Maggie

Breast cancer made headlines this week, as Angelina Jolie publicly shared her recent choice to undergo a preventative double mastectomy, due to testing positively for a gene linked to a higher incidence of breast and ovarian cancers.

Breast cancer made headlines this week in my little world as well, as one of my best friends, Maggie, received a diagnosis of Invasive Ductal Carcinoma, official medical terminology for you-know-what.  If you ask me, those words have a downright nasty ring to them, especially when connected to one of my dearest beloveds.  Apparently, however, IDC is by far the most common type of breast cancer and, more importantly, when detected early, as Maggie's has been, actually comes with a pretty bright ray of hope and optimism, as it can be very effectively treated.

Back in January, as we welcomed the New Year, Maggie and I and two other girlfriends each chose one word to symbolize the direction we wanted to move and grow toward in 2013.  We tossed around words like PERSEVERE, MATURE, ACTION.  Maggie chose the word BRAVE.

Those of us who love Maggie already think she's brave.  We've watched her over the years gracefully and patiently live with a number of challenges, proactively and successfully change careers in midlife, and effectively and joyfully raise three great teenagers, for years as a single parent.

Now, it seems God is giving Maggie a new way to be brave.  Her journey for the next little while is not what she planned, and it's probably going to be an uphill climb, and sometimes seem dark as night, and scary.  But BRAVE is a good word for Maggie.  She has a warrior's spirit, and says she's looking forward to being able to say, "I kicked breast cancer's ass right out the door!"

Kick it to the curb, Maggie!  Kick it down the street!  Kick it all the way out of the neighborhood.  Forever.

We're here to help you, all of us who love you.  We'll be brave, too - just like you.  We're right here beside you, to pray and love and fill in gaps.  We're pulling on our highest-heeled, pointiest-toed, ass-kicking, nighttime-mountain-climbing boots, and - as much as we can - we're going up that dark hill with you, and we'll help you kick cancer's ass.

We'll carry a torch to light your way, and we'll celebrate with you on the mountaintop.

God's Three-Step Instructions to Stop Procrastinating

I want to be a writer, but like a lot of people who want to be writers, I generally don't want to write.

(Which reminds me of what Anne Lamott, my favorite writer, said about herself and her would-be writer friends, "While we had a lot of feelings and observations and memories and dreams and (God knows) opinions we wanted to share, we all ended up just the tiniest bit resentful when we found the one fly in the ointment: that at some point we had to actually sit down and write.") 

I do love words. I love big ones and little ones.  I love finding the one that is oh-so-perfect for a particular sentence, when no other word would quite do.  I love arranging words on the page until they're almost poetry.  I love stringing them together like pearls on a lady who's beautiful and wise and true.

But, even though I love to dance and play with words, and even though I have so many things I want to say, it still seems that getting down to the act of writing is almost impossible to do.

Recently, with a long weekend approaching, I decided I would clear my calendar and devote three days to writing.  I would make no appointments; I'd set aside my to-do list.  I might even silence my cell.

There was one little glitch, which was fairly significant:  I didn't know what to write.  "No problem," I said to myself, "I'm a writer.  A brilliant idea will come."

But as the day approached, and the expected epiphany did not come, I did what I always do when all else fails.  I prayed.

(Now, you might think, as important as I say God is to me, and as powerful as I claim to believe He is, that I'd be in the habit of talking to God when I'm at the beginning of my rope, rather than at the end of it.  Nope.  Seems I'm still getting the hang of living life in the Spirit.  Slow learner, late bloomer and all.)

Anyway, I prayed, “God, please confirm that You want me to spend these days writing, and tell me what to write about.”

Then I paused, waiting for the answer.

“Just sit down at the computer and start to write.” 

"Oh, God, you’re kidding me, right?  When I asked You for an idea, what I meant was that You should drop an idea into my head, a concept or whatever.  A Great Discovery, A Big Point.  And I want to understand it completely before I begin."

Nothing.

"OK, God, have it Your way.  I will sit at the computer and start to write.  I will type whatever comes to my mind, and I guess I'll just trust that the words and thoughts are coming from You." 

Then I thought I heard God speak again.

"A shitty first draft is OK.” 

Wait a minute, that can't be the voice of God.  Not so much because of the cussing, more because Shitty First Drafts is a signature concept from the writing of Anne Lamott.  In Bird By Bird, Anne's book of instructions for writers, she advocates giving yourself permission to write poor first drafts, in order to loosen the lid, as it were, on the pressure cooker of perfectionism.

But I could tell it was God speaking; although He was speaking through Anne.  Because I am a perfectionist, and I've learned that perfectionism is a prison.  It prevents me from moving freely.  I have a theory:  Perfectionists procrastinate perpetually.  We're so afraid of doing something that isn't perfect, that we never do anything at all. 

I didn't used to think I was a perfectionist.  I thought I was easygoing, that imperfections didn't bother me.  Well, I've come to realize that your imperfections may not bother me much, but my imperfections are intolerable.  

A few years ago, I took a personality test at work.  When I got the report, I'd been identified and labeled in bold, upper-case letters as a PERFECTIONIST.  The narrative was highly unflattering, I thought, and confirmed my above-mentioned perpetual procrastination theory.  (My co-workers, by the way, have personality labels that sound quite desirable, like Results-Oriented, Inspirational, and Counselor – while I've got a label that sounds like I need to see a counselor.)

Anyway, I knew it was God speaking, all right - words of liberation, words to release me of my need to Perform Perfectly Perpetually. 

So there I was, at the computer, willing to write whatever came into my mind.  And accepting, with relief and maybe a tad of disbelief, that it didn't even have to be good.

And then, for the third time, I heard God speak in answer to my prayer.

“The garbage of your life is your story.” 

Ah, this time I knew what He was talking about – the sunflower story.

It's a story a friend told me about going out of town for a conference at a really difficult time in her life, a time when she felt she was messing everything up.  She was driving along the freeway on a beautiful, sunny day.  As she drove through kind of an empty stretch, she came upon an incredible scene: a field filled with tall sunflowers in full bloom, faces to the sun, waving in the breeze, stretching from the side of the road to the horizon. 

It was such a gorgeous, breathtaking sight, she said, that she had to pull over and just enjoy it for a minute. Then, as she pulled back out and started to drive again, she saw a large sign posted amongst the sunflowers that she hadn't noticed before. 

It said: GARBAGE RECLAMATION SITE.

When my friend told me this story, the metaphor struck me instantly.  What if all the garbage and waste of my life could somehow be transformed into something beautiful and breathtaking?  What if all my mistakes, misfires and missteps could somehow become a magnificent, flourishing, traffic-stopping garden?

Now, God was reminding me of this story.  He was saying I should write about the garbage of my life.   

Well, there’s definitely no shortage of material, but I really don’t want to do that.  Talking about my mistakes is embarrassing and shameful.

And, besides, when I prayed for guidance about what to write about, I imagined myself the role model, not the example of what not to do.  I wanted to be the “after” picture, not the “before.”  I want to be a voice of wisdom, not a voice of foolishness, selfishness and pride.

I want to be the sunflower, not the pile of garbage.

But why bother fighting Him on this one?  OK, God, I hear you.  The garbage of my life is my story.

So there you have it, that's what I'm trying to do with this blog.  I'm trying to just sit down at the computer and start to write.  I'm trying to relieve myself of my fear of imperfection.  And I'm trying to have the courage to be honest about the garbage of my life.  

Because I know, if I just get busy, and don't worry about perfection, and spread the stinky fertilizer of all my mistakes on the seed that God has sown, there'll be plenty of sunflowers for beautiful bouquets for us all.

Happy Easter to us Mary Magdalenes

I love the Easter morning story, but I'm most partial to the part where Jesus speaks to Mary Magdalene.  When the resurrected Jesus was ready to reveal Himself as alive and well and walking around, He came first to a woman.  We think women in our culture have been treated with inequity, but we've been treated like queens compared to women in Jesus' culture.  I've heard there was a prayer used by men in that time, "I thank God I’m not a dog, a gentile or a woman."

And the woman to whom Jesus made His initial resurrected appearance wasn't the type of woman we might expect.  She wasn't a respected, successful, accomplished, got-it-all-together wife, mother and entrepreneur.  Mary was a "less-than" woman.  A broken, hurting, fearful woman.  A woman who had done a lot of things wrong, and was judged, rejected and unwanted by the "together" people of her world.

This is so sweet to me, because I've often felt less-than, broken, hurting and afraid.  I've often felt unwanted and undeserving.  And God knows, I've done so many things wrong.  So I see myself in Mary Magdalene, and I bet you see yourself in her, too.

But when Jesus Christ arose from the dead, when He had burst the chains of death and hell, when He had proven once and for all His unlimited power and absolute deity, He knew who He wanted to see.  Before He saw anyone else - His mother, His brothers, His disciples, His murderers - He wanted to see His good friend, Mary.

Gotta love Him.

Here's a re-post from my Easter Sunday blog two years ago: 

“Early on Sunday morning, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and found the stone rolled away from the entrance. …And she stood outside the tomb crying.”

He’d been the first to see past her reputation, the first to see clear through to her heart. The first to see that, inside the wicked woman shunned by decent folks was a little girl who just wanted to be loved. A little girl who wanted to be good, but somehow kept being bad. Who wanted to do the right thing, but somehow kept getting it wrong.

He was the first to know she was misunderstood, mistaken, a misfit. The first to know her pain and fear, the first to know her hopes and dreams. The first to think she was OK.

He had healed her of that terrible illness. And then he had become her friend. He was the first to look at her, speak to her, the first who was willing to be seen with her. He treated her – always – with kindness, gentleness, fairness, respect – a type of love she’d never known. He asked her questions, listened to her answers, explained things to her – as though she deserved to know and was able to understand! He treated her just as he treated his friends, just as he treated the men. This had never happened before. She had never had a friend.

But now, she thinks, it’s over. Her friend is dead and buried, she saw it for herself. She thought he’d be here always, she thought he could turn things around. He definitely had some power, but it seems he finally met his match. He always had a message but it seems he’s now been stopped.

He’s gone, her friend and teacher. He can’t help her anymore. It was sweet while it lasted and she’ll love him forever, but he’s gone and she’s alone again. He’s gone and no one else will help her. He’s gone – and now what will she do?

“She turned to leave and saw someone standing there. It was Jesus, but she didn’t recognize him. ‘Dear woman, why are you crying?’ Jesus asked her. ‘Who are you looking for?’

She thought he was the gardener. ‘Sir,’ she said, ‘if you have taken his body away, tell me where you have put it, and I will go and get it.’

Jesus said to her, ‘Mary.’”

*****************

Happy Easter, Beloved, and may you know this Friend who sees clear through to your heart … who loves you no matter what… and whose power to heal and to help you can never be matched and will never be stopped.

Happy Easter, Beloved, and may you hear Him say your name.

Why I call it Good Friday

This morning a friend wished me a happy Good Friday. Which is kind of inappropriate, right?

I mean, the story of Good Friday is a story of betrayal, desertion, corruption, hypocrisy, jealousy, injustice, lies, torture and murder.

Sounds like it should've been called Bad Friday.

Definitely doesn't sound like a day to be happy.

Except we already know how the story ends.  We know there is a happy ending and it's coming Sunday morning.

On Sunday morning, Mary stood outside the tomb crying.  As she turned to leave, she saw someone standing there. It was Jesus, but she didn’t recognize him.

“Dear woman, why are you crying?” Jesus asked her. “Who are you looking for?"

She thought he was the gardener. “Sir,” she said, “if you have taken the body away, tell me where you have put it, and I will go and get it.”

“Mary!” Jesus said.

Recognizing him at last, she turned to him and cried out, “Rabboni!”

The story ends with Jesus alive.  He died but He didn't stay dead; He didn't have to.  Powerlessness over death is for us human beings and the rest of creation, not for the Son of the Universe's Creator.

If you believe this story, both the awfully bad bits and the amazingly good bits, then I guess today is a good Friday.  And I guess we ought to be happy.  Because if Jesus hadn't experienced death, then we wouldn't have seen His incredible power.  If he hadn't experienced resurrection, then we wouldn't have experienced redemption.

Jesus had to go through the bad bits in order to get to the amazing, redemptive, miraculous good bits. 

And so do we.

All of us experience (in ways both real and metaphorical) the same kinds of bad stuff:  betrayal, desertion, corruption, hypocrisy, jealousy, injustice, lies, torture and murder.  And all of us can add in a few more:  addiction, loneliness, hunger, poverty, to name only a few.

These are the bad bits of life.  But we must go through them, because out of the bad bits come the best, most amazing, miraculous bits.

I'm a recovering alcoholic, and the years I spent drinking were certainly the worst bits of my life.  The downward spiral of addiction, where I felt only shame and compulsion, day after day and month after month, were definitely very bad bits for me.

But my recovery from alcoholism happened because I surrendered to God, and because He then did something I don't understand.  He did something that has allowed me to to stop drinking, which, in itself, is nothing short of a miracle.

But He also did more than just help me stop drinking.  Somehow, when I came to an end of trying to solve the bad bits by myself, and finally, genuinely asked God to help, He did more than just fix the presenting problem.  He opened my eyes and now I see Him in new ways.  He opened my ears and now I hear Him in new places.  He opened my heart and now I sense His presence in me in ways I never did before.

It's like I was drowning in the ocean, and God lifted me out of the water and onto dry land.  But He didn't just leave me lying there on the beach, even though that was all I thought I wanted.  Instead, He carried me from the beach to the mountaintop, showed me His world and His ways, and offered it all to me.

I definitely had to go through the bad bits first, in order to have the good bits forever.  Which is why I often say that I'm grateful to be an alcoholic, that I actually consider it to be a gift, because it was in the dark tomb of alcoholism that God showed up and resurrected me from the living death of addiction. 

That's how it is with God.  He takes our bad stuff and turns it into good stuff.  That's why they call Him Redeemer.  He takes whatever makes us sick and broken and dead inside and offers us healing and wholeness and resurrection.

If you stop and think about it, what else could happen when a sick, broken, fully surrendered human being meets Unconditional Love and Absolute Power?  The only possible result is a miracle.

So, as bad a day as that Friday was for Jesus, I understand why it's called Good Friday.  And I'm thankful for all my personal, miniature Good Fridays (which still come with unwelcome frequency, on any day of the week), because I've learned all Good Fridays are precursors to miracles, and a sign that resurrection is ahead.

Happy Good Friday! xo

The Power of Willingness

The other day I posted my "prayer to get unstuck" because I was feeling mired in the mud of my own resistance, fears and unwillingness.

Ah, unwillingness.  Not a good characteristic to see in myself, especially the way it's been in me lately:  full-blown and in control with its feet planted firm and its hands on its hips.  This unwillingness is stubborn and bossy and does not lead to good places.

Unwillingness, of course, is the opposite of willingness.  And willingness is a big idea in the little story of my life, because it was an idea that led to a transformation.

Back when I was looking for answers to my struggle with alcoholism, I read some books about twelve-step recovery that I got from the library.  I figured this material would tell me how I could stop drinking but, instead, it seemed strangely lacking any specific instructions in that direction.

Then I came across a line in one of the books that, while it wasn't the concrete instruction I'd been hoping for, nevertheless penetrated my consciousness and later helped me put down the alcohol for good.

It said, "There is only one key and it is called willingness."

I didn't understand that sentence when I first read it.  In fact, I found it frustrating.  "What do you mean - willingness?  I'm willing, and yet I still drink.  I loathe this destructive downward cycle of daily drinking, and yet I still drink.  I'm reading this book, for heaven's sake, and yet I still drink.  I'm INCREDIBLY WILLING, and yet the desire to drink remains as an obsession in my mind and a compulsion in my body over which I feel completely powerless.  How can I possibly be more willing than I already am?"

But I came to realize that it wasn't about becoming more willing, it was simply about allowing my willingness to transcend my "wantingness."  (Yes, I know that's not a real word.)

I came to realize that willingness to do something can co-exist with the desire to do the opposite.

I came to realize that, even though my desire (OK, obsession) to drink was very strong, the willingness not to drink was actually far more powerful than the messages from my mind and body that said I could drink, should drink, like to drink, love to drink, want to drink, have to drink.

I came to realize that willingness trumps all those messages.

Shortly after reading that line in the book, I did become willing not to drink, at least for the day.  It was very hard.  Two years later, I am still willing not to drink, but it isn't hard anymore. As it turns out, willingness did trump the negative messages, and the desire to drink has pretty much left me completely.

If you've ever been addicted, you know what a miracle that is.  You just know.

But here I am, unwilling again, albeit in another area of my life.  And I know that the unwillingness I see in myself today will never lead to more miracles.  It's a go-nowhere sinkhole of quicksand, a swamp.

I need to be willing to listen to God's Spirit again.  I need to surrender my fear, ego and pride.  I need to be willing to do the next thing I feel called to do, the next thing I don't want to do, the next thing I'm afraid to do.

And the next thing, I think, has to do with writing and voicing and just generally putting myself out there honestly.  I'm afraid of failure and I'm afraid of ridicule, but the miracle will happen when those fears meet actions taken from a place of willingness.

I looked up some quotes about willingness, in my ever-growing stash of Lois' Tidbits of Wisdom.  Reading these was like a spiritual multivitamin for me today, so I list them here for you, too. xo

I don't feel great about my behavior these days, when it comes to taking consistent, disciplined, positive action, but I've been here before, with alcohol and with food, and I believe there's a silver lining to this cloud:  When I finally hit my bottom, when I finally become truly sick and tired of myself, when I finally become willing to do something different...that's when all heaven breaks loose.  --Me

There are many who say they want to be victorious Christians but few are willing to endure the discipline necessary to make one a good soldier of Jesus Christ.   --Vance Havner

There is a direct relationship and correlation between the price you're willing to pay and the influence you're going to have.  --Timothy Maurice Webster

Of all the spiritual principles that take us into moments of grace, willingness is one that teaches us that, when we are willing to give up everything we have, the Divine will replace it with ten times more.  --Iyanla Vanzant

If I supply the willingness, God will supply the power.  --Me

My spiritual growth is proportionate to my willingness to let you know who I am and what I think.  --Father Leo 

My Creator, I am now willing that you should have all of me, good and bad.  --From The Seventh Step Prayer
 
Restore to me the joy of Your salvation and grant me a willing spirit to sustain me.  --Psalm 51:12

The people who succeed are the people who are willing to do what they don't feel like doing.  --Rick Warren
 
God has given us free will.  Whatever the situation, we have a choice, if only the choice of our attitude.  So we must bring willingness into every moment of every day.  --Me

It's not enough to say, Thy will be done, we must actually do His will.  --Me

Between the saying that we'll do God's will and the actual doing of God's will comes the willingness to do God's will.  --Me

Willingness is the fuel of doing God's will.  Willingness is the key that unlocks the door between the place where my will is done and the place where God's will is done.  --Me

I must come to God empty-handed, without words, without wants, without wishes.  Only bring my willingness.  'I am willing to serve, I am willing to be used, I am willing to listen, I am willing to obey, I am willing to suffer.  Most importantly, I am willing to actually do.  --Me

I am willing to do the do.  --Me

If faith without works is dead, then willingness without action is fantasy.  --Unknown

Knowing is not enough; we must apply.  Willing is not enough; we must do. --Goethe

A Prayer to Get Unstuck

I've been feeling so stuck lately, so resistant to doing the things I want to do, the things I know I should do.  I'm too much in my head, which is, ironically, a place of few intelligent answers.  And I'm too much in my fears, a place of only imaginary answers, all of which seem very, very bad.

So today, I'm trying to move into "The God Zone," the spiritual zone, the zone where I know I'll find power and wisdom and the ability to take positive, forward actions.  The zone where I can get unstuck.  This is my prayer for today.  

God, help me today to move in the direction Your SPIRIT is urging me,
    and not in the direction of my FEARS,
        not in the direction of my EGO,
            not in the direction of the part of me that's selfish, self-centered, self-seeking and small.
 
Help me today to ACT with love and wisdom,
    rather than be PARALYZED with self-doubt, indecision, worry and pride.
 
Help me today to be WILLING rather than RESISTANT;
    to CONTRIBUTE my gifts rather than SQUANDER them;
        to actively, eagerly, fully USE the opportunities You give,
            rather than NEGLECT them.
 
Help me today, God, to take that tiny little spark of Your Wisdom that's within me
    and KINDLE, IGNITE, SPREAD it best I can,
        rather than STIFLE it under the bushel of my pride,
            rather than EXTINGUISH it in the sealed, dark, air-tight container of my fears.
 
Help me today to be a voice of wisdom to somebody somewhere,
    a messenger of Your Light;
        Help me today to just do what I can with the little I have,
            To contribute, to offer, to voice.
 
Help me today to ADD words that are good, powerful and true,
    rather than SUBTRACT my voice from the world by my silence, 
        rather than DIVIDE myself from others by my fear.
 
And, God, when I've added something worthy to the Grand Equation of Love,
I leave the miracle of multiplication to You.

Crossing the River

This morning, my train of thought took me back to a story in the Old Testament that always seems to be full of life lessons.  It's the story in the third chapter of the book of Joshua  (http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=joshua%203&version=NLT), telling how God's people miraculously crossed the River Jordan to enter the Promised Land.

A little background:  "God's people," aka the Israelites, after being enslaved in a foreign land for generations, had been miraculously delivered by God from the hands of their captors and started a journey to a new homeland, promised to them by God.  By the time of this story, however, these folks have been wandering around in the wilderness in search of this new homeland for forty years.  That's an awfully long time to take what apparently should have been a 2-3 week journey, but it seems, God's promise and presence notwithstanding, for four decades these folks remained their own worst enemy, continually being waylaid and delayed by their own squabbling, selfishness, stubbornness and fear.

(Sounds just like me.)

But now, at long last, they're almost there.  For forty years, they've been on the move.  They've crossed a sea, looped around a desert, climbed up and over numerous mountains, scaled city walls and fought would-be assailants.  Finally, there's just one more river to cross and they'll be Home.  One more river to cross and they'll be in the Promised Land.

Unfortunately, it's a very big river, and since it's been raining heavily for weeks, the water is rushing and deep and swirling and dark.

Apparently, though, the overflowing banks and strong current of the River Jordan provided exactly the Big Finish to this epic story of deliverance that God had in mind.  So He sent instructions through their new leader, Joshua, to tell the priests to get moving.  Now, the priests always walked in front, and always carried on their shoulders the Ark of the Covenant, which served as a symbol of God's presence and power.  God told Joshua to tell the priests to pick up that Ark and take a few steps into the river.  And wait there.

Now the priests were not fools.  They could see that stepping into this swirling, deep, wide, muddy, rocky river was not a sensible idea.  Yet, counter-intuitive as it must have been, and hefting on their shoulders a very heavy, gold-plated, wooden chest containing the stone tablets of the Ten Commandments, into the river they stepped.

And then, of course, the miracle happened.  After the priests had committed themselves to the mercy either of the mighty river or of their mighty God ... after they stepped all the way in and stood there, trying to balance the Ark on their shoulders and their feet in the mud ... after they had taken an action that could not be undone ... just like that, the water stopped.  God simply and completely stopped the river's flow somewhere way upstream, and very quickly the wet, sticky ground beneath the priests' feet dried up.

The priests knew what to do next.  They continued to stand there, continued to hold up that chest, that symbol of God's presence and power, as all fifty thousand of God's complaining, confused, yet always beloved people walked across the now perfectly dry, firm riverbed of the mighty Jordan, crossing over from the wilderness into the Promised Land.

OK, so that background reminder took longer than I thought.  I tend to get carried away sometimes.

Anyway, I love that story, it's so dramatic, and so full of messages about faith and obedience and difficulty and victory.  But today, the message I hear God saying is, HOLD UP MY WORDS AND STEP INTO THE RIVER.

For me, the blogosphere is the mighty, overflowing, swirling, dark, deadly river.  It's too big, it's moving too fast, it's confusing, it's scary.  I can't control it and I don't comprehend it.  The water is rushing and swirling and I can't see where to put my foot, how to keep my balance, how to stay safe.  And You expect me to lift up this darn heavy chest and carry it across too?

I can't even figure out how to set up my google account.

This is why I haven't blogged in such a long time.  I'm afraid to step into the river, for fear I will drown.  I'm just one little blogger, sure to get lost in the mighty rush.  Anyway, I'm not sure I have anything new or worthwhile to say.  I'm afraid my blog will be thought of as nonsense, a mistake, a waste of time for me and my readers, or (worse) not be thought of or read at all.  The risk of these things happening causes me to procrastinate, taking nigh unto forty years to do what I could have done in two weeks.  In fact, being a perfectionist and a people pleaser actually sends me beyond procrastination, into downright paralysis.

No, the blogosphere is not safe and predictable.  It's a scary rushing river where, if I drown, I will drown in full view of the world.


But I can't wait for the river to get safe, because that's not what this story is telling me.  This story of the priests is telling me that I have to take an action, take a risk, make a commitment AND THEN God will do His thing, whatever it is.  I have to do my part AND THEN God will do His part.

So today, I'm surrendering, like those priests, either to the mighty blogosphere or to my mighty God.  And here I stand in cyberspace, holding up God's words, proclaiming His power and presence, not for myself but for you, anybody out there who might happen to read this.  I don't know how this works or what it means in reality, but I'm blogging with the hope that you might see a way to cross your River, that you might find a pathway to your Promise, that you might believe it's safe on the other side.

Mary Christine

I read the blog of a woman I've never met, but whose daily writings about her life are interesting and inspiring to me.  She's sixty years old, a recovering alcoholic who's been sober twenty-some years, and she seems to be a dynamo of activity.  Her name is Mary Christine and she writes about recovery, she writes about her job, her faith, her friends and family, and her many hobbies.  I have no idea who she is, what she looks like, where she lives, or even whether Mary Christine is her real name, but I do know from reading her blog that her life seems full, productive and happy.  The way she fills her life with simple pleasures and activities, the way she shares openly and honestly the ups and downs of her days and weeks, inspires me to do the same - to live and write and grow, in my little corner of the world.

Lately, I notice she's making a lot of changes:  changing her job; changing her blog's name and focus; changing her hobbies; changing her longstanding exercise routines.  And yesterday I read she's changing her hair.  She's decided, after many years of putting in blonde highlights, to go back to her natural colour.

Mary Christine says her mantra these days is, "I don't want to do this anymore - I'm done."

I smile when I read that because it's my mantra, too!  And I think for a moment about how at first blush, the words of that mantra might seem negative, angry, selfish.  But how, really, they represent love - a love that listens to one's inner voice and honours the messages it gives.  A love that is true to oneself and to who God calls you to be.  A love that knows it is natural and healthy and necessary and exciting and joyous to change.

At first, the mantra might sound like the words of a quitter, putting down whatever activity is frustrating or hard, and picking up only the remote control.  But I've watched Mary Christine, and for every single thing to which she has said, "I'm done," she has put something good in its place.  She's not quitting, she's just starting.  She's not shrinking, she's expanding.  For everything that Mary Christine has stopped doing, she's added something that represents who she is now.  Something that is true to herself and of service to others.  And that, very simply, is how we bring glory to God.  That, very simply, is why we are all here on this earth.

Mary Christine says, "I have to find new ways that are appropriate for who I am today.  I am not who I was even a year ago.  Life changes and evolves.  We get 'stuck' when we don’t want to acknowledge that and go with it."

What a wise woman Mary Christine is, to know herself so well, and to hear and heed that Voice within.  Because even though, at midlife (where Mary Christine is and where I am too), the Voice gets stronger, many of us still don't want to hear it.  We struggle, we run, we cover our ears.  We refuse to let go of who we used to be and what we used to do.  We don't want to stop doing the things that used to garner compliments and respect.  We don't want to let go of the roles that made us feel necessary and valuable.  We don't want to release the areas over which we we (ludicrously) thought we had power and control. 

But each of us is changing, whether we like it or not, whether we understand it or not.  And within each of us, there is a Voice, always, speaking with clarity and certainty, albeit very quietly.  A Voice that knows exactly who we are and who we are becoming.

I hope I'll be like Mary Christine and listen for the Voice.  And if you're at midlife, I hope you'll listen for it, too.  I hope we listen and hear and heed the Voice that calls us forward, that beckons us into a wider world, to a place of greater growth and contribution.  And I know that when we listen carefully, we'll hear the Voice within us say,   

"You are not who you were, you're a brand new you.
Say goodbye to what was and hello to what is,
And to all that is yet to be.
An adventure is coming - open up, open wide,
Say hello to your Jubilee."

What I Know For Sure: Nothing

"The irony is that true knowledge is knowing that you don’t know."

When Christopher Hitchens, the well-known journalist and vocal atheist, died last year, a friend quoted a verse from the Bible:  "The fool has said in his heart, 'There is no God.'"  

Well, I think there's a God, so - by one standard, at least - I guess I'm no fool.  But I do happen to think that the fool has also said in his or her heart, 'There IS a God, and I'm the one who's got Him all figured out."

I’ve always been a person with a deep faith and sense of spirituality.  In fact, I've always been very religious, although I would’ve recoiled in protest at being labeled that way.  In the conservative Christian sect to which I  belonged for many years, we adhered to our doctrines strongly and rigidly.  We believed that not only our lives, but our eternal destinies, depended on full acceptance of our interpretation of scripture.  For many years, I embraced these beliefs fully and happily, grateful to have been chosen by God, for whatever inexplicable reason, as one of the few to be exposed to these truths.

Then a time came when I began to question some things I’d always believed.  At first, my questions were about relatively minor points of doctrine - whether or not women should wear head coverings in church, for example, or whether it was OK to substitute grape juice for real communion wine.  But when I came to believe that the answer to these questions I'd previously thought so important was a resounding 'it doesn't matter,' I began to consider that some of my more central beliefs might not be completely accurate either.  And over the past ten years or so, after living a fairly sheltered life, I've been exposed to people who are very different from me in many ways.  And I've found that getting to know the folks I so easily condemned from a distance for what I deemed to be the error of their beliefs became a lot more difficult when I got close enough for them to shine the light of God into my life.

For example, I have a Muslim friend who shines God's light into my life daily with his humility and merciful spirit.  I have a Jewish friend who speaks God's voice to me with wisdom, joy and grace.  I have Christian friends in same-sex marriages who teach me about the love of Jesus and the peace that passes understanding.  I've known these folks for years, and at first their strong spiritual connectedness was somewhat confusing to me, who believed there was only one pathway to God.  My friends' simple, steadfast faith and seemingly very real relationship with God didn't jive with what I had thought was the one true way.

But it was the people in 12-step recovery who confused me most of all.  When I first walked into a recovery meeting, I was desperate for a solution to my alcohol problem.  I watched the ever-so-ordinary people in the rooms, and I listened to what they said.  How are these people staying sober, I wondered?  And how can they be so happy about it, and why are they talking so much about God?  I hear what they're saying about Him, and it isn't consistent with what I'm quite certain is correct.

But I had to admit, errant doctrine notwithstanding, if ever I'd seen evidence of the awesome presence and miraculous power of God, these recovering alcoholics were it.

One day a few years ago, I was driving my car, thinking about my faith questions, hating the confusion of my doubts, and struggling to regain the security of belief.

As I drove along, the words “put it down” filled my mind in a strange way.  I didn’t hear a voice speaking aloud, yet it seemed as though a voice that was not my own was speaking, inside my head.  I knew the voice was God’s, and I knew that “put it down” meant put down your beliefs, put down what you’ve always thought was true, put down your need to know for sure.  Just put them down and don’t hold on to them anymore.

Doctrine is points of decision, points of agreement, points of certainty.  The problem is, when it comes to God and the realm of the spirit, there really is no certainty because we simply do not know.  We have belief, we have faith, we have hope - but in reality, we don't know.  The writer Anne Lamott says that her priest friend, Father Tom, says, "The opposite of faith is not doubt, but certainty."  If that is true, then doctrine is also the opposite of faith. 

On the day I heard the voice, I felt afraid.  I wasn’t afraid of the voice, but of what it was telling me to do.  I remember thinking that without my beliefs, I would be rudderless, I would be more confused than ever, I might even be eternally condemned.  Never mind that I didn’t have a clue how to “put down” my beliefs.  How do you simply set aside a worldview, how do you leave your truth behind?  How do you just stop believing what you believe?  It actually seems kind of impossible, now that I think of it.  At the time, all I knew was that it seemed scary, risky, lonely and not at all a good idea.

I heard the voice again.  It said, “I will show you what to pick up again.”

At that moment, I happened to glance into the passenger side mirror of my car, and “saw” a burlap bag behind my car, full of something that gave it heft, rolling over and over, getting smaller and smaller as it receded into the distance, while I, in my car, moved forward.  I knew it was an image of my beliefs being released, and of me moving on, unfettered by baggage that I hadn’t realized was heavy, that I hadn't even known was slowing me down.

It’s been years since that day in the car, and as I look back on my journey since then, I believe God has led me to put down more beliefs, more doctrine, more certainty than I ever would have imagined, dared or even desired.  And I believe He has shown me (and is still showing me) what to pick up again.  It’s funny how everything I’ve picked up seems light as a feather.  Funny how I feel free as a bird and able to soar.  And funny how the only doctrine and certainty I have today is that God is loving, present and powerful, and that I am His girl.

My Half Century Friend

I have a friend whom I've known practically since we were born, which, incredibly, is more than half a century.  My mother and her mother were girlfriends in their twenties.  As young working women, one a bookkeeper and the other a nurse, they socialized together, went to church together, dated their future husbands together, and got engaged together.  Her mother got married three weeks after mine, in the very same church.  And immediately following their weddings, they both proceeded to get pregnant.

I was born nine months to the day after my parents' wedding.  And my friend was born six weeks after me.

Our moms spent time together, as new moms do, and the two baby girls, my friend and me, played together from the start.  There's a photo, for which I hunted today but could not find, of us together as babies in a crib.  There are early photos of us together as toddlers, as little girls, as teenagers.  Later photos of us show brides in white, and moms with babes.  And the most recent photos of us show two grown-up women with wine, wrinkles and (we hope) some wisdom.

I have photos of us at every stage, and where I have no photos, I have a lot of memories.

Memories of us, age 10, playing Monopoly and picking kohlrabi, having sleepovers and running races and going swimming and squabbling with our younger sisters.  Memories of us at 17, me a runaway teen and my friend (the responsible, obedient, overachieving one) coming to talk some sense into me.  Memories of us at 20, young (oh, so very young) brides.  At 25, young working women.  At 30, moms to preschoolers.  At 45, facing midlife transitions. 

Like our mothers, we socialized together, went to church together, dated together, got engaged together.  Like our mothers, we got married together and had children together.  We went one better than our mothers, though, when we moved to the same town.

Perhaps it all sounds terribly traditional, boring, and a tad cloistered.  Well, it sure didn't seem that way.  From my perspective, woven throughout the very ordinary-sounding trajectory of our lives was some seriously dramatic stuff.  There were traumas, troubles, trials and tears mixed in with the ongoing growing, changing, being and doing of life. 
  
Through it all - the traditional and the dramatic - my friend and I talked.  We talked about our plans and dreams, our mistakes and secrets, our questions and frustrations, our hopes and prayers.  In some ways, we've been through life together twice - the first time our own childhood, adolescent and growing up years, and the second time our children's.

But for the past few years the pictures have stopped, and the talking has stopped, and all we have left are the memories.  We came to a crossroads together, but we moved past it apart.  We said some things, we put up some walls, we turned our backs, and then we each walked on in a different direction.    

I ask myself, how can this be?  Whose life is this, that doesn't include my friend?

For half a century, we lived parallel lives and held one another's hearts.  We laughed and cried, we planned and fought, we talked and talked.  We were born together, we grew up together, and I thought we would grow old together. 

Our birthdays are coming up.  Maybe it's time to talk again.

Season of Jubilee - A Time to REST

So, I was talking about Jubilee and the fact that, Biblically speaking, Jubilee was supposed to happen once every fifty years. That it was supposed to be a special time of rest, restoration, forgiveness and freedom.

And I was saying that those of us who have lived on this earth for about fifty years could use a Jubilee for ourselves. That freedom, forgiveness, restoration and rest sound pretty good right about now.

Oh, especially the rest.

Because, after all, for fifty years we've been going and getting, and making and taking, and working and playing, and winning and losing. We've been struggling and stewing, fretting and fighting, trying and failing, maybe drinking and using.

We've been responsible, reliable, trustworthy, dependable, but we still managed to let ourselves down. We've had goals and to-do lists and schedules and wristwatches, but we still feel we're running behind.

For fifty years we've been going. For fifty years we've not stopped. For fifty years - that's half a century, people! - we've seldom even taken a break.

No wonder we're tired. No wonder we're empty. No wonder we just want to rest.

Ah, but rest - to our busy, productive, competitive generation - can be such a scary concept. We think we can't afford to rest, can't afford to take a break. There's so much to be done, and so little time. So many bills to be paid, so many calls to be made, so many people just waiting to take our place. Surely we're too indispensable, too necessary and too important to think about taking a break.

Sometimes we don't want to rest because we're not finished yet. If we take a break, we think we'll lose momentum and never get started again. If we pull off to the sidelines, we'll get passed by, passed over, swept under, washed up.

So, even though we're exhausted, we may refuse to rest. But be forewarned: I've begun to notice that, when people at midlife don't want to rest, God often sends rest just the same. Sometimes He sends a job change, or a health crisis, or some other situation into our lives that force us to take a time out.

I'm just saying, maybe it's better to rest voluntarily, before God forces the point.

We need to rest from the work that we do for pay, or from the work that we do for our families, or from the work that we do for our communities, or from the work that we do for ourselves.

Not that work is a dirty word, or something to be avoided. Work, after all, is the thing that makes us tick. Work is just another word for service. And service is just another word for love. And love, as the Beatles melodically reminded us, is all you need.

Yes, we need to work - we need it to survive, whether it's physically or emotionally or spiritually. Nevertheless, at midlife, and regardless of whether we love it or loathe it, our work has absolutely tired us out.

So, as much as we need to work, we also need to rest. Because rest brings repair, renewal, refocus. Rest is how we refuel and replenish ourselves. Rest rejuvenates, regenerates, revitalizes. Rest makes us stronger, clearer, wiser, faster. Rest makes us more effective and efficient.

Resting is not the same as quitting or stopping, even though that's often our fear. Rest, paradoxically, prepares us for more of the work that we need.

The reason to rest is not because we're finished. The reason to take a rest is because there's more to be done. A rest is not the same as the end. Rest implies future activity.

Each of us has to determine what "rest" will look like in our very own Season of Jubilee. Each of us has to decide for ourselves what kind of rest we need, and what kind of rest we can take. Maybe it means taking a whole year off work or taking a month-long vacation. Maybe it means switching careers or taking a course in a new direction. Maybe it means reading more novels or taking more naps. Maybe it means doing more walking or writing or thinking or nothing. Maybe it means doing less things for others, less things for your children, less things that you don't want to do.

Whatever your rest looks like, make sure it gives you time and silence. Rest is the best time for reflection, the best time to think about where you've been, where you are, where you want to go.

And we need to reflect and refocus at Jubilee because usually (I won't say always, even though I think it's true), the Season of Jubilee is the season of change.

And a season of change is a season of uncertainty. But, when we are finally resting and quiet, we will begin to know. We will begin to hear the voice of Spirit, the voice that is Love and Knowledge and Power.

When we finally stop talking, God always has something to say.
When we finally stop fretting and doubting and whining and pouting,
God always will show us the way.

So Fellow Jubileer, settle in for a rest. Not because you are finished, but because there's more to do. And not because you know what it is, but because you're open to the change.

Rest to revitalize, refocus, renew. Rest to discover the fork in your road. Rest to hear your next calling. Rest to see your next direction.

Rest as an investment in your years beyond Jubilee. Rest your voice to sing sweeter, rest your wings to fly higher, rest your body and soul so your spirit can soar.

Hello Jubilee?

A few people have asked why I call this blog Hello Jubilee.

It's because I am in that particular phase of my life I call the "Season of Jubilee" and I want to greet it with a happy voice of welcome.

Perhaps I need to explain what Jubilee is. Well, the concept of Jubilee is found in the Bible, as part of the instructions given to Moses regarding how the people of Israel were to live and work once they had entered the Promised Land. There were rules for living from day to day and month to month and year to year. But, once every fifty years came a year that was to be lived differently from all the others. That year was to be called the Year of Jubilee.

The long version of the instructions for the Year of Jubilee can be found in Deuteronomy chapter 25, with rules about sowing and reaping, buying and selling, coming and going, being and doing.

The short version, however, can be summed up much more briefly: the Jubilee year was a time for rest and restoration, for forgiveness and freedom.

In the Year of Jubilee, the people weren't supposed to do their usual work. They were supposed to rest. They were supposed to return to their families, to forgive and be forgiven from all kinds of debts, to release and be released from all kinds of bondage.

In terms of how the concept of Jubilee applies to me (and you) personally - well, I'm approximately fifty years old. And I sure could use some rest, restoration, forgiveness and freedom.

I think the principles of God always work at any level. When I read about the Year of Jubilee in the Bible, I decided that, if Jubilee was a good idea as a kind of generational "system reboot" for an entire socioeconomic system, it would probably be helpful to little old fifty-something me in my everyday middle-aged life.

So I decided to have a Jubilee, with one adjustment. While the Biblical Jubilee was exactly one year long, I know I will need at least several years, maybe even up to a decade. Because, God knows, I'm always a slow learner and I always need more time.

When I started writing this blog, I was just about to turn fifty, but I wasn't at all happy about it. If you're a Seinfeld fan, you may remember that Jerry used to say hello to his neighbor, Newman, with a disdain verging on repulsion. "Hello Newman," was what Jerry said, but you could tell what he meant was, "Go away, Newman, I despise you."

Well, that pretty much describes how I felt about my upcoming fiftieth birthday. I might have pasted a grim smile on the outside, but my inside was saying, "Go away, Fifty. Go away, Jubilee."

Once it actually happened, though, and I turned fifty anyway, I began to realize that this Magical Mystery Tour of Midlife is a beautiful gift and, if I wanted, could be the start of a wonderful adventure. I began to think that being in my fifties, and experiencing a personal Season of Jubilee could be one of the best things that could happen.

So I said hello to my Jubilee with anticipation and excitement rather than repulsion. I said hello and I opened my arms in welcome. Thus, the title of this blog.

When I think about the good gifts of Jubilee, though I'm always aware of all the difficult things that happened before the Jubilee. And I'm always aware that the rest, restoration, forgiveness and freedom of Jubilee wouldn’t be special – in fact, it wouldn’t even be necessary – if it wasn’t for all the hard stuff that led up to it.

For the people of Israel, before the Jubilee there had been many years of hard work, many years of mistakes, of resentments, of injustices. Before the Jubilee, there had been years spent wandering in the desert, and years spent in slavery to cruel and oppressive masters in Egypt.

Before the opportunity for rest and freedom cane a lot of hard work and bondage. It was like that for the Israelites, and I’m sure it’s like that for you, too. It's certainly been like that for me.

I’ve had years without rest and years of mistakes and years of unfairness. I've had years spent in bondage to alcohol, food, approval, perfection, and other cruel and oppressive masters of my own making. I've had years of wandering through the self-imposed deserts of personal fears and famines and financial insecurities.

God led the Israelites out of slavery, through the desert and into the Promised Land, and He taught them how to live. And He's doing the same for you and me today. He's leading us into a Promised Land and a Promised Life of abundance within, and He's proclaiming a Jubilee of freedom and rest.

So, I don't know about the rest of you, but if that’s what Jubilee is all about, then I'm in. If God is offering rest after fifty years of restlessness, if He is offering freedom after fifty years of bondage, and if he is offering eternal abundance after fifty years of imagined famine, then no wonder I say “Hello Jubilee!”

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IN FUTURE POSTS: Thinking about each of the elements of the Season of Jubilee - rest, restoration, forgiveness, freedom, and God's paradoxical abundance.