Dec 31, 2007

Yearning for the Holy

I think back to when this desert experience began, although I wasn't aware of being in the desert until I'd been there for .. how long? As amazingly fast as my brain operates, I am at times terribly slow. I think the ache for something else whispered it's presence to my heart when we moved to Austin 7 years ago. It was the loss of something holy in worship. Whether it was the trauma of leaving a place with so many memories of my children's young years, the group of women I had grown to love so deeply during our pursuit of worship dance, or the church where God had done so many things to me, for me, in me, through me that I lost count, my heart lost something when we came here. I attempted to keep keeping on with my worship dance, but it wasn't the same. First came the attacks by an angry, hurting, lonely pastor's wife who seemed to despise the freedom I danced in. Then came a new fellowship where dance was tolerated, but not blessed or protected. Dance, as untrained as I am, has been what makes my heart come alive since I was 2 or before. I was a disco queen for heaven's sake, but when I came to Jesus for the 3rd time since I was 13 it was in a denomination that banned dancing back in the dark ages. It was "of the devil" and I would have to never do that again. I loved Jesus and wanted to please Him so I turned my back on dance. Never to darken the door of another dance hall again. Unknown to my heart, a quarter or more of who I am died that day. Walking around 1/2 dead (ok, the math doesn't add up, but go with me) for the next 10+ years gave God an opportunity to raise me up. He loves working with dead, broken things. He's a little nuts that way and He's not offended that I say that. I asked.

At a worship conference in 1993, God handed me a gold wrapped box with a big red bow on it. I know it was from Him because despite the colors chosen they weren't at all gaudy or tacky. The box contained "DANCE" and He told me He was giving it back. It changed my life and the lives of everyone in our church. We formed a dance team and baby-stepped our way through for the next 6 years. And then we moved.

Dancing in worship was the one place that brought me face to face with God. I'm not kidding. I never feel as close to Him, as touched by Him, as pleasing to Him, as when I dance. It's weird and wonderful. I stopped dancing a year ago. It was like battle every Sunday with no one else out there. No one else understanding. I just didn't want to be that vulnerable or display that depth of intimacy anymore. Especially when I didn't feel backed up, protected, fought for by the leadership. And surprisingly, I was ok with it. All I longed for was His face. To sing a song that would usher me into the Holy of Holies so I could gaze on His heart and know Him. Really, Truly Know Him. Really. We sing so many songs in church these days that aren't worship. God Bless John Wimber for his legacy of Holy worship, but somewhere along the way from that revolution people started writing a whole lot of songs about us. Songs about who we are in Him, how He's changed us, healed us, delivered us. blah blah us us. Nice, true, but not worship.

I long for Worship. I long for a gathering of believers that truly believe the King of Kings is in the building and you can tell because everyone comes early instead of 20 minutes late. You can tell because every song, from the beginning to the end, is to Him. A conversation of Thanks, Adoration, Love and Awe. For Heaven's sake. Jesus died a horrible, painful, humiliating death so that the curtain that separated us from the Holy of Holies was torn in two and we could boldly enter the Holy of Holies where the Creator of Everything sits. It cost Jesus everything to give us that gift and how many Sundays have we frittered away this priceless gift with songs that are easy to sing, with no more than two verses, a good beat, and I give it a "7"?

I long for worship where God is so awed, revered, loved, adored and believed in, that no one can speak and all we do is lay on our faces in absolute wonder that He, so great and so powerful, loves us. He adores us. He gave everything for us.

Maybe someday He'll let me dance again, but I don't care what I do as long as I can have Him.

I May Have Found Jesus

I've been looking for the real Jesus over the past two years. Really looking, for the real one. Not the Americanized one, or the televangelist one, or the Oprah Winfrey one. But the real one. First of all, I think He's much more complex than I realized. Second, I don't think I'll ever find all of Him until I get to heaven. But for now, I think I found a piece of Him.

On Christmas Eve, my husband, three children and I went with friends to feed and clothe the homeless. We drove behind a little truck from Mobile Loaves & Fishes ministry and we stopped near a park where the homeless gather. We handed out fruit, juice, hot dogs, coffee, hot chocolate, clothing and dozens of beautiful handmade winter scarves that women from a local Jewish temple had been making for a year.

And I found Jesus. Nearly every person we cared for, every dirty, broken, lonely, lost, lovely person mentioned Him and asked for prayer. Real prayer. Sincere, honest, shameless requests for God to show up and touch them. They didn't pray for stuff, or success, or wealth, or a new car, or a trip to Aruba. They asked for Him to show up and save them from the cold. To save them from getting beat up again tonight. To touch them and give them wisdom on how to get back on track in their lives. They asked for prayer for their spouses in prison for drug possession. And they were thankful and grateful and rough around the edges. Jesus absolutely loves the broken, the hard, the lonely, the despairing, the foolish, the lost, the hungry, and the cold. I saw him that night, on Christmas Eve in the streets of Austin.

I can't wait to see where I find Him next.

Nov 15, 2007

Puzzle Pieces


My original intent was to write a book at the suggestion of my friend who loved his desert experience. But, my thoughts are more random than creative and writing a book feels too much like a big juicy steak when all I'm hungry for are a few sweet seedless grapes.

So it's been weeks now. I didn't have anything to write about, but I didn't care. I was just enjoying this place outside the american cultural church. There's a lot of freedom out here. There seems to be more color, more texture, more creativity. For instance I found a name for the weird way my daughter's brain works, did some research and discovered that I have this 'disorder' too, as does my 14 year old son. We're synesthetes. Its so cool! For Jordan and Sam letters and numbers have colors and personalities. Names have colors. For me, a spatial synesthete, time is located in space. Days, weeks, months, years, decades are located in concrete places in space. Of course they are. So I joined a facebook group of synesthetes from all over the world, made a bumper sticker for my car "My Synesthete pwns your Honor Student" and I get excited knowing my brain works in funny ways.

I've discovered, through a test I took, that I'm pretty creative and I'm a fairly good match for the job of sculptor. Unbelievable, really. That has opened up my world in ways I would have never dreamed three months ago. So I'm taking over the design of our house remodeling. I'm picking colors and I have a million ideas. I'm going to take a pottery class because I absolutely love pottery. I want to take a stained glass class because I love that too. I can't wait to get my new shop in the garage fitted out to start creating beautiful things or maybe not so beautiful, but they'll be things I made.

With the discovery of this creativity came the memories of all the time my Dad spent with me before he left for good. How he taught me to play chess, introduced Sci-fi novels to me, let me hang out in the garage while he built cabinets, tables, sculptures and chess sets. He taught me as he created. I realize now that so much of who I am is because of his influence on me. I didn't get him for very long, but this very broken man, who oozed untutored creativity, loved me enough to pour what little he had into me, before his brokenness led him out of my life. I am very grateful to God for that and for letting me remember.

The pain of my high school years is being healed, as well. My daughter and her friend are co-presidents of the Regents' Student Section and my brilliant and beautiful daughter has rewritten the words to the school fight song, made up cheers for many of the players and her involvement has invited my involvement. She has even appointed me Parent Rep on her facebook group. All this is healing that place in me long ago hurt by a very sad high school experience at my own small private school in Wichita. Coincidently, with the same colors as this school my children are very much a part of. I've even gotten in touch with friends I haven't seen in 30 years and I've been invited to the reunion of my class I didn't graduate with.

I've learned that my gift for grammar and spelling are because I see elements of writing as pieces of a puzzle and if the pieces are out of place then the universe is out of place. I realize that this particular insight might surprise you, since my writing is filled with errors, but I honestly don't see it as well with my own writing. Such is life. I also see elements of life as a puzzle.

I can't go to my church anymore because the puzzle is out of wack. The pieces seem to be in the right place to those who are there, but from the outside I see the larger pieces have been put in the wrong place, which makes all the other pieces fit in the wrong place, leaving the Universe completely out of alignment in that particular quadrant of space, and leaving no space for my piece.

I tried going to church. I really did. I went a few weeks here and there sporadically. Feeling like an outsider. Feeling loved by most, but not needed, not really wanted. It was at some point in the worship that I realized how much I just wanted to get out of there and sit in a quiet, alone place where I could think or not think. A place where I could feel the breeze on my face, see the beauty of God's world, watch the lizards crawl on the sand and the eagles play on the warm winds. I wanted to be in the desert, alone. I wanted to be there! Really wanted it. Way more than being in this room where the universe seemed out of alignment and my skin ached. My piece doesn't fit.

So my friend's words have started to make sense. Enjoy the desert, he said. You're crazy, I said. Now, I guess I'm crazy too. It's really beautiful, the desert. I never thought so before. I thought my Mom was nuts when she retired to Prescott, Arizona. We were the only house in Wichita with a rock garden in the front yard. My mom had tons of small river rocks hauled in, placed them around the front of the house, then planted cactus, broom grass and yucca. This was in '68. Our neighbors thought she was crazy. I would pretend I was an Indian or Laura Ingells Wilder in that rock garden. My Mom loved the desert. But, I hated the desert. I mean it has some interesting elements, some fascinating structures, but to live there?! Nuts. Now, I get it. The rustic beauty, the colors,the textures and the hidden life that can only be seen if you're still and quiet.

The lengthy hours of being alone here have taught me to really like me. To really like who God has made me to be. Really. With all my quirks, flaws, mistakes, goofs, I love the creative way my brain is wired, the way I see the world, the way I'm connected to more than just the 3 or 4 dimensions that we know, but into the 7th or 8th or even 15th dimension.

I am actually loving my life. In spite of the fact that Sam broke his left hand in a football game and became unbearable to live with because he couldn't play for two weeks. In spite of the fact that my oldest son has another atypical mole that will require more surgery. In spite of the fact that I'm taking happy pills, our house wont' be done in time for Christmas, my daughter had another car crash, and my dog stinks. In spite of the fact that my daughter has a tumor in her left jaw that will be removed next week and hopefully (beyond hope straight into desperately crying out) that it's not cancer. In spite of the fact that she's a senior and college applications are in and she'll be leaving in 9 months. The right side of my body and brain will be moving away to start their own life. I hope I'm a little like those lizards and my missing parts will grow back.

Right now. Today. I love my life.

Jan 5, 2007

Charlie Wilson's War

How powerful one man can be. He changed the face of the planet, that Charlie. But he fell short. A man who loved the governmental process, gave up when the governmental process stopped caring about Afghanistan. I know that if "we the people" had known that $1 million dollars would build a school in Afghanistan and that in turn would bring hope to a nation balanced on the edge of a knife, we would have given. We would have hosted fund raisers and licked a million envelopes to get the money to rebuild and give hope to this nation. But we didn't know. It was a covert war and the government machine was in charge. So this beautiful nation is only now beginning to hope again. And I have friends who live there. Friends who have started companies and live in neighborhoods and will do anything to bring hope and life to this ancient and beautiful land. One person can change the world. If you see Charlie Wilson's War then take some time to read Three Cups of Tea and the Kite Runner if you can. Log onto an Afghan news site to find out what's really going on. Is it possible we're still in Iraq because we're hanging in there to build roads, open schools, fix water treatment plants, rebuild infrastructures and bring hope to a land long without it? I know these things are happening in Iraq. And good things are happening in Afghanistan, but I am not waiting for the government machine to do it. I am not a fan of big government for many reasons, but watching this film last night solidified for me the worst reason for big government; our inoculation to the idea that they can fix it all and when they can't, there's no hope. We the People.