there is no "me" in control

It was recently proposed to me that the idea of sleep, and it's necessity, should remind us that we're not God.  I need a near daily shut-down time; a physical break from reality.  God doesn't.

One of my professors pointed out that "people have a need to be in control of their own lives...and they have a need to know that God approves of that idea".

What a sticky thing to admit to.  Yet, guilty is my plea.

I like to think that I am in control, or have control, or at least have access to control.  This is detrimental from the ground, up.  I suddenly take on responsibility where I wasn't intended to.  I sacrifice self-control as a discipline and replace it with feigned control of my, and others', circumstances.

But God (one of my favorite biblically-used transitions) knows me.

It took but one sunrise (which is what these photos are from: one of the glorious fall Lake Michigan Sunrises I've experienced) to get my attention and challenge my perspective again.

You feel pretty small standing on the edge of the water, watching the sun climb up the sky and burst from the clouds.  I begin to take myself a little less seriously as I realize how deeply I have fooled myself into thinking I wanted control.

In spontaneous freedom I am reminded that I am not responsible for any one's happiness; my job is to glorify God (period).  I am not in control of his/her well-being.

Where that once made me feel uncomfortable, I now find curiosity in learning passive obedience.  I have begun to recognize my insecurities and reassess the places to which I have attached my worth.

I am back on my 'toes', eager to learn to live in hope instead of dreaming of control. 

I spin a lot of plates, and sometimes it seems that I am able to do it quite well.  But it's time for some better life-managing.

There is an innocent freedom found in simply waking up and realizing, once again, that I was sleeping (because I am not God).  I was never intended or wired to be in ultimate control.

As I move beyond recognition and into implication(s), I know there will be opposition.  So I place one foot in front of the other with sword in hand: "As for me, may I never boast about anything except the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ.  Because of that cross, because of Him, my interest in this world has been crucified, and the world's interest in me has also died" (Galatians 6:14).

And I promise to keep rambling on here as I go.

okay to not be okay

Pain. I keep coming back to this idea.  It's not an idea really, it's an emotion; well, not even an emotion -- a reality.  It's a state of being.  Though usually temporary, it is nearly always personified.  It is typically not sought out; rather, it happens to us, in us, around us.  I used to avoid it at all cost.  If it presented itself predictably, I ran, hid or flat-out denied its existence or affects.  Now?  I've grown quite fond of pain.

Even to my ears that sounds purely twisted.  Fond of pain?  Maybe it would be better stated that: I have grown to appreciate what it is and does in my life (and our world).  Pain keeps us aware of our humanity, morality and vitality.  It challenges us, usually pointedly acknowledging that somewhere within us we have an understanding that we lack a 'shalom' we were created for.  There is an uncomfortable sting that something is not what it is supposed to be -- that tension hurts.  It awakens us to our senses.  It changes us.

Today I heard the story of a 14yr old boy in a detention center in Chicago.  He's there for selling drugs.  His mom got laid off last fall and he has never known a dad.  He's got a baby sister and the three of them lived in an apartment on the west side.  His mom couldn't find work.  His sister cried herself to sleep hungry, and eviction was only a matter of weeks away.  He understood the need for money.  He held his crying sister, terrified of what life would look like on the cold streets, and did the only thing he thought he could: sell to survive.

Pain.  It settled in on me.  That this-isn't-how-it's-supposed-to-be feeling created an unmistakable twinge in my heart and mind.  With wet eyes, I began to smile; acknowledging the collision of Kingdom-ache and supernatural-joy.  Pain was changing me in that moment.  I am not the same because of one story, one circumstance that brought about the weight of a reality I can't ignore.  Pain alerts us to the fact that something isn't right; something is worth giving attention to.

Pain: I still may not seek it, but I welcome it.

Metaphorical Bridges to Ethiopia

I was reading through some of my journal from my time in Ethiopia and stopped to resonate on an entry that I have been living out in a new context.

On June 17th I wrote:

I felt as though the God in me was truly needed in that time and place.  Though tension rang through my mind and heart, there was a peace in my soul.

I sigh because often I make things so complicated.  We make things more difficult than they need to be.  People need to be loved, to be truly seen.  People are dying to be heard and they don't need answers, but a God that is big enough to be Comfort and Grace and Mercy right in the middle of their chaos. 

People need to be reminded that they can.  They want to taste and see living hope.  In response, I want to live magnetically.  I want to live radically different but not out of guilt or in shame.  I want my life to look different because of love, because of selflessness.  I always want to life in awareness of my purpose and worth so that others, too, might see and know theirs.

If you want to see change, expect to be changed.

Previously, I couldn't name or pinpoint the reason I felt prepared for this season.  It's been a beautiful thing to be in another position that invites me, daily, to fight for (and with) people.  Here's to continually learning to love well...