paulsrace

[paulsrace]

Mediocrity Does Not Exist.

When I had started experiencing encounters from a different realm, of the Jesus kind, I thought to myself that I can no longer be a "mediocre Christian," nor "go back to regular church." I only had a clueless inkling of what that would've looked like.

And as life unfolded, I have found myself wondering about what that actually meant. What did it mean to be a radical Christian? It seems that the flock is sometimes fed this idea that radicalism is to bend over backwards, do the crazy thing, that stunt of faith, to be that camel that would actually fit through the eye of the needle.

And here we are needing a miracle for my husband's health. I promise you that as wife, I've thought of all the hoops I and we could jump through, all the words of knowledge, and all the prophetic acts to get him healed. Not to mentioned that we have both served in the Healing Rooms and had been part of seeing people get healed miraculously on the regular. I've only ended up feeling shredded in the core of my being, my ego thoroughly mocked. I don't know what all this business of "pursuing" a miracle is about anymore.

These days though, I am realizing that having the audacity to rest in the finished work of Christ is what is radical. To laugh where it doesn't feel like there is anything to laugh about. To trust in the most complacent ways that God is trustworthy and the Gospel is actually GOOD. And then to go on with life.

That, to me is radical. That is, I'm not radical - He is.

I feel at once like Frodo Baggins who sailed away forever to the West with the elves, and Samwise Gamgee who returned to the Shire to marry Rosie Cotton.

And so these days, the joy and fullness it brings to me to be fully present watching green grass growing in our backyard, being too busy to do all the things, being harassed by our dog for belly rubs, stressing out over money and work, eating a plain bowl of porridge, watching wild fire smoke fill the sky yet again, burning pancakes on the skillet on Saturday mornings, and grieving over and over and over again with this damn illness. The bliss is in the nearness and union with God in all these things. He loves our human lives so very much it is almost unbearable some times. The veil is thin here too. The depths of eternity all packed in here waiting for us to find them.

May we find ourselves in too deep.

Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is there is Freedom. And we all, with unveiled faces beholding the glory of the Lord are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another. For this comes from the Lord who is the Spirit. -- 2 Corinthians 3:17-18, ESV

[paulsrace]

Be Home

My body,

You have been so sensitive, and so, so hurt. You were meant for love and God's truth about you, and about the world. I'm sorry that there was no one there to empathize and help you detox. Everyone needs a looking glass sometimes.

Will you look at the Jesus glass to know how much He knew and understood? How He empathized and stay with you in the purity of His compassion. He was there with you through all of it. He proves Himself to be the safest Person in the world. And He is God. He is God within you who does no injustice (Zephaniah 3:5).

[paulsrace]

Psalm 42

Even as my soul thirsts for You, and suffers in the belief of desolation, Your Word somehow explains that You are closer to me more than ever.

Often times I have been unable to see that. I have looked to the idol of fulfillment in the future, either bemoaning my failure and lack, or hyping myself up into a hopeful future. Meanwhile, my distracting behavior is despising the Hope that is present now.

Now is the fullness of God, even as and especially so in the dust and dirt of hopelessness and despair. I have despised the small things, stepping over my God King. I had become too proud to live out this hand of cards. He is already ready and present to live it out with me.

I see the distractions from You now. I have wanted to run away, but You are saying that You are here in the pain with me. You do not compete with it. And yet the pain cannot compete with You. There is no game. You are ever ready to receive me into your loving, compassionate, and kind embrace.

"Let my sighs give way to songs that sing about your faithfulness. Let my pain reveal Your glory as my only real rest. Let my losses show me all I truly have is You. 'Cause all I truly have is You. So why am down? Why so disturbed? I am satisfied in You."

[paulsrace]

Boiling a Frog

What do you do when neurological degeneration creeps up on your spouse? Recently this "slave master" showed up at our door again, this heavy yoke that presented itself in a diagnosis 4 years ago. It has no time line, no appointments made. It just shows up again, and who knows when again. It doesn't care. How does anyone grieve something that is slow and yet so uncertain? Who endures this kind of unknown without fading?

I felt gutted, thinking that his mobility could be stabilized with physical exercises. I was only ever tormented by the idea of him completely losing his hearing. He is still continuing to lose his hearing. And who knows what else is being attributed to this condition. Should we now think of wheelchairs and ramps and adaptations? We have too many adventures yet to go on.

I felt raw in my flesh as we acknowledged the evidence. An intimidating heaviness like the breath of the beast of unkindness was in front of my face. The only way I could respond to it was through rage or nothing at all.

Then, I went to my Father, remembering my own prayer 4 years ago, that even if healing never happened in this lifetime, I still wanted to be a testimony of His goodness to us. I felt like such a fool. No one was going to care how well-behaved or "spiritual" I am or have been! I certainly don't. I was not going to pretend to "draw near to God" just to get the miracle for my husband. It seems, without this, I would absolutely fail to want to be close to God. Who cares.

Yet You showed me that You would generously heal my husband even if I was that sly. You are "gooder" than good like that.

I recognized that I was pitting my own Life Source against my husband's healing. The ultimate twisting of my Lord's arm to DO SOMETHING. But it does nothing but results in a kind of strange spiritual anorexia, starving myself for no good reason.

I have no faith of my own to muster up to believe. Yet I know God is no trickster like man. I can trust because He is the very essence of trustworthy. God plays no games in loving me and my husband. And through this, there is no reason to fear for perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment. He is not a punisher! And that which is fearful have yet to be perfected in love. O Good God!

Therefore, the door is wide open for me to draw close to God, to come boldly to the throne of grace, to ask for the miracle, declaring complete healing now, with no more need for justification. No shame. No fear. No more striving for the joy of our salvation. This Holy Sabbath has been since time began!

With my whole heart, with my whole life, and with my innermost being, I bow in wonder and love before You, the holy God! Yahweh, you are my soul's celebration. How could I ever forget the miracles of kindness you've done for me? You kissed my heart with forgiveness, in spite of all I've done. You've healed me INSIDE AND OUT from every disease. You've rescued me from hell and saved my life. You've crowned me with love and mercy. You satisfy my every desire with good things....

Lord, you are so kind and tenderhearted to those who don't deserve it, and so patient with people who fail you! Your love is like a flooding river overflowing its banks with kindness...

You know all about us, inside and out. You are mindful that we're made from dust. Our days are so few, and our momentary beauty so swiftly fades away! Then all of a sudden we're gone, like grass clippings blown away in a gust of wind, taken away to our appointment with death, leaving NOTHING to show that we were here. But Lord, your endless love stretches from one eternity to the other, unbroken and unrelenting toward those who fear you and those who bow face down in awe before you.

-- Psalm 103 Passion Translation

[paulsrace]

Emerging

Late 2023, I made the honest decision to quit church. And so far, it had been the healthiest thing I'd done for myself. It might be because my relationship with the Godhead had always been outside the church anyway, but I had never understood the ways of the church and perceive it as unnecessary rigor. It has often felt like I was being taught back to me a language I already speak with my God in my most Secret of Places. And unfortunately it has often felt like I was being measured according to compliance or performance, because my innate ways are not recognized. It all not only feels artificial, but to hear my truest thought and feelings painted over with church took something away from me at each turn.

The exchange that I perhaps hoped for was for inclusion and community. I am learning that that never ends well.

All that became the fight-that-was-not. And I became part of something-that-was-never. And it was an absolute waste of time. My receipt of attendance is wounding, disillusionment, but eventual clarity of why it all won't work for me.

In the middle of visiting with family in Cincinnati over Christmas, I had booked an Airbnb for 2 nights for me to retreat and reset for the new year. I ended up getting food poisoning and not being able to do most things that I had planned for myself. The only thing I could do was to put on a gospel message, and drink freely of the Spirit. And while I have known this to be true, I am again so pleasantly surprised how easy it is to be with the Person of the Good News and all They are.

How. Easy. It. Is.

It's all going to be okay.

Then, it dawned on me that this is where I contemplate truly being without a building community people call "church". It meant dying to a lot of things that I honestly thought I would be sad about. Things that I would have to list out and gripe over. Instead, I am mostly dying to disillusionment. I am rising above the fog-of-doing, poking my head above the clouds, and finding so many things worth a ticklish giggle from this angle of perception.

So here's to honesty in 2024. I so desire truthful communion with the Most High.

[paulsrace]

Women

I went to a women's conference 407 miles outside of town this weekend. If not because of personal growth, then because I need to know that life outside this bubble that I live in exists. I desperately needed fresh air from a world that is beginning to feel more and more artificial.

I've always avoided women's conference, simply because I'd never felt comfortable around women. Women can be so cruel to other women, all because of what they believe women should be, and how they act towards women who are outside of that belief. The act of power and out-of-control control seems to be to exile the odd one. Solidarity has always seemed to be about agreeableness and homogeneity. Really, this more describes narcissism, overt and covert. Legalistic egalitarianism!

It feels like I only ever got the end of criticism. And because I was not one to cave in to what "should" be simply because I was criticized, I never got the end where I was included and belonged to a sisterhood. In less extreme situations, other women seemed to appreciate my individuation but by still setting me apart because of jealousies and insecurities. It's just never quite felt safe for me. And as my trajectory goes, I never quite got out of that high school situation.

At this recent women's conference, I'd learned some things however.

Women can feel left out, but choose to ignore that feeling and participate in whatever capacity they have available and be okay. Women don't need to be rescued.

Women can be a safe space for each other with no agenda. It is just space. A privilege that doesn't cost anyone anything. Unless she did not understand boundaries.

Women can recognize where there might be lines of insecurity and where cliques may exist, but erases that line anyway because they recognize that the insecurities were their own.

Women can own their boundaries without needing to justify it. Other women can recognize boundaries as skin that therefore makes others beautiful.

Women can choose to operate as helpers and not rescuers, and not be offended if someone does not respond in a way of being rescued. And women can choose not to be offended at being helped and invited into a circle.

Women can exist without being guilted or shamed by other women.

Women don't have to talk about other women in order to gain agreeableness and therefore comfort at the expense of the woman that is being exiled.

Women can choose to believe that they are not being judged by other women.

Women can sit alone or do things alone, and not be considered sad and lonely. Women can be a part of groups and need not burden themselves to take care of everyone and everything.

Women don't have to look a certain way, and don't have to be agreeable by making comments about appearances at any time.

Women don't have to beat about the bush to say something. There is no language code that needs to be proved, nor exclusive behavior style to justify "breeding" and sisterhood.

It feels comforting to be able to say all this. It renders an old toxic worldview null and void even if it might still exist. I'm glad I'm in my own skin.

[paulsrace]

A Simple Devotion

It has been hard to put words out. And it has been hard determining why. I am still unclear.

It felt a blow to me to realize that I am unknown to family, friends, and acquaintances. An extra bonus implosion for professional peers who can't figure out what it is that a dance movement therapist does, and in its own way continue to rob from me.

This saddens me that the adventures that I got to have in my life has no value. And like an old irrelevant book, I am returned onto a dusty shelf of a forgotten library.

Perhaps this is merely a glimpse into what it is like to get older.

Just over a month ago, I told my husband that I need to be done with church. That I need to be specifically done with the church we have been serving at. There was an element of control and second heaven mindedness that is suffocating. This is not the freedom that I wished to know or experience. I then started having multiple dreams of being homeless and being on the streets, while the church occupied buildings.

I now draw a hard line between being a professional Christian, and a saved one.

The sad irony of it all is that all the prophetic words that I had received has culminated in me being in this place. And as the evidence for it is unfolded, the more delusional it feels. It isn't anything like I hoped it would be. And so I've been on a journey of observation from the outside, and have had to draw up my own understanding on things because it felt like no one was trustworthy enough to sit in the dirt with me to reason things out.

I had gotten lost in the dirt for a while during this time. And had gotten malnourished and calloused. I didn't understand where I was. I just knew that I was sad, disorientated, and without words to ask for help. And it felt like there was no one to hear the words that I wasn't saying.

At this point, I surely have more bitterness than I can handle. But for the love of Christ, this harsh barrenness has revealed to me truly the simplicity of devotion to God. I have for some years, and even more so now, believed that the best prophetic Word I have ever gotten is Jesus Christ Himself. So much falls away to be replaced by gladness, peace, and belonging with the Trinity without so much as lifting the weight of my finger. This is why I am saved.

[paulsrace]

Pieces

What is the cure for disenfranchisement?

It has been a breath of air for me when I discovered that the word applies to me.

The irony of me discovering that I am disenfranchised is that I never really felt like I belonged to places I was supposed to belong to anyway. It is only when I had gotten older and begun to face my losses from not belonging did I understand the benefits of participating in belonging. And for awhile, I did.

I learned that belonging was not assumption nor typicality. But one of acknowledgement of being included. To some extend we chose to belong somewhere. And that others recognize it and participate in welcoming us.

But presently, the world has been in upheaval and trying to find its place again. Disenfranchisement is probably trending.

One of the key tenets of compassion is to recognize common humanity and our suffering together. And while I feel bitterness and isolation on most days, I also have compassion for myself, and amazingly, can hold space for others in the same place. My capacity has been so very limited these days.

Is compassion then the cure for disenfranchisement? Perhaps it provides some breathing room, and some perspective. But I don't know that it is enough. I think it is a human need to know where you belong without needing to fight and re-invent what should have been heritage. I am exhausted, trying to live life self-preserved and always trying to find my own answers to my own questions.

Having said and felt all that, I found myself going to my Father for comfort the way a daughter does. I have been clinging to this feeling of me being tucked under my Father's arm, Him holding me, not a word exchanged, and being able to feel my pain while I quit trying to do anything else. He had told me that I did not need to parent myself. Re-parenting is what I do as I go through life disenfranchised, because there is no one who has had a long enough history with me to watch out for me or watch over me, to help me with things I don't know (and there are so many), to comfort me without making assumptions, to empathize and just be with me.

My Father sees me and knows me. Perhaps He has been waiting for this for a long time now.

[paulsrace]

Mundane

Is it okay to be content and satisfied with small, mundane things? Is it okay to live my life quietly, being true to the peace, and joy that comes from that.

I think about the little things in life that bring me joy. In an unexpected way, these are celebrations of victory - that I CAN have this life. I get to. After years and years of pointless distraction, striving for who knows what for...

... for the idol of "not enough", perhaps.

Is it so bad to be able to feel proud of what I can do in my flesh? A great deal of it is about owning me and trying my hand at showing up, owning the desires of my heart as well as my personal mistakes, and marveling at my own abilities because of humility before God. I don't know that He is ashamed of me because of it. Did He not make me "very good?" Does He not find pleasure and satisfaction in my thriving in His design?

Yet, I could be described as selfish, self-centered, not sold out enough, arrogant, not enough to run the race with some. I don't know if I feel more angry, or hurt by this. Their blindness attempts to erases my history and time of season. I feel threatened by the departure of community, and also wonder - what community? How dare you.

Maybe the wrongness of this all, is a gift. Maybe, this is a sign for me to dis-equate from what seems to be, and to return to what is.

Stand fast therefore in the liberty by which Christ has made us free, and not be entangled again with a yoke of bondage. - Galations 5:1

[paulsrace]

[paulsrace]

What Battle?

And maybe it's time for a round up of events.

As always, God speaks to me in series. But what tied it all up for me happened this week. Someone in our community whom I and many others consider to be the mother of a great movement, had passed into glory 2 weeks ago, and her Celebration of Life service was nothing short of glorious. I only got home in time for her husband, and 2 other great women of faith to speak. I was glued to the screen right up to the end, not even bothering to get out of my work clothes.

In listening to the women speak, I suddenly saw how they could not have done it without each other. They were all faithful, and also yielded to the questions that perhaps I and many others had - how do we do this? 'This' being - earthly life and Spirit existing in great tension. The photo montage divulged the simplicity of their lives before everything blew up into mega proportions. I don't know if they ever thought that their lack was more than their faith. I don't know if they ever paid attention to how "little" their lives were. I felt their pursuit of what must be more than small town life.

And in this, I realized a couple of things.

One, is in the truth of abundance. Giving is a response of abundance. And while I oftentimes don't see the economy of God, giving my 5 loaves and 2 fishes was my participation, my act as citizen in God's kingdom and also my birthright as daughter. Freely I was given, freely I give since what is mine isn't really mine to begin with. I am not truly responsible for it. This could mean finances, but these days it means prayer to me. And in giving, others will know and recognize their royal own. And people and community will come. It felt to me, that that was how those great woman of faith connected, and how they were able to pursue the mysteries of God. We need each other that way.

Two - I pondered the Fire. Holy fire and hell fire are the same thing. It depends on which side you're on. There has been so much division and condescension within the Church body, particularly over the last 2.5 years, that I have been entangled in my mind, emotions, and spirit. I had been slowly suffocating and starving of all things Spirit, like a kind of spiritual anorexia. It is so very easy to look at how to correct the church, but I realized the real battle. The ones who are in it, fighting hell fire for being in Holy fire. The ones who have boldly stood in the tension, and focused on what the battle truly was.

I am reminded of a dream I had probably early last year, of both my husband and I jumping into our individual cars as they sped towards us. But instead of moving in the same direction, my car spun a great arc and headed backwards in the opposite direction. Ahead of me was a vision of battle ruins. There was rubble, smoke and fire everywhere. Two huge white dogs were straggling away from the scene towards me. But as I got closer, I realized they weren't dogs, and they weren't white. They were two lionesses with their skins burnt off to the white flesh beneath. I intuitively knew that this referred to the church. At the time of the dream however, we were fairly isolated and did not know of anything that was happening within the church. Now that I have returned to serve again, the dream is starting to make sense, but that I still do not know who the two lionesses were specifically.

All this cleared out all the conflict that has caused so much hurt and incongruence to believers and relationships everywhere, and to my anorexic mentality. The attempt to fit theology and scripture into current events is a pale and sickly thing. We are so anxious for answers, so afraid of shame that we would do that. Such vain efforts for self-protection, leaving no room for the omnipresent Mystery that is God Himself. We want Him to answer the questions that are asked of us - by others, and by our orphaned selves. All of that does not matter, even though I realize how it sounds to those who are suffering.

All these tumbled out of my Spirit the day before we returned to the Healing Rooms again for the first time, this time as prayer ministers. And suddenly I am in the battle, recognizing it, giving my 5 loaves and 2 fishes, and being acknowledged by others who champion this fire. Community has been painfully elusive for many here. But I believe here is how you get in - You join in the battle. You give. And you stayed focused on the One and how He moves. Act as if you actually already are included.

All hands on deck.

[paulsrace]

CVG-RDD

I got emotional watching planes take off.

Well at first that wasn’t what I was feeling. We were lined up on the tarmac, planes one behind the other, waiting our turn to get on the runway and lift off. I wondered to myself whether pilots critiqued each other the way dancers, gymnast, or cheerleaders do. It seemed a little bit pressurizing to “just take off” with no ifs and buts.

As far as I could tell, all the flight techniques looked the same to me. So what do I know.

As I watched the first one take off, there WERE no ifs and buts. It just took off. There was something in that moment, when the laws of lift simply took over as the plane’s broad wings stayed rigid in shape and form.

There was no flapping.

The nose of the plane tipped up, and the rest of the plane followed. No ifs nor buts. And it kept ascending. Without flapping. Until it reached a height, made an easy turn, and went on its way.

That was a humble display of power. Nothing drawing attention to its muscled machinery other than what it was simply doing what it was built to do. Then the next plane ahead of us did exactly the same thing.

And then it was our turn. Before we were done rounding the turn on to the runway, our pilots accelerated. And off we go. The power in the plane’s speed and (perhaps) the confidence of our pilots flooded me. I was on a power trip! There were no ifs and buts on this runway. The pilots know how this plane is built and how to work it. And they knew they could trust the laws of gravity and lift. And then we were in the air just like the others before us.

“Know how you are built.”

KNOW HOW YOU ARE BUILT.

Are we to be built like a machine just to do amazing things like fly in the air? No. Just know how you are built. Knowing YOU. No ifs and buts. That is the super-amazing power we each have. Competition has no thing good enough to ruin.

I thought about how I have struggled with not being seen and understood a lot. I think it has a lot to do with personal shame and embarrassment around not knowing how to represent myself in an honest-before-a-good-God way (that reflection process is still in the works). Now, with the validation that came from watching airplanes take off, I wonder if it was simply that I myself did not see and hear myself in an honest-before-a-good-non-judgmental-God way. Because whenever I do, I find my super power. And then instead of flailing and wailing about not being seen or understood by others, I just simply do the thing I do, and defy the laws of gravity.

Because then, I get it. I get me. I got me. I am powerful the way those planes were. And I get to do things.

And then I’m off.

[paulsrace]

Childlessness

What is grief if it doesn’t look like losing someone to death? Is it permissible?

If it wasn’t, then perhaps that is why I have struggled to validate the sum of my being, and I continue to be confused by the realms that I often find myself in between and not being able to understand it. I am made up of Swiss cheese holes, and the cold wind of hypocrisy blows through me at all times. It’s little wonder that I have often felt unseen, and unheard. My voice is lost in the cold wind.

I still find myself invalidating my need to talk about what I had lost. Maybe for fear that putting words to it might trivialize them even further. O, where is my safe space? I am made less because of it.

Recently, there seems to be enough sense and clarity to realize that I had fallen into yet another crack of “unseen-ness”. That at my age, I clearly do not look like I have had children. Whereas most other married women my age talk about the mess of family life with kids, and all this time taking time to look beautiful in their “mom” bodies (or not).

As if the coldness of the empty womb isn’t hard enough to grasp, I am being “missed out” of a stage of life that should’ve been as normal and common as the human existence. And because I already look younger than my age, my grief is bypassed by others and I am perceived as un-evolved. I have never felt more invisibly “stabbed” by ignorant, unknowing comments in my life, I don’t think.

My grief is bypassed when the current narrative attempts to convince me that child-bearing and rearing shouldn’t be the be all and end all for women. I don’t think it is, and that’s not the point. I am also overlooked when the younger ones don’t understand that I am not their age, and the older ones tell me I’m still young (whether they know my real age or not).

Other married women my age have no space for conversations with me, and I have no experience to speak of to share in theirs. How do we partake? I’ve found it slightly less painful to withdraw. The ire of it is that many folks have an uncaring habit of further trying to put what they cannot understand or perceive into their own little boxes instead of holding the unknown and uncomfortable with gentle curiosity.

Knowing how to, and being able to thrive despite my grief is the catch-22. The more put together I am, the more invisible my grief becomes, the more blithe I seem. The void that keeps me from communing with others becomes the unexplained elephant in the room that is complained about.

Is there any room for my grief, or do I have to grieve that there is not as well?

[paulsrace]

Process Letter

Dear me,

I don’t like it when you’re odd, and you lose your voice, and your very sense of being when you’re around others. I don’t like the way you retreat, as if that were the only option you have when distress arises. I don’t like that you only know how to operate when you’re on your own. I don’t like it when you don’t speak up when you should, and you get lost in all the other vibes.

I resent that you can’t find yourself when you’re lost - that your memory fails, your focus is non-existent, and your words are incoherent with no way of making sense exactly when you have to. I resent that you can’t just be, and feel safe in the common majority. I hate it when you are just so lost, unable to get a grip, and that it goes on and on for days.

I hate that you get weird around people... that you always have to get weird around some folks, and even without a word, cause others to dislike you.

I hate that you think you are that powerful, and yet you are so powerless at the same time. I hate it when you are useless like that! I’m fed up with your rigidity, the awkwardness around people, your single-mindedness that needs constant reminders that the world does not revolve around you.

I’m tired of bearing the loneliness, the darkness, and the truth on my own. I’m tired of needing to fight silent fires, of lonely resolution. I’m tired of not being known and included. I want to be part of something, to belong, to be supported, to be comforted, to be given, to receive, to be accepted.

I feel sad when you constantly have no one to turn to, that you have to believe that there is no one there for you. I feel sad that for all that you have experienced, the good and the bad, that you experienced it all on your own. And I feel sad that when you fall back into the same pits again, only you know. And only you know how to climb back out. I feel hurt because for all the journeys we’ve been on, it doesn’t feel like it is worth anything if nobody else has witnessed it. I feel hurt because our journey does not seem to matter, and that our existence feels only as a myth. I feel awful because our existence, our heart, our stories, our truths are as thin as air on the mountain top - mostly intangible, unreal, and not enough.

I feel disappointed because we’ve had some great adventures and moments that would only mean so much to us. I want our stories to mean more. I want our heart to beat loudly, and unapologeticaly.

I feel afraid that showing up means to be trivialized. I’m afraid to be trapped within myself as a myth. I’m afraid that I would always be trapped in this conundrum. I feel scared because then there would be no way out, and I would truly disappear. I feel scared because then there is nothing more I can do about it.

I want a way out, a different way. One that means I could walk in broad daylight, with no thought of looking for shadows to hide in for respite.

I’m sorry that it has been so lonely and so scary. I’m sorry it always feels like scraping the bottom of the barrel to show up just right. I’m sorry that we had no witness and lots of commentators. I’m sorry no one has showed themselves trustworthy at the most important times. I’m sorry for laying such a heavy burden on you, for expecting so much from you, and for not giving you any rest. I’m sorry for not fighting back on your behalf, for not protecting and comforting you when you needed it, for putting on you a heavy armor instead. I’m sorry that you did not get to be a child, that you did not get to cry when it mattered to you most, that you could not play and that it felt like a shameful thing to do so.

Please forgive me for not giving you permission to be you. For agreeing with those who did not care about you and had dismissed you. Please forgive me for scaring you so much, instead of encouraging you in love. I didn’t mean to keep you small and hardened. I didn’t mean to do the very thing that you are wanting to fight back against right now. I wish you well, and health, and growth, and acceptance. I wish to give you all the space to fill out to the overflow.

I love you because you are brave, and you are wise, and you are resilient. I love you because of your childlike-ness that has remained despite all that has happened. I love when you are funny in the most unlikely circumstance. I love that you learned not to back down, and you still show up like a stubborn petulant child in the face of disinterested adults.

Thank you for still being here for sticking it out with me. Thank you for being patient with me, for amazing, accepting grace. I understand that you are tired, and sad a lot. And that I fight over your voice sometimes and take on too much control. I forgive you for your anger, for your inabilities or ineptness. I forgive you for your calloused and prideful ways. I forgive all your awkwardness, and your running away. I forgive your habits of shy-ness and your self-limitations. You were doing your best being brave. I want you to grow, to take up space, to be beautiful, be smart, be emotional, be direct, be full of love and joy, and to be inexhaustible.

[paulsrace]

That Awkward Stick in the Mud

One of the things that I had so enjoyed and marveled at, was that I could meet someone I had never met before, and still recognized that we were brethren in the Lord. Our spirits would resonate with celebration, that the Eternal was real, and we were full, holy beings regardless of what’s happened to us in the world. It also very often felt like we were always the same age, whatever that number is.

And so there is little wonder that I’ve felt heartbroken, even harmed - because of my own wretched expectations - when brethren did not recognize their own because it did not fit some unspoken mold, and that it made us anxious when it didn’t. Oh, the bad behavior that comes from anxiety... Shouldn’t we recognize how devious it is to be this way?

On my journey to be part of community, I’ve come to a head in acknowledging a distinct but natural cultural difference. I am allowing it, finally. With no feasible way to return to what was my cultural bubble and not enough roots in where I live now to be completely at home, I have broken away, diving into shards of authenticity and alone-ness. I will be traveling farther on this trajectory, simply because I don’t know if I could ever be bought over by culture anymore. Especially because I now know that it functions extrinsically as a lens that divides and keeps us small.

The loss has been sobering. Other times, physically painful. And all kinds of lies of orphan-hood, independence, and black sheep-ness arose to quickly fill the void. But beneath the cacophony, a happy truth smiled quietly. It was waiting for me to catch up.

It’s like the beach by the ocean - When the tide pulls out far and I am left high and dry, possibilities and realities as wide and deep as the ocean can pull on in and flood the void again. I want to be continuously reminded that loss means abundance in the upside-down kingdom of God. It is easy for the heart to be hardened, holding on to things that will never be the same again because it feels as if that will be all I will ever have. When the world outside takes from me, the inside world of me gives again, relenting and trusting my Ocean world in Him.

And so far, it is has been good. Clarity, love, being, truth and honesty with my Lord, room to breathe - I feel like I’m on the right track again-again, back with my Family that had never abandoned me. I have missed them.

[paulsrace]

The Price

There is a price to pay for joy and fullness, the freedom and goodness that God has for you.

The price is to be forever changed, to let go of all that you have held dear in your insecurity. It is to see the worth of all your effort as feeble self-righteousness; your partial discernment of rights and wrongs, and the heavy burden of playing judge and jury over all things.

It is to be humbled and loved all at the same time; so loved you have to squirm from lack of excuse or reason to disqualify yourself.

It is to be rid of independence as an escape into separation and self-ness, and performance as self-soothing. It is to know that you will never not be seen or heard, that you’ll never actually get “alone time” ever again. It is to never consider the weight of your burdens as your identity. And to realize that the purpose of gravity is not heaviness, but an effortless force of attraction to the One that is Love, among many other names.

[paulsrace]

Seasons

It hadn’t occurred to me more than this year that I would be compelled by the season. Weekends had been sacred to me over the past few months as I nursed my burn out. I denied many things so that I could retreat into protective recluse. I spent hours upon hours on our couch just basking in stillness and quietness, and views of the blue sky outside our window. My nervous system needed a break from the tumult of the year. The parts of me that avoided, exhausted, and dissociated had taken my seat of consciousness and I was not very good all around.

But now, Saturdays are about getting lost in yard work. I haven't found any activity in recent times that has given me such a wondrous inhale of life. Hands in dirt, skin basking in the gentle sun, in the cool, fresh air. Time stands still as I indulge in this vibration of alive-ness. Before we know it, 3 hours have flown by. Last weekend we worked with rock and concrete, trying to improve our patio. This weekend, we put plants into planter boxes around the patio. Oh, our backs hurt and my hands swolled. But the satisfaction of hopefulness was unparalleled.

Spirit gently reminded me that we were also doing this on Resurrection Weekend, and He has made all things new. It felt like an invitation to sit back, to just watch and enjoy Him.

It is the hopefulness of home that I have been longing for.

Home is where there is belonging, where genesis occurs. Where life is its own thing, and not something that is of my own genius. And so, to be compelled by the spring, by plants and their obedience to nature, made me feel like I belonged to something other than my own efforts and interpretations. O, life truly is greater than our selves. And I wonder if this is why Spirit has been relentless about drawing me in to plan for and work on our yard for over the past 3 years, even before we bought our own house. Being in the garden feels like being in the bowl of Father’s hands. It’s good to feel small like that sometimes. The heavy burden of self lifts.

It is the hopefulness of life that exists beyond my hands. It feels that it is all too often impressed upon us to make life wonderful and amazing. But these plants worship and prosper, simply being in the sun and taking in nutrients. And they will each grow and take on a different shape and size. And they will grow such that there is an abundance, enough for propagation or proliferation. Is that not how God made each of us?

God, I miss being in the secret confidence of Faith, where out of it flows evidence of both He and I, leaked into an unsuspecting world.

Gardening has been such a wonderful Life coach. This is me - taking up my “yes” to the season’s call. It is me investing into the ground, sewing into life,  committed to hopefulness. That Life goes on celebrating, no matter what.

... we are so looking forward to our patio turning into a lovely living space, where we can commune with the Holy Three, with each other, and with nature.