Living in the Gray

I strongly dislike the rain. Well, that’s not completely accurate. I really just dislike the feeling that rainy weather gives me. Or any weather without sunshine, really. I am very clearly solar-powered; my emotions are affected by the change in weather in a way that sometimes scares me. When the sky is gray, I have to consciously battle against feelings of despondency or else give in to the strong desire to mope. I truly love watching the beauty that is a thunderstorm or the sound rain makes on my roof, but the overcast color in the air will never be a comfort to me.

I got to spend time this weekend with a couple of the most genuine people I know and it was insanely refreshing. I have only encountered a handful of people in my life that I would call truly genuine, a fact that I find to be quite tragic. Most of those in my world succeed at being genuine an honorable amount of the time; myself included. But the trait of being genuine is one that I find particularly appealing and thus I am drawn to those who seem to possess it more naturally.

What in the world does this have to do with rain, you ask? In my mind, those who are genuine do not live in a gray world. For them, life is much more black-and-white. They – whether by natural giftedness or learned ability – have been able to know themselves well enough that they walk through life without wearing masks or putting on airs. It is often our nature to maintain various facades, adjusting to our current circumstances and attempting to blend in. I am not saying that it isn’t pertinent at times to be able to relate to those around you. But far too many of us fall into the trap of performing – we become, in some sense, the person we think is best suited for that particular context. Sometimes this habit is quite obvious; other times, the only one who may notice is the one making the changes. Either way, I have found that being disloyal to myself is one of the most damaging things I can do to my soul. I have found over my few years that true rest of the Spirit often comes when I am at my most honest, my most genuine. When every part of myself – the person I am in private, the person I am inside my head, the person others see and the person I am on paper – come together, I feel as if the sun has finally been turned on again. Sadly, this doesn’t fully happen as often as I’d like, but I’m beginning to learn that the way to become truly genuine is to recognize who God has created me to be and to embrace every aspect of that, both good and bad. It certainly isn’t a fool-proof process and there’s a 100% chance of failure, but to work towards the goal of getting out of the gray seems to me to be worth all of the work it takes.

To those of you who have been able to move closer into the realm of the genuine, thank you. Thank you for loving those around you enough to be yourself. And thank you for refreshing my life and giving me a goal to work towards.

The Call

The man approached the woman as she was sitting there on the bench, surrounded by orange-tipped trees and looking out over the still, brown-blue water of the lake. She stood to greet him as one would greet an old friend, embracing him tightly and reveling in his every word. Together they strolled the paths in the forest, marveling at the colors and sounds. They circled back to the bench she had left and she sat again, expecting him to sit with her. Instead, he stood before her on an overgrown trail, his hand outstretched in a humble request for her to join him. She looked from him to the path, and then looked to the bag she had left on the bench beside her, the collection of her only possessions. The woman fingered the bag, counting the items in her mind. She hesitantly pulled the strap over her shoulder and lifted her gaze back to him. Sighing, he shook his head slowly and turned to head up the path, alone.

The next day, the man returned to find the woman there, on the same bench, as he had expected. They shared in their familiar dance amidst the trees as he pointed out details of the wood to her. When they returned to her bench, the woman knew he would wish to take her down the narrow path. Contentedly, she pointed out to him that she had not brought her bag along, knowing he would want her to walk the path without it. The woman began to follow him, but stopped suddenly to return to the bench, as if she had forgotten something. She bent down to pick up her gold watch that had fallen amidst the leaves. Putting it on her wrist, she turned back to join him, a hopeful smile on her lips. His face, however, was crestfallen. He silently shook his head and went off down the path without her.

When the man approached the woman the next day, he found her locked in an embrace with another. Seeing him, she stood up with her stranger and begged the man to let them both follow him down the path. The woman vowed she would help her stranger find his way until he could navigate the path on his own. The man looked from the woman to the stranger, love evident in his eyes. His gaze met hers again as he shook his head. This time, before leaving her to travel that unfamiliar path, he bent close and whispered in her ear…

I’ll be back again tomorrow.

The Tyranny of Fear

My heart begins to make a gong out of my rib cage; my insides instantly heat up as though set over a burner; my entire body tenses, rigid as stone. The whole fight-or-flight response is completely moot; my brain is inches away from carrying my body in any direction to flee the perceived danger. Logic and reason war against my innate desire to preserve all pretense of safety. The cause could be rational and justified or a product of paranoia stemming from an ill-fated past experience. My adrenaline glands rarely pause to inquire into such time-consuming ponderings. My default reaction - my basic human flaw - is that four-letter word that is quite a bit more infamous than any of its counterparts: fear.

Most of us are no stranger to being afraid, and I can't say that I experience it any more than the next person. I do know, however, that I find myself being fearful in far more situations that I'd like. My fear can come from any number of events: I am forced to do something I have never done before, something I deem as dangerous; I am out walking alone and encounter a stranger that my mind labels as 'unsafe;' I look into the eyes of someone I care about and know that one day they will inevitably disappoint me. Any of these situations can make me want to run away, avoid the danger, save myself from any kind of pain. But, despite my best efforts, avoiding the things that I fear would mean I'd need to live as a hermit in a plastic bubble.

So, what do I do instead? I cling to the only stable Source of safety I have. I run to His arms and know that He will hold my hand. I will still be afraid; I will still face situations that scare my pants off. But these fears don't have to turn me into a paranoid pile of jell-o. I can face them knowing I have more on my side, that I am not facing them alone.

"God is bigger than the boogey-man..."

A Reve(a)lation

I had never felt more betrayed in my entire life.

I believe I felt something akin to how a child would feel if they saw the mall Santa without his beard. Or like seeing your favorite teacher in their pajamas. I felt as if the person I have known for so long was not real, or at least, not the person I had known them as. One move, one wrong step and my entire perspective changed. My immediate response was to point fingers, get angry, pass judgment. I wept over my loss, over the pain it brought to myself and so many others. I wept because I had been disappointed.

But Lindsay, He said to me, you are exactly the same. 

Ouch.

In that moment, and in several moments since then, I was acutely reminded of God's grace. Of His mercy. Of His forgiveness. And of my own sin. Who am I to pass judgment? Who am I to decide that one wrong action is worse than another? Who am I to play God?

God doesn't write one of His children out because of one wrong move. If so, we'd all be toast. But rather, He uses these moments of our weakness to show His strength. He uses all the times that we screw up to show us His unfailing mercy and unyielding love. When we walk away from Him, His heart breaks for us. He does not force Himself on us but rather waits patiently for us to realize our brokenness and to crawl back into His lap so He can fix us.

And if, the God of all the universe, the King of all Kings can forgive the sins of the entire world, shouldn't I be able to forgive the sins of just one person?

My heart is still broken and I am still hurting. I will still weep. But I weep now for the loss of a family member, the loss of a friend. I weep for my own brokenness and the brokenness of the world we live in. And after my tears have been shed, I rejoice in the knowledge that my God still reigns. He is still in control and His good and perfect plan will still prevail. He will continue to bless me with people in my life who will walk alongside me, who will lead me and, in turn, allow me to lead them. He will hold me in His hands for as long as I choose to fall into them.

Thank you, Lord, for showing me my sin.

Koinonia

   The Voice called her name and she knew it was pointless to resist. On shaky legs she approached the podium, heart racing and mind searching to find the words she knew she had to say. When she finally willed herself to look up, her heart swelled at the sight. She saw the smooth wood of the old piano and the dust on the window ledges. She saw the arched ceiling and the worn carpet. The girl looked out over the tiny sanctuary and the even tinier crowd and twenty-three pairs of eyes stared back at her, each one different. Some of them were creased around the edges with signs of lives lived; some were smooth and clear. Some had been smudged with make-up; some with dirt and sand. Some were as familiar as her own; still some were completely new to her. No matter the size or shape, they all said the same thing: we see you.

    She looked into those eyes, those faces, and knew exactly what to say. The words were handed to her and she allowed them tumble from her lips as she took it all in. Her knees still wobbled and her voice still shook, but her heart was at peace. She finished her simple story and made it back to the wooden pew, squeezing between those she loved. 

This then, she thought, is the Kingdom of Heaven.

Lost (?) in Translation

"If at first you don't succeed, try, try again!"

That seems to have been the mantra of my life for the past couple weeks. I have been spinning in circles for several days (years really) trying to find answers to some of life's toughest questions, getting dizzier and dizzier.

Can you guess what happened next?

I fell down. Face first.

I could just picture God shaking His head at me.

You see, all along I've been ignoring His voice, content to just trudge through the mud on my own. Who knows what's best for my life better than me, right??

In this moment, the thing I love most about my God is His uncanny ability to take the right answer (the one I've been avoiding) and knock me right over the head with it. He lets us flounder around for as long as we choose because He loves us enough to give us that choice. But when we finally spot Him offshore we're shocked that He's been holding up a giant neon-sign the entire time. After all the struggling, I realize that every single encounter, every question, every word of advice all pointed to the same answer.

I just wasn't ready to hear it.

The Art of Caring

Apathy. It's so much easier. It's less painful. It's less complicated. People are bound to let you down; they are bound to fail. We live in a broken world full of lies, rejection, heartbreak. Relationships are often like wars - one side is always winning, always fighting harder leaving the other side in the dust to collect their wounded. With the risk of injury so high, why enter the fight at all? Wouldn't it just be easier to live life on the outskirts, caring for yourself and avoiding the possible threat of danger altogether?

Why should I even care?

Why bother loving others when there's no certainty that they'll love me in return?

These are thoughts that run through my mind constantly. Everytime someone lets me down, everytime I'm disappointed, everytime I face rejection I am reminded of how much it hurts to love, how much empathy costs me. I battle the desire to give it all up and live in solitude, to cut all ties and relish the freedom independence seems to bring.

But then I remember.

I remember how much I am loved, how much I am cared for. I remember how much pain was felt on my behalf. I remember how much pain I have caused because of my own imperfections. Suddenly, my selfish desire to protect myself seems so futile.

So I'll strap my helmet back on and forge out into the fray. I'll stand at the frontlines of the battle that is relationship and I'll take the blows that come my way. There is always a chance that I'll be wounded; scars are inevitable. But for every scratch and bruise I take I know that I am inflicting a far greater mark on those that I'm fighting for.

If, at the end of my days on this earth, at least one person can say that I have affected their lives because of my love for them, every pain will be far worth it.

(Please read 1 John 4:7-21)