Stuck in the Middle

Where to begin?

If you don’t mind awfully, I’ll just begin in the middle. Because, really, the last six months have been pretty uneventful. I did a little traveling. Saw family and friends. I kept my couch good company. I started a new job that was harder than my old job and left me in a bit of a daze until, well, now. And even now I struggle to find good work-life balance. But who doesn’t? Even now I struggle to sit down and meditate on life. Then again, usually when I start to do that, I get a bit depressed. I think too much. One of the downsides to being hyperanalytical.

But I don’t really feel like talking about all of that. What do I feel like talking about? Well, I’m glad you asked, actually. If you don’t mind, I’m just going to ramble for a bit. Mostly about God’s love and His faithfulness.

You see, I’ve been reading Psalm 78 this week and realized that I’m a bit like those Israelites in the desert. Wandering around this world of ours and even after God has gone and done great things in my life, abundantly providing for my every need, asking: “Can God prepare a table in the wilderness? Behold, He struck the rock so that waters gushed out, And streams were overflowing; Can He give bread also? Will He provide meat for His people?”

Maybe you, like me, when you read that, think “Duh. Come on people. He brought water out of a rock. What can’t He do? What is wrong with you?” Then I turn around and pretty much do the same thing, asking a God who has taken care of me every single day, every single minute of life, paying attention to every minute detail: “But God, what about this? How will I EVER get through such and such? Are you really there? Do you really love me?” Yep, pretty much the same thing. Brilliant.

The good news, as I was telling my friend Erin last night, is that God knows what He’s doing. It’s funny, isn’t it? How easy it is to believe these things for other people. To tell them: God is FOR you. He is NEAR you. He will NEVER fail you or forsake you. He LOVES you. He DELIGHTS in you. And to struggle to believe any of that in the areas of your life that are a bit of a thorn in your side.

This week, as I writing some of those encouragements to a dear friend of mine, I was reminded of one of my favorite bits in one of my favorite books, Frederick Buechner’s “A Room Called Remember.”:

“The final secret, I think, is this: that the words ‘You shall love the Lord your God’ become in the end less a command than a promise. And the promise is that, yes, on the weary feet of faith and the fragile wings of hope, we will come to love him at last as from the first he has love us -- loved us even in the wilderness, especially in the wilderness, because he has been in the wilderness with us. He has been in the wilderness for us. He has been acquainted with our grief. And, loving him, we will come at last to love each other too so that, in the end, the name taped on every door will be the name of the one we love.

“‘And these words which I command you this day shall be upon your heart; and you shall teach them diligently to your children, and you shall talk of them when you sit in your house, and when you walk by the way, and when you rise.’

“And rise we shall, out of the wilderness, every last one of us, even as out of the wilderness Christ rose before us. That is the promise, and the greatest of all promises.”

And THAT is the promise. One we can count on. So, on these weary feet of faith, I will keep walking. And on those fragile wings of hope, I will continue to believe that, as Beth Moore taught me, God IS who He says He is. He CAN DO what He says HE can do. Even when I’m stuck in the middle. Especially when I’m stuck in the middle.

It’s the Simple Things

The best things in life are often the smallest.

The first time you exercise after a bout of sickness. A good home-cooked meal. A bowlful of cherries. Flowers you buy just because.

And the best kind of thing – letters from people you love, especially when those people are your niece and nephews. Especially when their drawings remind you that the world is, in fact, a pretty beautiful place, and that you aren’t as far from home as you feel.

Your moment of Zen ...

All in the Waiting

I cleaned the windows in my flat today for the first time in months. I realized when I was home sick this week, sitting on my couch for the better part of every day, that they were pretty dirty.

So I got my cathartic clean on this morning -- the first day without rain in a while. And as I moved from window to window, from inside to out, in that repetitive wiping movement, I realized that those windows were a lot like my relationship with God lately -- that my view has been a bit skewed from the dirty film of my misconceptions about who he is.

It's pretty easy to bring our own ideas about God into situations. To think that God is a lot like this world we live in. Lately, I've been struggling to remember that he is good, that he has good plans for me. (I suppose that's the universal struggle, really.)

A few weeks ago, as I was sitting on a bus stuck in bad traffic that turned a 4 hour trip into a 7 hour trip, I realized that my whole life right now feels like one big waiting room. Not just waiting to get home. Waiting for my new job to start. Waiting for new friendships to deepen. Waiting for someone to share my life with. Waiting to be changed.

The 7-hour bus ride was a return trip from a week retreat with my church. It was good in many ways. I learned a lot. I also struggled a lot. But the thing I came away with was the sense that God is doing something in my life. I just can't see it yet. And my part in the changing of the scenery is to wait. To actively wait, which Henri Nouwen defined best in "A Spirituality of Waiting: Being Alert to God's Presence in Our Lives."

"The secret from waiting is the faith that the seed has been planted, that something has begun. Active waiting means that you are present to the moment, fully and totally, in the conviction that something is happening where you are, and that you want to be present to it. A waiting person is someone who is very present to the moment, who believes that this moment is the moment. You see, that's what the world 'patience' means. See, the word 'patience' means the willingness to stay where you are and live it out to the full, to taste the moment to the full in the conviction that something is hidden there that will manifest itself to you."

If I'm honest, I haven't really wanted to be present to the moment lately because the moment, well, it seems a bit overwhelming. And like a petulant child, I haven't wanted to wait.

It goes pretty much hand in hand with the fact that I haven't made a lot of room for God in my life recently. I have been too busy with work and getting things done to listen for him. I have spent time with him, sure, but in a rushed way that leaves little room for him to speak into my life. Because I have been tired. Tired of the stress at work. Tired of the waiting. Tired of myself.

My life's not going to slow down any time soon. If anything, it's about to get busier. Which is why it's all the more important to train my ear to his still, small voice -- which speaks into even the most mundane moments of my day. People all too often think that God is separate from our everyday lives. But the more I know of God, the more I see that he is in everything. That he is the undercurrent flowing through this world of ours.

I know that I will lose focus again, that I will struggle with the same old battles, just as my windows will get dirty again. But life, if anything, is a process. And for now, I'm with T.S. Eliot:

"I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope

For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love

For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith

But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting."

God Only Knows

I think it was love at first sight.

The first time I read a book by Henri Nouwen, I just knew. He was my soulmate.

I suppose being someone who values words so much, it was natural.

And his words have meant a lot to me over the years. I read "Life of the Beloved" after a hard breakup and it helped soothe an aching soul with truths I needed to read. I remember finding "A Cry for Mercy" in a dusty corner of the Borders near the World Financial Center, at a time when I desperately needed God.

Last week, when my melancholy self was struggling yet again to make sense of this life and my faith, I found myself comforted by words from a familiar voice – one a little further down the road.

And sometimes you just need someone to remind you that you’re normal…

“My reading about the spirituality of the desert has made me aware of the importance of “nepsis.” Nepsis means mental sobriety, spiritual attention direction to God, watchfulness in keeping the bad thoughts away, and creating free space for prayer. While working with the rocks I repeated a few times the famous words of the old desert fathers: “fuge, tace, et quiesce” (live in solitude, silence, and inner peace), but only God knows how far I am, not only from this reality but even from this desire.”

At the End of a Stormy Day

I've found myself lately listening to old Pedro the Lion albums late at night. I sometimes put "Secret of the Easy Yoke" on repeat just to hear the last few minutes, when he sings Peace. Be Still. over and over again.

I guess I have needed to remind myself of that. Again.

I'm feeling pretty worn out today. Just physically tired. From sitting in a chair all day? Maybe. Most likely, though, it's my 5 a.m. start clashing with my night owl self.

Whatever it is, I plan to go to bed early tonight.

But before I do, I just thought I'd share a little snapshot of the sky from my little flat as the sun sets in London.

After a stormy day, where dark clouds seemed to loom overhead for miles on end, blue is peaking through again. So is the sun.

Peace. Be Still.

Distracted From Distraction By Distraction

I read an article today in the New York Times about what this computer age is doing to our brains. (Favorite line: This is your brain on computers.) It was kind of scary to think of what we’ve done and are doing with our crazy need to be plugged in 24-7 to news and technology.

The article said that computer users at work change windows or check email or other programs nearly 37 times an hour. I’m pretty sure that in my line of work, I do more than that. A lot more. And seeing as I’m probably not one of the less-than-three-percent of the population deemed “supertaskers,” it stresses me out. And the amount of information and emails and news I see a day only adds to that feeling.

So tonight, after a packed tube ride home, I decided to unplug. I went for a run. Only my second time in I’m ashamed to admit how long. I didn’t bring a phone or my iPod. (Having started my running days with cross country in high school – back when a Walkman was the latest form of cool, I’ve actually never run with music.)

It was so refreshing to hear the sounds of the city and nature around me. Snippets of conversations I normally shut out with earphones. The ebb and flow of traffic. Birds singing. Wind rustling leaves. The sounds of opera in the park wafting over the voices of people waiting to go into the tent. Rain falling gently through the trees. Dogs barking and playing. Kids hanging out.

Life in acoustic.

I should unplug more often.

Life Moves Pretty Fast

I am amazed at how quickly time flies these days.

I have a theory about this. (I have a theory about most things. I think I get it from my mom...) When you're two, one day equals about 1/730 of your life. It's a big deal. You remember every little thing. At the moment, one day of my life equals 1/11,680. Days just pass by. Weeks pass by. Months pass by. And most of the time, I have a hard time remembering what I did yesterday.

The last month has been a good one, filled to the brim with things that don't include work (although, as usual, I did work a lot.). I had visitors in town -- including one of my dearest friends from Brussels. I went to a jazz club, where grandma that I am, I couldn't keep my eyes open and had to leave hours before my 60-year-old friend. I went to see a play. I went to museums. I walked all over London town. I visited with good friends in Oxford, where I ate at a Michelin-starred restaurant in the middle of nowhere, took a long, meandering country walk and went strawberry and asparagus picking. I went out with friends to delicious dinners. I went to yoga. I walked through blossoming parks. I went lawn bowling in Hyde Park to celebrate the birthdays of very precious friends.

Life has been full. So full that I sometimes forgot to thank God for the many blessings He's given me. So full that I always forgot to write -- though true to my nature, I did feel guilty about it...

It is easy for me in the midst of this fullness to just go quickly through my days. To not stop and enjoy life. To enjoy exactly where I'm at and the people I'm with and the passing of time and seasons. As Ferris Bueller once said: Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.

So I'm back from my little hiatus, hoping to take a few moments each day to stop and look around. To be thankful for the small things that make up my life during this season in London, where like the trees and plants all around me, I feel myself changing and growing into a fuller version of myself and who I am meant to be.