Mourning Little Deaths

In my life, in my thirty one years, I’ve seen a lot of change.  Perhaps not as much as someone who lived thirty years before me, but enough all the same.

I’m not just talking about changes in technology and society, either.  God knows there have been many of those—the changes to computers alone in my lifetime have been drastic and unpredictable.  There have been changes in music and literature, in movies and politics, in marriages and religion.  Pondering those changes would keep a room full of sociologists, philosophers, anthropologists and theologians occupied for years.

But I have my own changes to think of, as well.  And as my own life isn’t likely to be studied by anyone other than myself, I must do the job.  As my birthday draws close, it makes me introspective again.  How have I changed in the last thirty years?  What makes me different from the person I was as a child or as a teenager?  How am I different even from four years ago?

As I said, I’ve seen a lot of change.  I’ve lived a lot of places.  I was recently filling out an application for missions in Ireland, and several questions caused me to reflect on the many varied experiences I’ve had.  Sometimes I need to stop and put things in perspective and remind myself that the life I’ve lived isn’t what most people would consider “normal.’ I’ve wrestled with that for years—what is normal, anyway?  Is it good to be normal, or is it bad?  I have to remind myself that experience alone does not make me a more developed or enlightened person.  We all have a slightly different path to walk, but it is what we learn from the journey that is important.

I’ve always been a rather sensitive soul; adaptable, yes, by necessity, but also very aware of change.  I’ve developed an awareness of similarities and differences—of patterns and themes.  This is part of what draws me to Story.  As I look at my own story like a tapestry, I see many colors: each shift to a new hue representing a time of transition in reality.  A new house.  A new town.  A new state.

I’ve seen a lot of change.  Every change, in a way, is like death.  Like a small dying of something that used to be and is no longer—at least, not for me.  The house may still stand, the town exists, but I am no longer there.  And even when I go back to visit, it will be different.  Time alone will have caused decay; often other forces have been at work as well.

And change happens in people, too.  I’ve had to leave behind a lot of friends in my life.  When the time for parting comes, assurances are made: I will keep in touch, we will still be friends.  I will see you again.  But often communication is infrequent, and in everyone I’ve left, even the ones I do remain closest to, change occurs.  People I knew as children grow up.  They graduate high school and college; they get married.  They have children of their own.  I see it all as snippets from the outside, watching and feeling frozen, though time affects me, too.

Every change, every goodbye is like a little death.  I don’t think I ever realized it before.  I never allowed myself to properly mourn all the tiny deaths I’ve experienced in life.  I haven’t lost a lot of people close to me to the grave, so I thought somehow I was exempt from mourning.  But I am not.  These days, whenever I read or hear or see a breaking of a fellowship, I find myself grieving.  It may be nothing more than a television show where the characters must part for a time.  It may be a song about friendship or goodbyes.  My eyes fill with tears, and I find myself mourning all the friends I’ve had to say goodbye to.  And I’ve had to say goodbye a lot.  Sometimes it has been much harder than others, and I think it was because I knew deep down that it was a death, it was the end of something which would never be again. At least, not until the end, the day when God restores everything.

Change in life is as inevitable as death.  You cannot escape it.  Time alone changes us, entropy breaks us down little by little.  You cannot stop it; the sands of the hourglass will slip through your fingers even as you clench your fist.

If that sounds discouraging, perhaps it is because I am grieving a little today, mourning for the many changes in my life.  All those little deaths which I foolishly overlooked.  The breaking of many fellowships. 

There is, of course, another side to all this.  Without change, without death, there cannot be new life.  Growth.  Change may mean the death of one thing, yes, but the thing that replaces it may be stronger and better.  Or, just entirely different.

The end of one thing means the beginning of another.  This does not negate our mourning, but gives us hope when the tears have dried.  Speaking of his own death, Jesus said, “I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.” (John 12:24)  Jesus, better than anyone, knew that change was inevitable.  He knew he would have to leave his earthly life and all of his very good friends.  He knew intense suffering was hours away.  But he also knew that something more glorious awaited him on the other side of it.  He knew one day there would be a reunion with his dear friends and disciples.

In the same way, we can have hope that the beautiful things of this world will one day be renewed and restored, on the day when God remakes the heavens and the earth.  And we, too, will be remade.  Paul talked about this in his letter to the Corinthians:

“^35-38Some skeptic is sure to ask, "Show me how resurrection works. Give me a diagram; draw me a picture. What does this 'resurrection body' look like?" If you look at this question closely, you realize how absurd it is. There are no diagrams for this kind of thing. We do have a parallel experience in gardening. You plant a "dead" seed; soon there is a flourishing plant. There is no visual likeness between seed and plant. You could never guess what a tomato would look like by looking at a tomato seed. What we plant in the soil and what grows out of it don't look anything alike. The dead body that we bury in the ground and the resurrection body that comes from it will be dramatically different.

 ^42-44This image of planting a dead seed and raising a live plant is a mere sketch at best, but perhaps it will help in approaching the mystery of the resurrection body—but only if you keep in mind that when we're raised, we're raised for good, alive forever! The corpse that's planted is no beauty, but when it's raised, it's glorious. Put in the ground weak, it comes up powerful. The seed sown is natural; the seed grown is supernatural—same seed, same body, but what a difference from when it goes down in physical mortality to when it is raised up in spiritual immortality!” (1 Corinthians 15:35-38, 42-49, The Message)

It is right and natural for us to mourn the little deaths and changes that alter our lives.  But we must remember that death is not the end.  Life wins; Life triumphs over death.

I just finished reading a nonfiction book by Madeleine L’Engle called “The Rock that is higher: Story as Truth” and the last chapter was all about resurrection.  Mrs. L’Engle was writing in the later years of her life, looking back on everything, including an automobile accident which battered her body.  Toward the end of the book, she recounts a story she heard about the people of Russia, back when it was the USSR, an atheistic nation:

“The people of Moscow were called to a gathering in Red Square.  There they were addressed by one of the new leaders, who spent well over half an hour proving to the populace that there is no God.  His factual arguments about the nonexistence of God were incontrovertible, and the mob of people standing in Red Square was silent and subdued.

“Then a priest who was standing with the people asked permission to say three words.  Permission was granted, and he stood in front of the packed square, raised his arms, and cried out:

                ‘CHRIST IS RISEN!’

“And the entire mob responded joyfully, ‘He is risen indeed!’”

The truth of that resurrection is one that sustains us through all of life‘s changes and little deaths.  It means death is not the end.  Change, entropy, evolution—they don’t get to be the final words in the course of our lives.

All of our little reunions here in this life, so fleeting and bittersweet, are just a preview of what it will be like when everything is restored.  And I need this hope.  I need it because sometimes it feels like change is permanent.  Like goodbyes are forever.  Like death is the end.  It is not true, no matter how I feel.

And I press on, not wanting to get lost in the “new” nor stuck in the “old.”  I may mourn, but underneath my mourning is hope:

 ¹Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away…³And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, "Now the dwelling of God is with men, and he will live with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. ⁴He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away."

 ⁵He who was seated on the throne said, "I am making everything new!"  (Revelation 21: 1, 3-5)

Amen.

What's up with that?

I'm spending a lot of time in fictional worlds, lately.

One is an island--hard to get to, hard to leave.

Another is a rainy town in Washington where Monsters live.

The last is one of my own making--and it's familiar enough, though it's inhabitants exist only in my head.


What is it about Story that sucks me in? It's hard for me to explain. And while I love, LOVE analyzing stories and pulling them to bits with friends, sometimes it's hard for me to express all that rushes through my brain.

I succumbed to peer pressure (well, really friendly recommendations) and started the Twilight series. Several friends (whose other literary interests often coincide with my own) told me I should read them. I resisted for a long time, held back by the hordes of teenaged girls who worship the series and its vampiric hero. Also, I don't like vampires. Never have. Likely never will.

I'm nearly done with the second book now...and I'm sort of starting to see why they are so popular. They are entertaining and well written. I keep going, page after page, even though I think most of the characters are kind of ridiculous. It annoys me that I would keep reading a book in which I don't care about most of the characters. Hopefully they will grow and develop some.

The narrator, Bella, is absurd and naive. A typical teenager? Maybe. I hope not. Edward, the guy she falls for (along with half the teenage girls in the country) is not only a vampire, he's practically perfect. Or at least, a representation of perfection. I find him mostly annoying. I think their interest in each other is shallow, even though it's meant to be deep and profound.

It might not bug me so much if I wasn't working on a story of my own with similar-ish themes. (No vampires. I prefer superheroes.) But I don't want it to be all tingles and meaningful gazes. I've been wrestling with this a lot lately. I feel like I'm straddling a fence here--both enjoying the story, and yet, being frusterated by it so far. Wanting my own writing to be both appealing, but deep. (Is that even possible??)

Anyway. I just had to vent a little. It's not like I picked them up because I thought I'd enjoy them. I wanted to know what everyone was talking about, and I wanted to check out the "competition." So to speak.

But I find that I have very little patience with fictional characters. It's easier. I don't have to worry about hurting anyone's feelings or asking forgiveness. I can just fume and be annoyed by someone who isn't real, while acting that way in real life makes things really complicated.

I wonder, though: am I spending too much time analyzing fictional characters and their stories that I'm neglecting my own? I hope not. My own life is rather complicated at the moment, so escapisim isn't an unnatural reaction. And I want to work on my own writing. It's easy to lose myself in a story of my own making, to plumb the depths of characters I created and am still getting to know.

And the big question on my mind is, "What will people say about my writing?" --That is, if it's ever made available to the greater public. But shouldn't the bigger question be, "What will people say about my life?"

Writing is only one part of my life--granted, it feels like an important part at the moment. But there are other things I want, too: a simple, healthy, natural, debt-free life. I'm trying to work on all those things, too. But a lot of that can't be scripted, no matter how much I would like it to be.

A life like that flows out of big and small moments alike and is shaped by every choice I make. I don't want to be Bella, centering my whole life around one desire (in her case, to be with Edward!) unless that desire is from God, and for God. But the moments slip away, and sometimes I can't see where my own story will end up. Most of the time, I can't even see the next paragraph, let alone chapter.

This is kind of a weird, long, random post, and for that I apologize. Perhaps next time I won't be so scattered.

Can You Hear It?

There's a movie that I absolutely love called August Rush. I've talked about it before.
It's about a boy who grows up in an orphanage, but wants to find his parents. He believes if he plays the music he can hear in his head, they will hear it too, and find him. While that overly simplified synopsis may sound cheesy, Freddie Highmore's portrayal of Evan (later stage-named August) was very convincing.
He says of music that it is "all around. All you have to do is listen."

I saw it last year, and I fell in love with the idea of "hearing the music," the symbolism of something deeper and truer than the noise around us, that connects people and draws them together, if only they can hear it.

This weekend, a newly begun Girl's Group met at my friends' house. We watched a Nooma video, one called Rhythm. Wendy blogged about this on her own blog, so technically, I'm kind of copying her. But anyway. In Rhythm, Rob Bell says that God is like a melody, one that's been going on for thousands of years, and that being in relationship with Him is more than knowing chord theory or having the skill to play perfectly. It's about joining Him in the song. The question, Bell said, isn't whether you are playing any music at all. It's, "are you in tune with God?"

Afterward, we talked about that concept, one you can probably guess I liked. And of course, it made me think of August Rush. One thing we talked about was how we often feel "out of tune" and don't always know how to get back. You could extend the analogy here and say that certain disciplines can help you get back in that rhythm, just like practicing and studying makes you a better musician. So, conceivably, things like prayer and reading the bible would also help one get back in tune with God.

But I, as usual, tend to see things just a little bit differently. I've noticed that sometimes retuning happens whether or not I'm trying for it. Sometimes God gets my attention in unusual ways. Like movies and TV shows and impromptu conversations. I like to think in those moments He's doing the tuning, not me.

I'm a guitar player. So I know that once in a while, I need to tune Holly. The B string in particular likes to go flat. But other times, I go weeks without tuning it. It sounds just fine, so why should I? But if I begin to play Holly alongside another instrument, and she's not in tune, look out! And then I pull out the tuner.

But being "tuned in" can have another connotation. The idea is that you actually listening for something. You're aware of it. In this sense, being tuned into God is almost like trying to find a good radio signal. You want just the right frequency. But how do you get that? With God? How do you get that tuned into Him? I think you have to start by listening. By believing that there IS a signal (or a melody), and that you're supposed to hear it. And that you might hear it anywhere, at any time. Not just Sunday mornings. Not just when you're being ultra-good.

I like the idea of God being like a song. It reminds me of the beginning of "The Silmarillion." And "The Magician's Nephew." Both J. R. R. Tolkien and C. S. Lewis depicted creation scenes as songs. Which, I think is pretty brilliant. In both cases, they became these epic symphonies in which other voices participated.

I think of Life as a lot of things: a Journey, a Battle, a Love Story...I like the idea of it being a Song, too. A song that God is singing. Can You hear it? On a beautiful, nearly-spring day, can you hear it? When a stranger shows you a small kindness, can you hear it? In good conversations with good friends, can you hear it? "The music is all around you. All you have to do...is listen." And then, join in.

A Most Auspicious Post

Okay, I admit--that last post was filler. Fluff. It's been a while since I wrote anything real, I know. But for once, I actually waited to write for a specific reason:

This post, the one you're reading right now, not only marks my three-year-anniversary of blogging, it's also my 100th post.

I thought about a lot of different things to write on this most auspicious post, for my 100th message and three year anniversary. I considered doing a recap. Or talking about the changes taking place in my life. But then I got all introspective-like. So I've sort of gone back and read through a bunch of my previous posts, just to get a sense of where I've been and where I'm going. After all, blogs are really kind of like non-private diaries that we share with the world. I was looking for common themes, and I found them.

I talk a lot about: Singleness (how I'm okay with where I am), Jobs (how I'm wrestling with what my calling and vocation are), and Pop Culture (how I interpret the stories I see).

I began this blog three years ago at the advice of my best friend Brianne. (She started a blog at the same time, but has much more of a social life then I do.) She felt that it would be a good forum for me to sort of send my thoughts out into the universe. At the time, I was really struggling with balancing my ambition to be an author and my frustration with not being published. She, like a few others in my life who I'm eternally grateful for, felt I had something to say.

Right now, I'm trying to assess whether her belief in me was accurate or not. Have I said anything important, weighty, or significant in these 100 posts? It's not that I'm fishing for reassurance or a pat on the back. I'm just evaluating.

And, more importantly, should I continue to write? Keep trying to say something? Should I keep up this humble blog, even when it seems like no one is reading it? I never had extravagant expectations for this. I wasn't anticipating hundreds of hits a day. Still, it's nice to know when people read it. It's nice to get a few comments. It helps me to know whether I've communicated what I set out to share. And, it connects you and me, through this vast network we call the Internet.

Blogging is such a weird thing. It puts words and thoughts out there for anyone to read, and yet no one does. Or at least, it feels like no one does, unless they leave a comment or make a point to say so. Still, last night I was reminded that sometimes the things I do and say that seem insignificant to me can have more importance than I realize. I don't know how or why that happens, except through God.

And the plain, honest truth is, if it weren't for God, and His work in my life, I wouldn't have a thing to say.

Come, Springtime

Come, gentle showers,
fall soft on me.

Little drops of grace
keeping me from
cracking like dry earth.

Come heavy storms,
make me clean.

I am deluged
Soaked entirely through
and shivering.

Come rushing water,
sweep me away.

A flood of change
slows to a trickle
and all is still.

Come, fierce winds,
strip away my gloom.

Let what was frozen
thaw and flow:
Life is on the move.

Come, golden light,
saturate my soul.

Rays of warmth
call forth growth;
the world is green again.

Come, Springtime,
help me bloom.

Desiring Spring

Something happens to me around this time of year.

Right now the world is gray and faded; dirty snow piles line the streets and parking lots. Trees are bare. The sky is washed out. The air is cold. I hate it, quite frankly. I long for Spring--according to the calendar, it's only a few days away. In reality, Winter still reigns.

I've been stressed out lately--just a lot of things piling up on me. Then I look outside, and everything looks as bleak as I feel. Somehow it's easier to let things get to me when there is no beauty in the world.

But early this morning, I heard birds singing. Somehow it struck me. Such a simple thing, but it signified that Winter really is drawing to a close. And those birds know it. They know it's time for them to be back here, that soon the weather will grow warmer and things will grow again.

It reminded me of so many things. There is a song by Switchfoot called "412" which says,

You watch the sun rise
You saw the darkness had no choice before the dawn
With your own eyes
And then you broke out laughing from a yawn

You said,
"I'm so sorry I've been so down.
I started doubting things could ever turn around.
And I began to believe that all we are is material.
It's nonsensical."

And I felt that way. It was like I forgot that Winter can't last forever--it has no choice but to give way to Spring. This also reminded me of John Eldredge (as so many things do) and how he talks about our Soul's longing for Spring. He says,

But after the new year, things begin to drag on. Through February and then March, the earth remains lifeless. The whole world lies shadowed in brown and gray tones, like an old photograph. Winter’s novelty is long past, and by April we are longing for some sign of life—some color, some hope. It’s too long.

And then, just this afternoon, I rounded the corner into our neighborhood, and suddenly, the world was green again. What had been rock and twig and dead mulch was a rich oriental carpet of green. I was shocked, stunned. How did it happen? As if in disbelief, I got out of my car and began to walk through the woods, touching every leaf. The birds are back as well, waking us in the morning with their glad songs. It happened suddenly. In the twinkling of an eye.

My surprise is telling. It seems natural to long for spring; it is another thing to be completely stunned by its return. I am truly and genuinely surprised, as if my reaction were, Really? What are you doing here? And then I realized, I thought I’d never see you again. I think in some deep place inside, I had accepted the fact that winter is what is really true . . . And so I am shocked by the return of spring. And I wonder, Can the same thing happen for my soul? (The Journey of Desire , 108–9)

There is this deep yearning in me for Life and greenness and newness and regeneration, and I long to see it not only in myself, but in the world around me. There are people who dislike that Holidays like Christmas and Easter are arbitrarily celebrated in conjunction with ancient pagan rituals rather than commemorating the actual date of the events. But this year, I realized something. God, in His sovereignty, allowed those dates to be used. The timing is quite perfect, actually. At least here, for us in this hemisphere.

Christmas brings light into the darkest time of the year. It's the bleakest, coldest, blackest time of the year--and what do we do? We light candles and hang up tiny twinkling lights everywhere. We use imagery of bright stars and shining angels. Because Christ came into the world, to be a light in the darkness.

And of course, Easter (more commonly known as Resurrection in my family, and now my church as well!). It is perfect as well. The juxtaposition of Death and Life--Winter and Spring--is a visual reminder of Rebirth and Resurrection.

There is something glorious in the Return of Spring, and yet it always surprises me how much I long for it. We were not made for death. We were made for Life--and Life abundant! And it seems like every year I need to be reminded of this. Some years more than others.

There's a Relient K song that I love, called "In Like a Lion (Always Winter)" which captures my feelings so well about wanting spring to come:

When February rolls around, I’ll roll my eyes
Turn a cold shoulder to these even colder skies
And by the fire, my heart it heaves a sigh
For the green grass waiting on the other side

It’d be so nice to look out the window
And see the leaves on the trees begin to show
The birds would congregate and sing
A song of birth, a song of newer things

And everything it changed overnight
This dying world, you brought it back to life
And deep inside I felt things
Shifting, everything was melting away
And you gave us the most beautiful of days

Cause when it’s always Winter, but never Christmas
Sometimes it feels like you’re not with us
But deep inside our hearts we know
That you are here and we will not lose hope.

The other night I was flipping through an old journal, looking for something particular. I ended up reading many pages on which I had poured out my troubled heart. It was written during what I believe to be one of my darkest years to date. I cried out to God about so many things, but one stood out to me. I had been incredibly lonely. In college, I'd had a great group of friends; but in Pittsburgh, the only people I knew were my family. Once I wrote that I wished I just had a group of friends to go out with, get away for a bit.

Immediately I thought of recent excursion to Seib's, a local Irish pub that has become something of a hangout for me and a few friends. The laughter and the warmth, the friendship--it had crept into my life after all. In unexpected ways, God answered my prayers. He brought new Life.

I believe that there is a longing in all of us for New Life. Perhaps it is closer to the surface at this time of year, when we are tired of cleaning off our cars and shoveling sidewalks and huddling under blankets. Maybe it's easier to recognize the longing of our soul when it's reflected in the world around us.

And into this Longing, God gives the best of gifts: the promise of new, eternal, abundant life. He even gives us a preview by raising Christ from the dead. Can anything be more amazing? Yet, isn't this the very thing that the world around us is proclaiming, shouting for all to see? There is Life to be found! The sun will shine again!

I'll leave you with one last quote, from a Steven Curtis Chapman song. He wrote it about Narnia and Aslan--which again echoes the Winter/Spring, Life/Death themes that we ourselves are facing:

And I'll watch as the cold winter melts into spring
And I'll be remembering You
Oh and I'll smell the flowers and hear the birds sing
and I'll be remembering You, I'll be remembering You

And I'll watch as the sun fills a sky that was dark
And I'll be remembering You
And I'll think of the way that You fill up my heart
And I'll be remembering You.

(That song always make me get teary. *sigh*) To, Spring, and to the Return of Life! Amen.

All The Time

Well, it's amazing.

I know I've been mentioning my struggles lately, my stress and frustrations (as much as I can on a blog without dragging out all the details!). I hope I don't sound like I'm complaining.

The truth is, Life is Hard sometimes. And I know I'm not the only one who can attest to this.

So, there are these things, these areas of my life that I've been wrestling with. Just so you know, I'm on top of the "Christian" thing to do. I pray and pour my heart out to God. And I've already mentioned that I'm trying hard to do the "praising in the hard times" thing. I'm still working on it. Can you feel completely miserable and still profess to believe that God is God, and in control? Well, if so, I'm slogging my way through it.

I don't share this stuff just to vent. I mean, I do think it's important to have people in your life that you can tell things to. For me, talking it out with others really helps me get things in perspective. (Because again, things are always worse in my head than in reality.)

I share it because it's Real, and it's what's going on in my life, and I don't think that praising God through the bad stuff means that you act like everything is great when it's not. When I pretend like I'm fine, as I'm prone to do, to avoid pity, I am depriving others of the Reality that Life will get rough. I can't act like things are great all the time and that I never wrestle or struggle, or those who are struggling will think there is something wrong with their faith. And that's simply not true. Every person in the Bible who had an active relationship and vivid encounter with God also had times of hardship and struggle. It happens. And we could get into theological discussions of why--whether God is testing us, or allowing it to grow us and bring us closer to him (hard things to tell someone who is grieving the loss of a loved one, and not very comforting), or if it is the work of this fallen world and our Enemy. But the bottom line is that God is still in control.

He is sovereign. He is in the big things and the small things. And most of all, he is good.

I started out my day stressed, frustrated, and tired. Things were weighing heavily on my heart. I was wrestling with my situation and circumstances, and things that are simply out of my control. And yes, I was praying, and acknowledging God's control. But I was still under attack.

Then, in a heartbeat, just when I needed it most, I received encouragement. This is the other reason I share about my struggles. To show how God works through them. Not one, but two people reached out to me with very needed words of encouragement. God is good. So very good.

And isn't it amazing how He uses us, as flawed and selfish as we are, to lift others up? That is so very important, such a vital part of our purpose here on Earth. Just being there, being available, listening to a friend--it sounds cliche, and yet it saved me today. God knew just what I needed. And so I praise Him.

God is good--ALL the time.