive  a "long obedience in the same direction" can be.  One of the most poignant characteristics that long seasons of sickness wrought out in me was the will  involved in submitting my heart and direction, not because there was a mountain peak coming, but just because the One I followed was deeply trustworthy, even if the journey felt ugly and painful.    In the last year though, He has been whispering me into a subsequent understanding of obedience and discipline----dancing me out of a fertile but somber valley, and onto unknown rocks and adventure. I have been praying that my submission would learn how to travel between these heavy and light hearted seasons with grace, whimsy, and praise, and that I would not loosen my grip on Him, depending on the form of the season…  

And may this be contagious. May we, irregardless of our different contexts, see the need to quest forward----for closeness with each other and with Him, for divine passion for what He's placed in us to do and be,  for hearts that would have no rest in or patience for our own nestled apathy, but would all seek the transition between dust and flowing water.

Redeeming what could have been "Stranded Friday"

[A Friday morning song I'd love for you to hear (referred to later in this post!)]


I never have trouble understanding that “no man is an island”.

This feels like in-grown knowledge that I’m always certain of, and more often than not, it’s harder for me to handle being in situations that make me feel like one. I don't dislike solitude, and longingly crave it sometimes, but this week has been one of those funny convergences of lots of solitude that just sort of happened by default…  Krissy and Chris have been on vacation, so this big house has been devoid of anyone but me and the Great Companion Scout. I have been working a lot this week too, because everyone in the office is at a conference, and whenever this has happened anytime in the last 3 years, I’ve been the Fort-Holder-Downer for the team…that’s just what we do, and it works wonderfully. 

BUT—It also means that the office has been down to one or two people, and much quieter than usual. THIS much quiet (waking up to it, driving to work in it, rolling in it from 9-5, and returning home to it for a quiet evening) for days and days in a row has historically made me squirrelly, itchy for people and stories, voices and interaction. It's just how God wired me. 

BUT—This week I've found Him beautifully pushing on those wires, and making enough quiet room for me to have space to notice His provision. In the midst of this plan for the Silent Bustle Week, my car broke down. I was running to go meet a dear woman for a we-haven't-done-this-in-TOO-LONG coffee-chat, and it was going to be my reprieve from the first few days of being on my own. "Err-errr-ERrrrrrr" went my little Sentra, and nothing I could do would coax it out of stubborn stuckness. 

BUT—I keep being reminded that His timing is good, even for brokenness.
The breakdown happening this week meant there was a vehicle to borrow, and work has gone on just as it needed to. Such a blessing! I was able to get to the needed, nourishing conversation, wherein we out-night-owled the coffee shop, and I've been able to have the time and solitude in the evenings that I've needed to re-kindle fervent prayer — Prayer about provision and "first world needs" like car repairs, about habits that I want to strengthen in my life that I have time to notice when it gets hushed and still, about awesome decisions that are coming up concerning Papua New Guinea, and the name of a region that I've been asked to pray about working in once I'm initially settled in... 

It is only in solitude that things like this get to roll around my mind and tongue the way they should... In this solitude, my heart readjusts its need to process out loud with someone, and finds itself reminded that Christ knows my voice and wants to hear these things first. He knows the name of this region in PNG and knows every person there. He knows what's wrong with my car and how He will sort out every worry of mine, so much so that He would prefer I let the air out of those worries before I decide it's holy to fill them up and let them fly upward like wind-hoisted balloons...

So this morning was about a joy-filled, weightless, extra-early drive to work in a borrowed car, where my heart found thanks and felicity dribbling out of it (to the tune of the song above!), with the comfortable knowledge that it is well, and that we ought to be singing while we wait to see the surprising, jubilant provision of the Lord. Happy Friday, dearest loved ones. May you feel Him so warmly in your rush or silence today too.

Monday, Monday

It's one of those mornings when the new week has begun but my heart and mind are nestled in Sunday — blind-white sunshine and overlapping islands of picnic blankets from yesterday's good conversations... 

But today is a writing day, a listening to The Innocence Mission and connecting with people day, and so Scout and I welcomed it in with kibble and eggs (respectively), and I am sipping coffee in my favorite, should-be-famous Giraffe Mug.

There is so much to do, but I find this morning that letting in the light has been important and slow. It's been the first day in a long, LONG while, weekends included, that I've just lilted through a morning, twirling between starting laundry, stepping out on a windy porch, finishing my tea and pouring some joe, switching the laundry load, and catching up on the lives of dear friends that also try to capture moments with words on various sites..

So with my sentinel at the window, music in the room, and Replenishment beside me, that so rarely visits on Mondays, I welcome this week.

Transition Measured in Books..

I once heard Kay Arthur tell a story about how she sold all her possessions before becoming a missionary when she was younger because she “read in the Bible that ‘where your treasure is, there your heart is also’, and ‘I didn’t want my heart to be stuck in a storage facility somewhere’”J… In person, her delivery was clearly humorous, but I can definitely relate! 

A few weeks ago, I decided that if I didn’t start going through my belongings now to at least majorly minimize, I was going to move to Papua New Guinea in a few months with boxes of things in my family members’ homes that don’t need to be sitting there for years.

So in March, I began with the books! As I swiped at the dust and pages with my fingers and lovingly inspected each one, I realized the books on my colossal shelf go back through a habit of at least twenty years of story-hoarding...   In school, through my most awkward years, books were my escape to incredible places and times, and characters that could understand me more than the people I was meeting in middle school. Though I was mostly a library borrower then, the habit stuck, and I found delight in large vocabulary words and the characters that used them.

College-Mon working
on my Senior Project

By high school, I was a full-fledged Lit-nerd who'd begun the habit of scouring used book stores for the oldest copies of favorites I could find, and becoming an English Major in college only multiplied the "problem" ten-fold! Each semester would bring a new long list to acquire, read, absorb, and analyze, and by the time I graduated, I'd plotted to buy a bookshelf to house "my loves" so they didn't have to live in odd, studious floor-stacks anymore.

When I moved out on my own after college for the first time, I found a used, three-part, mammoth bookshelf that felt perfect and proud to hold them, and when I became a teacher later, I found myself continuing the habit of hitting up used book stores after particularly stressful or rewarding teaching days to mark the momentous occasion J. Later, the well-loved collection even required a fourth build-it-yourself, additional tall shelf! 

So now, as I tried to undertake the minimization of this heap o' books, I found myself quite a sentimental goose over them—over and over again, I found little notes tucked away in the pages, and not the grocery-list kind, but the memory-fiber, weighty kind. I rediscovered a meaningful letter from my village roommate during my time in Ghana in '04, there were cards of encouragement from friends at all different points in my life, and post-its my parents had hidden away for me to find when I was in Italy. There was a lunch-note with doodles my sister and I had passed back and forth over a few days in high school, and some drawings we'd swiveled to make each other smile. Many of the books were given to me as gifts, with heart-words poured out on the cover pages. Some marked epochs in my personal growth, or instantly took me back to seasons of struggle when I'd clung to those pages for comfort.

There was something beautifully cathartic in this sifting process, and when I was finished I had a medium-sized keep-stack, a pile of precious notes, bookmarks, and letters, and several boxes of books to part with! It was fascinating to find that my whole life until this point could be partially measured out in books, and it was also beautiful to learn that these outward shells were not my treasure, but that there are so many deeply lovely memories, lessons, people, and so much unwavering human emotion that I connect to those titles and the words found within them. These things I carry with me, and several oceans won't change that.

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