As 2010 winds down and a New Year waits expectantly on the horizon, I am finding myself eager for what lies ahead.  For the past three years, I have dreaded the New Year.  The future looked so bleak and difficult.  But finally, this year looks more like promise than pain.  I am sensing an end to the darkness and the tiny bit of hope in my heart is longing to burst into bloom.

 You might wonder what has changed.  Mostly, it has been me.  I finally quit wallowing in sadness and self-pity.  Yes, my life has changed drastically and I still face the same loss day after day, but indulging in self-pity has brought me no closer to happiness.  Besides, it is a sin to be focused on myself!  God calls me to keep my focus on Him and the joy that is mine as I serve in His Kingdom according to His plans.  He never promised we would be traditional full-time ministers until the day we die.  That was OUR plan.  But He did promise we would have suffering and hard times . . . and joy and peace and His Presence always.  He calls us to take up our cross daily, to give up our lives so He can use us in any way to advance His Kingdom.

 And another thing has changed.  Ever so slightly I am beginning to have a sense of belonging again.  A little bit here and a little bit there.  No giant steps for mankind.  Instead of feeling the pain of nothing measuring up to what once was, I am finding joy and delight in the little connections . . . a small task that is genuinely appreciated, a fun night with a group of women, a private sharing of hearts, a long hug.  These are all weaving together to form a blanket of expectation and hope.  Hope that this new sense of belonging just might grow into something wonderful . . . different, for sure, but wonderful and satisfying.

 I wonder what the New Year will bring my way.  I don’t want to push it or rush it, but let it unfold all on its own, by the very breath of God.

The two-year anniversary of the closing of our church in Flagstaff came and went with much less emotion than the one-year anniversary did. I’m so thankful for that. I haven’t blogged in the past year because, quite frankly, I haven’t had anything to say. No new epiphanies or revelations from the throne of God; no new direction for our lives; no great, overwhelming sense of God’s peace or presence. And who really wants to hear someone drone on and on about their pain anyway?

But then I remembered how I felt in July when I visited with my friend who has been going through a similar experience. I felt like I had finally connected with someone who understood what I was going through. Finally, when I spoke of the seemingly insignificant experiences of day-to-day living without the customary boundary of full-time ministry, I knew her heart understood. We connected on a level that was deep and desperate and endearing. So maybe there is someone out there who needs to know that they are not alone in their loss and in the subsequent waiting for God to reveal His plan. I’ve come back because of you; because I want to know that when I am feeling alone and isolated from my dreams, and sometimes from my faith, that there is someone out there who can identify with me.

So where have I been this past year? I have been somewhere between conflict and courage. On any given day, I may awake with depression, doubt and despair about my future and what it might possibly hold. I am a realist and I don’t want to hang my hope on religious clichés and platitudes. “God has something wonderful for you!” “Something even better is just around the corner!” It’s always darkest just before the dawn.” (Maybe there are a few phrases that you have difficulty swallowing just like I do) My soul is in anguish on these days. I am tormented by my loss; and it isn’t just the loss of the ministry, it is the loss of purpose and potential. I have no goal. I am like a distressed sailor adrift at sea with no oars and no lighthouse to point the way to shore.

I spent a good share of the last twelve months digesting a book by Larry Crabb, titled, “Shattered Dreams.” This book was especially helpful to me as it put language to the cries of my heart regarding the shattering of my own dreams, the expectations I had for my life. I had always assumed that Roger and I would grow old and die while fully submerged in ministry life. Perhaps that dream may resurface, but my present reality is that this dream has shattered, like a lovingly etched, treasured glass vase would achingly smash when dropped on a marble floor. Crabb insists that all our shattered dreams are merely lesser dreams and that our highest dream, our reason for existence, lies in the dreams that the Creator has for us – dreams of intimacy with Him that is deeper and more satisfying and fulfilling than any lesser dream may promise. I recommend this book – mostly. His conclusion is that only through an encounter with the Sovereign God of the Universe will we find our true purpose, our most worthy and holy dream.

Where Crabb fails is in providing any practical insight into HOW we encounter such a God. What can we do to make room for our God to meet us in such a way? Now, I’ve lived and ministered in the New Wave/Vineyard movement for the past twenty years and what I’ve learned from this is that you cannot conjure up an encounter with God. It is entirely in His court to meet with His children; to make Himself known to them. We can cooperate with the Spirit and prepare our hearts for such a moment, but we cannot make it happen any more than we can make the sun rise in the morning. So, I have prepared my heart by confessing my sin, by setting aside time for worship and reflecting on His Word, by crying out to Him, by waiting quietly for Him to come. I have been obediently submitting to this method for some time now and I must admit that it has not proved very successful for me . . . on one hand. Some days, I remain caught in the conflicts I have just described.

On the other hand, I have found this method of obedient preparation helpful in propelling me toward the other end of the pendulum into the waiting arms of courage. As I have prepared several talks for different groups, I have felt inspiration and bravery rise up within me and I can speak of God’s faithfulness and worthiness with absolute honesty. I can read a verse like, “’For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans for welfare and not for calamity to give you a future and a hope,’” (Jeremiah 29:11) and feel hope again. I can spend an hour in adoration of the Almighty, Sovereign God and be reminded that this life isn’t all about me and it isn’t all about now. I can remember the suffering saints all over the world and be ashamed that I know so little about suffering. And I can gingerly embrace His tender words spoken to me at a retreat recently, saying, “I absolutely adore you!” No leaping over tall buildings in a single bound, but nevertheless, steps of courage in the right direction.

I wish I could say I swing more toward courage than conflict, but lately that has not been so. I don’t know how I can go so easily from one to the other. I wish I were steadily moving closer to where I know I should be – to where I want to be, too. Maybe writing again will help, in some strange way. Maybe courage is illusive and sovereign. Oh, I could “buck up,” “take every thought captive,” and will myself to a more positive outlook on my life, but I refuse to be anything but authentic. I want honest courage, not a mask. Maybe my journey will give you courage.

PS. Thanks for listening. I know this is long, but give me a break, I haven’t written in a year!!

August 31st came and went without much fanfare. No trumpets blared, no heavens opened to pour out celestial light on our pathway. No phone calls with invitations to lead a fabulous church. Not even an “I’m remembering you at this time” card or note from someone . . . from anyone. August 31st marked the one-year anniversary of the closing of our church in Flagstaff. Twelve months of silence.

Since my last post, titled, “Contentment”, I have gone through a number of valleys and hills (no mountaintops yet). Traveling has been a wonderful distraction from reality. However, the days at home are usually filled with tasks and projects, but no ministry, in the strictest sense. Certainly, caring for our disabled ladies and loving on our grandchildren is a ministry that we highly value, but – well, you know what I’m talking about, don’t you?

I don’t want to be driven by desperation. I don’t even know what it is I feel desperate for: an answer, a direction, a purpose, a title? Why do I vacillate between contentment and frustration? I have so many things to be content about. Finally, in our busy, busy lives, we are at a place where we can shape each day new. There is no boss hovering over us with a to do list. We can choose to travel, to write, to play, to relax, to work in the yard or on home projects. We get to choose to sleep in or stay up late. We have more freedom now than we have ever had in our lives. And we have a comfortable wage that supports this lifestyle. Most people our age would envy us. So why do I continue to question this season? Why can’t I just give myself over in abandonment to the wonderful reality of the present?

I am 53 years old and I suppose I’ve been a “doer” for about 52 of those years! (Doers get a bum rap in the Christian world by the way, but that’s a thought for another blog.) I am wired that way. I’m ready for my next assignment! We always said we would never retire, but instead, serve the Church until we dropped dead. But God had something else in mind. I wonder what that something else is.

The anniversary date brought an opportunity to evaluate this past year.  As I’ve thought about it, I don’t think I’ve waited very well. I feel like I should have made huge strides in my walk with God. I should have grown closer to Him, focused more on prayer, used this time to let God heal the wounds of my heart. Heck, my face should be glowing by now! Instead, I feel like I have spent the majority of this past year foraging around for a sense of definition in my world, in my life, in my day . . . a meaning, a purpose – something divine to hang onto.

I continue to crawl through the book, When The Heart Waits, by Sue Monk Kidd. She says, “The emphasis isn’t on what we’re doing but on what God is doing.” [136] I can hear that. It may take a little more time to let it seep down into my soul. She also notes, “Rest is just as holy as work.” [136] Now there is a phrase that caught me off guard. I am still processing it. I would say that I have always thought the work of God, kingdom ministry, was holy and rest was a sometimes necessary, but certainly neutral activity. Pray for me. I want to jump in to do something, anything! I think I must spend some time here in the stillness of waiting and find out just how holy it is.

I was reflecting recently on life and noticed that since the May 31 retreat (see previous post), I have had no feelings of depression or sadness about our current situation; no desperate longing or ache to be back in pastoral ministry, no despair over the lack of day to day involvement in a church, no fear about our future. In essence, I am content! The word took me by surprise when it first came into my mind, but then it settled in like a comfortable and familiar friend. Much like despair once had. I like content better than despair.

The word “content” made me think of Psalm 23. Last winter, I read the book, A Shepherd Looks At Psalm 23 by Phillip Keller. This book really opened my eyes to the relationship between sheep and their shepherd. One of the points that stood out in my mind was this: Contented are the sheep who are in the care of the Good Shepherd. That is the goal of every good shepherd – to have contented sheep. Contented sheep stay close to the shepherd. Contented sheep deliver offspring without difficulty. Contented sheep produce healthy wool for shearing.

My walk with the Good Shepherd has been much like most people’s, I suppose. I’ve had times of staying close to the Shepherd, of being healthy and productive. And I’ve had times when I have trotted off on my own to discover some green nub of grass only to stumble and fall. The Good Shepherd has lifted me up, carrying me when necessary; reminding me that my most fulfilling seasons will always be those by His side.

“Like a shepherd He will tend His flock,
In His arm He will gather the lambs,
And carry them in His bosom;
He will gently lead the nursing ewes.”
                                                     Isaiah 40:11

Those nine months (August to May) were a difficult and fearful journey through the dark valley of the shadow of death, but the Good Shepherd was with me. I know that now. I can honestly say I am content.

Paul talks about being content:
                 “. . . for I have learned to be content in whatever circumstance I am . . . I can do all things through Him who strengthens me.” Philippians 4:11, 13
I used to think the verse, “I can do all things . . .” had to do with accomplishing something great for God or persevering through a trial, but when I examined it in context, it was clear to me that Paul is speaking about learning to be content in whatever circumstance he found himself (whether in abundance or want) and that he learned to do so by relying on the strength of God. (Read verse 12, along with verses 11 and 13) So, I could rephrase verse 13 to read, “I can be content in any situation through Christ who gives me His strength.” That is a good thought; a good word to my heart. I haven’t always done that well in my history with the Good Shepherd, but for this season, I am finding it very freeing!!

Thank you, Father, for the gift of contentment. What sweetness I find in these pastures.

“How long, how long
Till I awake in Your likeness
How long, how long
Till I become like You

Lord, You are calling me
To be all Your own
Yet how I struggle to
Surrender to Your throne
Give me a grace, O God
To die that I might live
In You, in You”
            Terry MacAlmon, The Glory of His Presence

The song above reverberates in my soul.  If something new is being reborn in me, how long will it take?  How long until I look like the one God created me to be?  I stand on the edge of change.  I know it.  I feel it.  Change is coming.  Maybe it’s already here, already begun.

I continue to find great insight in the book, When The Heart Waits, by Sue Monk Kidd.  I know it will be challenging, but I want to embrace the “true seed within us . . . the living presence of God’s image implanted in the soul” [47] Ms. Kidd reminds us that in our attempts to cope with what life brings our way, we “create patterns of living that obscure this identity.  We heap on the darkness, constructing false selves.  We become adept at playing games, wearing masks as if life were a masquerade party.” [47] I really didn’t want to believe this about myself.  “I’m authentic,” I would say.  “What you see is what you get.”  But is it, really?  This is the time to be ruthless in self-examination!  There is no cause for pretence any longer.

“The True Self wants to bloom and grow.  And the way to begin this spiritual flowering is to confront your false selves – the ego patterns you have created – and come home to who you really are inside.” [49] Who am I really on the inside?  Who is the me that God saw when He breathed life into my being?  I am excited to see what comes forth from inside me.  I’m curious to see the possibilities and potential that has been waiting to burst forth.  I’m eager the shed the false selves that have defined me for years, maybe even for a lifetime.  Trust me, though, I am no Pollyanna and I don’t expect the peeling away of my false identities will be a rosy walk in the park.  I know it will be excruciating at times, like removing skin.  I imagine it will be confusing and hard to be consistent at setting them aside in favor of the real me . . . but I am ready to begin.  I am ready to put my hand in His and take the first step.

 ”We’re not very good at recognizing illusions, least of all ones we cherish about ourselves.” [50] Perhaps this past nine months of upheaval in my soul was divine tilling of the soil of my heart.  Maybe now I am churned up and softened enough to dig through the dirt and discover the true me – the one God created me to be.

This past Sunday was May 31 – exactly nine months to the date from when we closed our church and I closed a chapter in my life.  It seemed to me that I was also closing a door of ministry.  Nine months is a long time.  It takes nine months to grow a baby – a new and beautiful life full of promise.  It appeared that nothing was happening in my heart or in my life during these past nine months that looked anything like promise.  Nine months of waiting . . . some days waiting well and other days not so well.  Sue Monk Kidd says that waiting is “incubating what needs to be born.”  What needed to be born in me?

Continuing with the book, When The Heart Waits, Ms. Kidd states the following:  “Most of us Christians don’t know how to wait in pain – at least not in the contemplative, creative way that opens us to newness and growth.  We’re told to “turn it over to Jesus” and – presto! – things should be okay.” [28] She calls the quick-fix solutions a “way of escaping the slow pain of uncertainty and self-confrontation” [31].  If there has been anything in these past nine months, there has been uncertainty.  The accompanying self-confrontation has rarely been far from view. Questions and doubts have been constant companions:  “What did we do wrong?”  “What’s next?”  “Will we ever minister again?”  “What is God saying?”  There were no answers even in close proximity to my questions; no quick-fix solutions to my pain and dilemma.  The agony shouted so loudly that I was unable to hear anything else.  I wasn’t becoming the pleasant, rejoice-in-trials kind of a Christian.  I felt pathetic and weak in my walk.

But just as from the outside one cannot see what is happening in the womb, so it has been with my soul.  I did not see that the upheaval and uncertainty was creating something new in me, unseen by my human eyes.  On May 31, I had a new birth!  Something fresh and different and exciting was born in me!  I was given the amazing opportunity to minister to a group of friends at a weekend retreat and I was ministered to as well.  I was met with appreciation, affirmation, acceptance and the warm embrace of compassionate love . . . human touch.  And on top of that, God met me with an infilling of His presence, an inspiration of His Word, a rekindling of His gifting . . . divine touch.  I had the incredible honor of baptizing my friend in the ocean and as we both rose up out of the water, joy rose up in my soul!  A new me was born; an infant me, full of hope and promise.  I still have no answers to the questions of my heart, but I am eager to find out who the new me will become. 

I am not very good at waiting.  I never have been.  I am a planner, a problem-solver, decisive, a doer .  Not bad traits if you are trying to accomplish something, but a thorn in the side when you must wait.  I didn’t really choose waiting.  It chose me.  I didn’t raise my hand.  I didn’t want to be on this team.  But here I am . . . . . . waiting.

In August 2008, my husband and I made the decision to close the little Vineyard church that we had been pastors of for the past ten years.  It was a difficult, but necessary decision.  With the final service came the bitter reality that for the first time in twenty-eight years, we were no longer pastors and we couldn’t see that changing anytime soon.  We were swallowed up in grief.   Not only did we end a ministry, but we ended the close familiarity of relationships.  In addition, our son and his wife, who had ministered with us, moved to Seattle to follow the leading of the Lord.  The combined loss was excruciating.   We were benched and alone.  There was nothing to do but wait.

And so I have been waiting . . . in agony, in tears, in questions, in frustrations, in lonliness, in anger, in crying out, in complaining, in contemplation, in prayer, in not knowing, in blaming, in confessing, in fasting, in searching, in silence.

A friend recommended a book to me, When The Heart Waits, by Sue Monk Kidd.  I’m not far into it, but I am finding a sense of purpose and hope within the pages.  First of all, she was able to give words to my suffering when I had run out of expressions: “At times I found myself shut in a closet of pain, unable to find the door.” [7]  She also helped me see that waiting is not a bad thing to be doing:  “When you’re waiting, you’re not doing nothing.  You’re doing the most important something there is.  You’re allowing your soul to grow up.  If you can’t be still and wait, you can’t become what God created you to be.” [22] . . . . . . “We discover that the only way to achieve newness is to read our own obituary – to die to the old and open the door to the knock of waiting, to allow ourselves to be sheathed in the experience of incubating what needs be born.  We find that we must trust the process enough to go into the circle and stay there until the time comes for emergence.” [16]

This book has encouraged me to embrace waiting, to open the door to the knock.  I am beginning to see the value in it; the resting, the healing, the reshaping of my self.  I don’t know where I will end up or who I will become in this process, but I know the One to whom I have entrusted my life and I am clinging tenaciously to His character.

This is my journey. . . will you wait with me?