circles

I'll expound on this at some point I'm sure, seeing how all things are related and interrelated and how they come full circle and the layers of concentric circles in life and rhythms and people and relationship, but at this point, I just mean that I've been pacing circles wearing out the floorboards of my mind as well as the creakity old house where I live. I've been in avoidance mode and now little bits of fear are creeping in. I'm getting more tightly wound so that I need to verbally vomit and may be on the brink of tears--not my norm. I want to run 10 miles and write 10 papers and scream and jump up and down and rejoice and mourn all at once. I am a bundle of energy and emotions with no way of funneling it into all of the things I have procrastinated on and am afraid of.
Jesus, will you help me? Do you see your little sheep, just one of the flock, many of whom feel the same? Thank you for being the faithful one and for asking me to follow even when getting out of the boat is terrifyingly wonderful. All my love.

Purposefully coloring beyond the lines

Not just coloring outside the lines for the sake of breaking boundaries, rather that you really get the point of the lines and you use them well...that sort of thing. Listen.

Walk the boundary line of the property or the mountain path to the heights. This can be such a beautiful and thrilling walk as expectancy and dreams push against the casing of your body, threatening to burst forth in hope. All is given, all is required.

Truth and fear and judgment and freedom and self-absorption and being hidden and lost in God alone who is enough.

I’m just a little bit lost and recognizing that my boundary-less-ness is starting to hurt and it will only get worse. I know that at the end of my days I will be called to account. I’m getting hit over the head with the stewardship and priorities piece, but I’m still a little too dense and stubborn to really take it to heart and let it slowly alter the muscle fibers until my limbs move as they were made to in the beautiful dance.

As I try to stand up and join in, fear jumps at me and grabs me, hard, pushing me back down. Anxiety weighs so heavy that at times it’s quite suffocating.

Condemnation, alternating between others and self pushes the shackles tighter until they cut into the skin. I cry out, yelping, whimpering, silent tears rolling down. These chains are gone. I’ve been set free since my kinsman redeemer came for me. Why do I sit with them, so bewildered? Stuck. Playing in the mud until it’s quite a mess of mire and bitterness.

Cleaning it out can be quite the process. It’s smelly, arduous, time-consuming and can feel insurmountable when we’ve let the grime build so long.

We tell ourselves, Yes, maybe they are wrong. So what? Maybe it’s just me. Either way we’re just switching bad guys instead of letting Christ actually set us free and teach us to walk in newness of life. Sacrifice. Lay it down and die. To live.  

It’s true. It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. But you desire truth in our inmost parts. Not compliance and conflict. Peace that passes understanding for those who are far have been brought near!

There's more that goes with all of this, but in general, what joy to think of the freedom that we have when we know how it works--reminded of that process--learning the scales so you can improvise jazz, practicing fundamentals and learning the rules so you can play the game with finesse, cooking by a recipe so you can go without, learning the rules of English grammar so you can play with language and even break the constructs from time to time... It just has to work like that. We can't go for fake freedom. It has to be the real thing. 

that’s kind of what I’m thinking. And now I’m getting past that tired time, so I’ll let the universe carry on while I let my body, mind, soul rest and reset in sleep. completely unsure of what’s to come and ok with that. 

thanks for the Romans 12 reminder, Mom. : )

Lessons from the library

I am enthralled by libraries. Especially aesthetically pleasing ones. I am pleased by the fact that there are still so many patrons in an electronic world that will peruse and check out books—especially the book-end ages—the youngsters and the elderly. I like the smells of books and the wealth of knowledge, creativity and experience that is at ones fingertips each time you step foot in the large doors and are greeted by a librarian.

I especially like libraries with windows, so you can see inside and outside—light can pour in, you can see your surroundings and delve in to whatever world a book or magazine has to offer. I like that they are community locations; a stable part of shifting civics and a place where events of all kinds can be held.

One thing about libraries, though, is that I think they represent how I feel about a lot of life right now. Frozen to my spot and nearly unable to move or make a decision. The opportunity surrounding me is vast, but I have yet to taste any of it and have no idea of where to begin and am saddened by the fact that I’ll have to miss some. That’s overwhelming. It’s not that I’ll make the wrong choice, per say. I know there are things I absolutely won’t try and I know that any choice I make will probably be delightful—I have a propensity to enjoy new and different and learn from just about anything. Even if it’s not, I know I can stop and choose something else and theoretically that’s just fine. Or is it? Either way, I feel pretty stuck. Certain yet uncertain. Content yet dissatisfied. Hopeful and expectant, yet a little fearful and apprehensive. Surrounded but alone. Excited yet lackluster. Always living in consistent inconsistency.

I think this can be okay. Eventually I have to learn to take one or two books at a time (not once from every section) so I can really drink it in and experience the depth of the work instead of worrying about the fact that everyone has already seen or known or moved past this in the fast-paced world. I can let other people point me in the right direction or share what they have learned and celebrate the truth and beauty in the world.

That’s where I’m at. Recognizing that I have a lot of de-cluttering to do but having no idea where to begin. I’m surrounded by stacks of books and lists that are wonderful but not altogether particularly useful or pertinent to me, the mess becoming a bit of a prison even though the clutter is comprised of all “good” things, so I’m praying that God reveals idols and dust, washes me with hyssop that I might be clean, whiter than snow and might pursue Him with wholehearted obedience, undivided attention, unswerving perseverance and unmatched delight so that righteousness can shine brighter than the noonday sun and His people can go out with songs of joy and freedom. 

Perishable

Voicemail from yesterday: “Perishable Package. Please pick it up at your earliest convenience.” 

This is what I’ve been thinking about. 

(fair warning--as usual, most likely overthetop : })

A couple of things—I don’t even like flowers all that much—I can enjoy them and revel in nature and even think they brighten a home, but spending money on sappy gifts and such never has appealed to me. Even so, I had a smile from deep within on my face as I walked away from the campus post office with my “perishable package.” I was eversoblessed by my father (Eric Ness) who reminds me of my heavenly Father. My dad remembered me and reminded me of his love for me as his daughter by sending me cyclamen with a note on Valentine’s Day as he has for so many years! Calls to mind: How deep the Father’s love for us…, consistency and commitment, memory, surprise, delight, sweetness, grace, gift, cherish, life, brevity and faithfulness.

Even in our fallen, dying selves, the Lord clothes and cares for the vainglory of the flowers (Mtt. 6, Lk. 12). It’s ironic that Dr. Ness sent the cyclamen to his daughter who is a Swedish flower, who has been meditating on the verse that stuck out to me in upper elementary school at LWBC “All people are like grass, and all their glory and faithfulness is like the flowers of the field. The grass withers and the flowers fall, because the breath of the Lord blows on them, (perishable packages), but the word of the Lord our God endures forever” (Is. 40 and 1 Peter 1). The passage in Isaiah is reminding the people of God’s sovereignty and his faithfulness to his people, and Peter is reminding us that we can now live out sincere love (apt for Valentine’s Day or single’s awareness day) because we can “love one another deeply, from the heart” now that we are not only of perishable seed, but “imperishable through the living and enduring word of God!”                           

In reflecting on my given name and more so on the reminder of the ancients in the faith who called on the name of the LORD. I can quickly forget the power in the name of Jesus, the presence of Jehovah, the truth of Adonai, all of who He is in His glory and my fallenness as one of the flowers of the field, Linnea. Gentle flower. I miss that mark in the sense that I struggle with gentleness in word and deed, any evidence thereof is by the mercy and grace of the Holy Spirit.  I live up to my name in the sense that I am here today and gone tomorrow, sometimes beautiful in the essence of who I was created to be, known from before my time (Ps. 139) and given a place (1 Jn. 3:1), altogether perishing and being made new. Struck by paradox and finitude in the wake of Ash Wednesday and a general awareness of my shortcomings and the beauty that I am part of.   

Second thing—IV (the 5 yr-old in the family I’ve been babysitting for over the past few years--such a challenge and gift!), says to me today, “Hey Linnea, you know why I didn’t want to play with ya on Wednesday? It was because of your forehead. I haven’t been to church in a while, so I haven’t really seen that stuff. …It was ashes? Oh, it looked kinda like hair. It was only a little terrifying.” (He had managed to keep his eyes mostly on the ground as he gave me a high-five and headed upstairs Wed.) His 1 ½ year-old brother’s reaction on Wednesday was a little bit of hesitancy, but also curiosity, in pointing and soon overcoming and playing like normal with me.

Having ashes on my forehead on Wednesday was a reminder of what we should/do look like to the world—a bit strange and recognizable, mourning the brokenness and praying hosanna, His kingdom come only through the Messiah. Yet, we become pretty normal and some don’t even notice, and there is a beauty to questioning and also to accepting that I learn from hanging out and taking care of these kids.

I was privileged to have some good conversation with Amber,* (the mom) about teaching children about sin and the complexity of the Lenten season, and IV and I had some careful conversation about the 40 days before Easter and the reminders of death and sad and bad things in the world while hoping for Jesus.

I’m stuck on our mortality in a different way than I was as a third grader overly solemn about dying (thought I might at least die a hero’s death at that time : }). More and more aware of the brevity and urgency of life, but not in the helter-skelter panic or competition nor quite epicurean. Urgency and brevity in the sense that we need to be purposeful, pursuing life, being ministers of reconciliation, reveling in moments of glory, administering healing and peace, challenging with Truth, laughing and not taking ourselves too seriously, celebrating God’s abundant goodness, crying real tears, asking hard questions and actually taking action…

Sometimes this will look like slowing down. Sometimes this will be playing tough and being courageous. Sometimes this will be stepping up and persevering. I definitely would still give myself a floundering grade at life, but I’m coming alive by dying again, I think. Not my own.

Came to mind and won’t leave…

“Two little lines I heard one day, 
Traveling along life’s busy way; 
Bringing conviction to my heart, 
And from my mind would not depart; 
Only one life, ’twill soon be past, 
Only what’s done for Christ will last.

Only one life, yes only one, 
Soon will its fleeting hours be done; 
Then, in ‘that day’ my Lord to meet, 
And stand before His Judgement seat; 
Only one life,’twill soon be past, 
Only what’s done for Christ will last.

Only one life, the still small voice, 
Gently pleads for a better choice 
Bidding me selfish aims to leave, 
And to God’s holy will to cleave; 
Only one life, ’twill soon be past, 
Only what’s done for Christ will last.

Only one life, a few brief years, 
Each with its burdens, hopes, and fears; 
Each with its clays I must fulfill, 
living for self or in His will; 
Only one life, ’twill soon be past, 
Only what’s done for Christ will last.

When this bright world would tempt me sore, 
When Satan would a victory score; 
When self would seek to have its way, 
Then help me Lord with joy to say; 
Only one life, ’twill soon be past, 
Only what’s done for Christ will last.

Give me Father, a purpose deep, 
In joy or sorrow Thy word to keep; 
Faithful and true what e’er the strife, 
Pleasing Thee in my daily life; 
Only one life, ’twill soon be past, 
Only what’s done for Christ will last.

Oh let my love with fervor burn, 
And from the world now let me turn; 
Living for Thee, and Thee alone, 
Bringing Thee pleasure on Thy throne; 
Only one life, “twill soon be past, 
Only what’s done for Christ will last.

Only one life, yes only one, 
Now let me say,”Thy will be done”; 
And when at last I’ll hear the call, 
I know I’ll say “twas worth it all”;(vale la pena) 
Only one life,’twill soon be past, 
Only what’s done for Christ will last. ”

Only one life, ’twill soon be past, 
Only what’s done for Christ will last. 
And when I am dying, how happy I’ll be, 
If the lamp of my life has been burned out for Thee.”

--C.T. Studd

Unsure of where this takes me, but willing to sit and soak for a bit. Turning inward, to Him. If Christ came, lived, suffered, died, rose, and intercedes, I certainly can take a little time to think and maybe mourn and move.

Flour-dusted laptop

Flour-dusted laptop

Little vignette of Sunday morning: I want to laugh or cry, so I tell B that either she or Em should have seen me because it would have been funnier--a moment very typical of me....

This morning I got up at the same time as Emily and whipped up another adaptation of gluten-free coconut banana bread (it's kind of a theme and variation experiment I try from time to time for the bungalow). When I got back from a run, B had taken it out of the oven for me. 

I went to take a look and of course noticed what wasn't right about the scene--the burnt spices on the stove-top range next to the banana bread, so I set about fixing that minor problem. 
In order to clean the stove, I had to scootch the pan of still-warm banana bread over. 

I thought to myself--this is a little precarious and will probably fall, so maybe I should reconsider, readjust, pause for a second (reminiscent of the time I tried to bike and change gears with coffee in hand)....
but I brushed that thought away and set to scrubbing, unsuccessful in my attempts at freeing the range from the crusty spice spill, but successful in, yep, you guessed it, feeling my elbow bump the tea kettle which bumped the pan, knocking the banana bread to the floor, producing a *gasp* and *sigh* from me as the bread flew out from the middle and some snuck into Em's Toms for Sadie Mae to lick up promptly. 
I quickly knelt to salvage what I could, abandoned the hopeless stove-top for the time being, and managed to smile, shake my head, and get a clump to go with my coffee.  


These little moments of clumsiness are all-too-common for me in my hurried, have to get it done, think of something and then something else frantic antics. I tend to procrastinate (to justify  my less-than perfect efforts to my perfectionistic-self), wait for the pressure of crunch time, then burst with focus to the finish. It's a weird, yet normal, game I play. 

I used to get extremely upset over the minor mishaps like the banana (coco)nut bread explosion (also a tasty heart-attack at Egglectic). I am learning to laugh at myself and live in the messiness of life. This does not mean I'm anti-cleaning, but I do let the dishes go undone for a few hours at times or refrain from cleaning the bathroom or organizing my room every time I get stressed. Rather, I recognize more and more that things like community and wholeness that we so often throw out as desirable cliches are actually quite grueling and not so put-together as I might like.

Now, it seems minor, and it is, but moments like the banana bread--the clumsy dropping things, running into walls and being late and saying stupid things are reminders of my imperfection and the smallness of my life and the courage it takes to laugh and to keep walking and still present the banana bread to Blanche or my ideas to a class or myself to my friends.

The places God calls us to, whether it be tribal Africa, the mountains of Nepal, the slums of India, the ghettos of Chicago or the kitchen of our homes, are actually quite dangerous. We have to face fears, we are light from the True Light piercing darkness. 

One take-away I'm seeing is that I need a greater awareness. Not only an awareness of my body that could have been helped by dance as a child, but also an awareness of what's really going on, of bigger battles, of what I'm called to in the moment and the future, of the bigger picture, etc. This takes slowing down sometimes to stop, look, and listen before crossing the street. 

Simplify. Simplifying fractions in elementary school-loved it. Simplifying my life so that I can't be so dramatic or running helter-skelter, not so sure. Simplifying complex, inter-connected thoughts and realities of the world and my own life--seemingly impossible. So, I'm gonna give that a shot through the power at work within me, outside of myself. I'm not saying this experiment is going to change my life and prest-o-change-o, I'm the image of perfection. We already have one of those. I'm being renewed day by day. 

As we sang in that kids musical -- It's gonna get rough. So you'd better wise-up

A few of my goals in this vein--not the striving kind, nor the revolutionary idea kind: Try being early a few times. Get 7-9 hours of sleep. Plan fewer people appointments each day. Eat specific foods and do specific exercises (which implies not doing other things). Answer people's questions. Accept and give compliments. One day a week= one thing at a time. Pray in the Word each morning not getting up to do things intermittently.

Bittersweet.1.27.13

I enjoy, relish, delight in the complexities of the bittersweet. Hence, I enjoy the fruit of the vine, eating black licorice and dark chocolate-covered cranberries. I let myself cry today in pain and dance in joy. The love-hate of every part of life, the fact that we can experience the gamut of emotions in a split second and laugh through tears or understand and smile at the ironic in life…It’s beautiful and terrible, like the blanket of winter snow that only comes when everything is sleeping and looks dead or the tombstones of a cemetery solemnly calling attention to the lives and memories of real people.

I like resolution, since I’m a minister of reconciliation and I myself have been reconciled. Unfortunately, I over-apply this principle just like students who learn the existence of the comma, and decide, to punctuate, every sentence, as much as possible, with commas, for emphasis, or for no reason, at all. Sometimes I overanalyze and find problems that aren’t really a big deal or don’t really exist like I think they do so I can fix them—yay! Or, not so much. 

If I weren’t so concerned with being right or what everyone thinks of me, I might not be in this predicament or sticking my foot in my mouth quite as often. As it stands, I frequently battle internally before going into any social setting (or being alone at home) as to why this might happen and what can be done about it and how the best way is to act and interact, and I too often try to help others see the same. Don’t get me wrong (haha, being right again,) I do think this can be helpful—I can get where people are coming from, interpret, confront in love, see complexities, etc. It’s just that sometimes it’s nosey, sometimes it’s kind of fake, even though I’m just trying to contextualize and over-contextualize every.single.thing.

Ooh, the seeds I’ve sown; I’m takin’ the hard way home.

Pondering the body of Christ—challenged to realize that there is absolutely no competition (dang it!). No condemnation either. How strange that we think in terms of winners and losers, scales and measures instead of truth and lies or in dreams and possibilities and reality. What if I actually approached everyone as though I were for them (our battle isn’t against flesh and blood…). If only we understood that God so loved the world that he gave his one and only son, that whosever believes in him will not perish, but will have everlasting life.  ‘Cause, truth is, we’re all dead and living in our imaginary castles and very real shackles. None of us is immune from suffering; none is exempt from momentary pleasures. This does not mean we are all the same and overlook differences and there is no right and wrong; no, we are all wrong. There is no right apart from Christ, but within him, there is ultimate freedom!

Oh, the masks we wear. They become so much a part of us that we can’t even separate ourselves or figure out what it is we need to surrender (except that the answer is everything). I have such a hard time being real, even though people would accuse me of being very genuine. True. I value honesty and am open about my flaws and give thanks no matter what and seek the perspective of my sovereign Lord in everything. I’m being transformed. However, I still tinge my faith with my own flavors of goodness and desire to fit in and be the best. All the while, I am fully aware—more so each day—that I and everyone around me struggle and fall and fail all the time, and that’s ok, that’s the power of the cross overcoming each time we move past those places. So, even with all this reality swirling around, I hide. I try so hard to let myself feel, but when the tears come, if someone sees them, heaven forbid, I shut off the sadness, reverting back to happy is good, sad is bad. Wrong. I know that we are no strangers to suffering in this life and we follow a savior who redeemed us through suffering—he sweat blood in the solemnity of what was to come; he cried over the loss of his friend; he celebrated with sinners. I don’t want to settle for a controlled, balanced life. I don’t want to live out of control or as a “free-spirit” either, because I am not my own. That’s what I desire my life to evidence—the altogether loveliness and sufficiency of my Jesus.

The Word. He’s got the whole world in His hands : )

I don’t have to be perfect. I don’t have to be right. I don’t have to be understood. I don’t have a right to be accepted. I don’t deserve to be liked and listened to and catered to. I don’t have to be pursued. I don’t have to be successful. I don’t have to prove my intelligence or talents. I don’t have to be ashamed of my mistakes. I can sing if that’s appropriate. I don’t need to fear people’s approval or rejection or being bad at something. I don’t have a right to think I am better or better-off than any individual or group of people. I don’t have pressure to know all the answers. I don’t have to look any certain way to be more fully me or more beautiful. I don’t have to say all the right things or be funny or wise or sweet or gentle or in tune to everyone and everything. I don’t have to notice and remember everything. I don’t have to keep up with pop culture or sports or everyone’s life—even mine.

I do have to follow my Lord wherever he leads.

The pathway is broken, and the signs are unclear, and I don’t know the reason why you brought me here, but just because you love me the way that you do, I’m gonna walk through the valley if you want me to. It may not be the way I would have chosen when you lead me through a world that’s not my home, but you never said it would be easy. You only said we’d never walk alone.

Refined by fire. Precious metal.

Looking at the divine wedding…what a mystery—The Spirit presides as God the Father presents us to his son, who is in Him from before the creation of the world, in whom we live and move and have our being; he presents us as one as his glorious, unblemished bride, all because of what he did in love for us, and we enter into the divine romance and dance not because we are qualified and know the steps, and yet yes, we do, we were bought, washed, cleansed, dressed anew. We are readying ourselves, bride. And now, as a single woman, convinced of the love of my beloved, Jesus, I prepare for my wedding and my marriage to my beloved. Everyday learning I belong to another and that includes giving of myself to others .

Correction shy and pain avoider. Drama queen. Skittish. Self-righteous b%$@#. Yes. Sometimes. Other times, a dismal rag-tag, sopping wet, crying puppy. Potentially, a dancer continually moving and rejoicing.

Right now, awash with relief, excitement, uncertainty, sorrow, frustration, pain, anger, confusion, thankfulness, awe, joy, and love like grief.

The wrestling heart

Raw.

Now, I don't love struggle, but I'm an addict to resolution and growth, so I love/hate the failure and conflict and struggle--much like broomball, perhaps (A former field-hockey player described broomball as the most frustrating game invented, but really fun and addicting.)

I'm prone to getting 'preachy,' to Bible bashing the sleeping church and I get emotional over the truth of the gospel--the real thing, not even touchy-feely anything...is this a gift or something I should be wary of? 

Same struggle knowing that I've always loved words and knowing that I know a lot but realizing every moment how much I don't know...

Not knowing where I stand completely on the Jesus Culture movement (wary, actually), I do enjoy singing praise to the Lord and proclaiming the truth that I do see. There are elements of worship music that are a bit disturbing if it ends up focusing back on me all of the time, but even so, I am constantly amazed by the intimacy of the God of the universe--the display of the Glory of the Father come to dwell as Immanuel; that the Holy Spirit indwells and transforms us, that the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ can offer eternal life that starts the moment we believe on His name--that we confess with our tongues, our hearts, our lives that He is Saviour and Lord. This is a life-long process, no doubt, but we know and rely on the love God has for us. We fix our eyes on the author and perfecter of our faith who suffered and we suffer with him, he began it--in the beginning God created...He'll complete it... He who is able to do immeasurably more than we could ask or imagine, according to His power at work... The saints have, do and will overcome, by the blood of the Lamb and the word of our testimony... Amen. All of this blows me away--'You won't relent until you have it all--my heart is yours.' 

Is it? Do I believe that His are the words of life? That drinking in the Holy Scriptures is more desirable than anything this world has to offer? That real communion with Him is where I find life and joy? That I have hope and fulfillment because I've been rescued and redeemed and reconciled to God in Christ? That He holds the words of Truth? That I don't actually have any good thing apart from Him? That anything I have or do is all because of Him and to his glory?

I am ashamed to say I don't always live like that. I am a hypocrite above all. I perpetuate those American Christian stereotypes as much as they make me sick. I back stab and two-time. I bless and curse out of the same  mouth. I try to drink in poison and chug living water. I daily walk through the mud and rejoice over so many lesser things. I struggle with judgement and criticism and cynicism. I shackle myself back to fear and insecurity. I envy and covet. I give in to the hopelessness of the world and wonder if justice really will reign. I think I'm worse than everyone but better than everyone else. I want everyone to think well of me and want me, but I am fully aware that there is no desirable trait about me. I know my weaknesses and annoying characteristics and despise them, too. Mostly, I am sad to say I place myself and other things above my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ all too often. The great I AM is a jealous God and He doesn't let me run for long, but I give glory to such mediocre things or withhold it from the creator of the universe?! How do I manage? What is this constant battle within? How does good truly win? 

As a Hosanna prayer, not a demanding request:

You are good. Show yourself good.

You are gracious. Shower your grace.

You love mercy and justice. Reign.

You are love. Fill us to overflowing.

You are righteous. Transform our lives.

You define beauty and are infinitely beautiful. Open our eyes to see the wonders.

You are glorious. Take the glory.

You are all knowing and sovereign. Give us wisdom and courage to walk in obedience.

You listen to your humble servants. Humble us and respond to our cries.

You are God; there is no other. Reveal yourself.

Transform us, we pray. This very day. 

We'll sing a new song and enjoy you forever.

Yahweh, Jesus Messiah, You have my writhing heart.

Linnea Michelle