A Fine Line

Friday morning I realized that we had no water in our kitchen. I assumed that there was a notice at the bottom of my building warning me of this inconvenience, but they tend to post them above my hobbit eye level, so I didn't see it. And also, they're in Chinese so I can only read a fraction of them. Regardless, it was frustrating for the next 24 hours until they turned it back on.

Recently a friend of mine took an online stress test, and part of it required her to answer questions about this kind of thing. It gave a list of potential stressors from living cross-culturally, and asked her, "On a scale of 'not at all' to 'crazy', how much does this affect you?" (ok, maybe I took some liberty with the scale, but you get the idea). It was things that seem simple like, "I can't get X product here" or "I have to deal with government red tape" or "my water or electricity is unreliable." My friend realized that while few of them affected her greatly, the fact that most of the affected her in small ways added up to a lot.

So what do we do with these things? I've been wondering about this lately. And not just the inconveniences, but the other things we've given up living here. I don't often dwell on them, but we have missed a lot being here - birthdays, holidays, experiences.

We're told to look on the bright side, count our blessings, not complain, say "oh but it could be so much worse," compare our lot with others less fortunate and then close the box on the hard things.

I feel like I'm realizing that there's a fine line in dealing with these things. True, it's important to be thankful and full of faith, to realize that in spite of loss there has been great gain, that the difficulties have proven fodder for growth. All true.

But what about acknowledging what these things are doing to our hearts? Where is the place for saying, "This is really hard. It wears on me. I miss this. I long for that." Where is the place for our hearts to express the pain, the drain? Not so that we wallow and have little pity parties, but that we are honest and honor what we feel. To give ourselves the space to feel the reality and let God meet us there.

I think about Jesus in the garden. His was an honest, raw heart that said, "I'd really rather not." Was he complaining? No. He was just being real. He gave Himself the space to acknowledge his true feelings. And then he went and did what was needed.

So I guess my challenge is to be like Jesus - to go before God with my whole heart, not one that is ignorant or blind to the difficulties of life. I can lay all my heart before Him and know that in Him I can find comfort, peace, and strength.

Feelings about The Move

When we ask our kids, "How are you feeling about the move?" their most common response these days is an exasperated, "Stop ASKING me that!"

We might be asking too often.

It's all part of trying to keep our finger on the heartbeat of this transition. While our kids don't necessarily like to produce a response to this question when we ask, there are plenty of other times when they volunteer the information. It comes in random comments like Megan saying, "Mom, this is the first move I've done where I'm going to be sad." (the others she either doesn't remember or we were moving to places where we already had lots of close friends and weren't leaving any behind), or Ethan telling me, "In the morning when I wake up, I'm excited to move to America, but in the afternoon when I play with my friends, I'm sad."

So how is mama feeling about the move? (it's ok - I'm not tired of the question yet!)

Most days I'm ready. It feels like the right timing for us to go. We've been doing a lot of "last time to this place" trips around town and while I thought I'd be sad, instead I'm just filled with happy memories of them. It's a sense of "we came for such a time as this" but that time is done and it's time for new memories in new places.

I'm finding great satisfaction in sorting through and purging our stuff. I like knowing that we are stripping down to what we really need and use, and are able to bless others by giving them the rest. I'm thrilled that it only costs a little more to have people pack for us so I don't have to spend my last two weeks doing that.

I'm excited for things like family, libraries, Minnesota in the fall, water from the tap, letting the dog run in the yard, our future home, shopping in English (no more wasting time trying to read labels in another language!).

I'm a little fearful about leaving the role of expatriate. It's one I've had for 13 years and through several moves it's stayed with me. I'm afraid people in the U.S. will think I'm "home" and all is well, and not be able to understand the reverse culture shock that is inevitable. 

And I'm sad to leave. I hate that I will have to say goodbye to my friends here because they are great friends who love me well. I could try to placate myself with the knowledge that we can stay in touch so easily by many means, but the truth is that they have part of my heart. I am deeply blessed which makes it devastating to leave them.

So that's a whole salad bar of emotions for you. Feel free to ask me in another week or two - there will probably be even more.

Just don't ask the kids. :)

The Coming Storm

When we lived in Singapore, we could often see storm clouds coming from a long way off, and we knew that before long we would hear the onslaught of rain pounding against our windows.

There's a storm coming for us here too, and I don't mean the one currently dumping buckets of polluted water on our streets. The one I'm talking about has been a long way off for awhile, but I can see it on the horizon. I see the sky darkening, see the storm clouds rolling toward us. I feel the wind picking up and occasional droplets on my face. The storm is coming.

It's a storm of transition, of saying goodbye to people who are like family to us, to places that have been home for 13 years, to a culture that is not our own but which is what we know. It's a storm of knowing that this time we aren't coming back and that we will have to navigate the other side not as visitors but as citizens again. It's a storm of tears, adjustment, goodbyes, new experiences, old memories.

I'm tempted to run down into the storm cellar and hide out while the storm passes. Transition strikes me in odd moments when I am unprepared and sometimes unwilling to enter in, like when I realize, "this is the last time I'll see this person" and I thought I had more time.

I am trying to tell myself to be ok with those off guard moments. Truly that's what I want to be - off my guard. I want to get caught in the rain, so to speak, where my heart will be honest, raw, true. I know the real strength lies in bearing the storm, being willing to let my heart be broken, not in putting on a brave face and telling myself, "It's ok."

So in my mind Erik and I wrap our arms around the kids and assume a stance that will lean us into the wind when it comes. We'll stand together and hold each other in it, not because we are gluttons for pain, but we know that to keep our hearts open for good things we must keep them open to all of life, including the painful parts. And as one of my friends said the other day, "The sorrow is so great because it's been so good." And I want to celebrate that by acknowledging it.

And sometimes, when the storm gets to be too much, I know that my Savior will be close by, my shelter, my haven, my resting place, right in the middle of it all.

Growing Up in China, and I Don't Mean My Kids

"Can you summarize your China experience in one sentence?" This was the question posed to me by one of three students from a local university. I'll get to my response in a minute, but let me give you some context. This was an interview set up by an old Chinese friend of mine who is their English teacher. Students from their university are compiling a book of foreigners' experiences with Chinese language and culture. I was also asked to write a short excerpt for it. They showed up this morning a week earlier than I was expecting (my fault, not theirs) so they got to see what foreigners look like when they have gone for a long walk on a hot morning but not had time to shower change into anything other than the equivalent of pajamas. Lucky kids!

We talked for about an hour and they asked me about things like my most embarrassing language moment (I don't really have one), homeschooling my kids as opposed to putting them in local schools (the whole concept seemed to baffle them) and the best ways to learn language. They also shyly asked me for advice on living in America. It was fun to answer their questions, although I found myself having to pause occasionally and swallow hard before I could answer because it was digging up so many memories for me. I thought it best not to weep in front of three strangers who would probably be freaked out and feel responsible, "Teacher, we made her cry! What did we do wrong? Are all Americans this emotional?"

But this question about summarizing my China experience in one sentence stumped me for a minute. I finally was able to answer, "I know this might sound strange, but I have grown up in China." They indeed looked puzzled, so I continued, "When I came to China, I was 26. In China I learned how to be a mom, how to be an adult. China has been the background for me to learn to be a mature person (at least as mature as I am at this point!). It has forever influenced who I am."

They said this was the best answer anyone had given to this question. :)

What's Behind That Anger?

I've spent a lot of time this spring thinking about and processing rage. I've become convinced of several things:

1. We're all angry
2. Anger expresses itself in many forms - contempt, control, performance - besides what we think of as anger
3. Anger is a cover for something deeper the majority of the time
4. We will not stop being angry unless we deal with whatever is under it

I just finished a good book called Faces of Rage. I'll tell you more about it some other time. This morning, though, my rage thoughts come from dealing with a very angry little girl. Yes, that's right - sweet little Megan has an angry streak. How could she not with that mane of flaming red hair? Megan's always had a tough time expressing what she's really feeling, and lately she's managed that the way many of us do - she gets angry instead.

So, figuring that there was something under the anger, I tried a little exercise. I asked her to draw what she was feeling. Mostly she just wanted to break the colored pencils or throw them. I drew a heart and asked if she could write what was in it. She couldn't. I asked her to pick any color and draw with it. She picked red and scribbled. She wrote "Angry!" She scribbled with black. Then gray.

I drew a man, a big man, out of red. I explained that being angry makes us feel big and powerful so we don't have to feel other things underneath. I took another pencil and drew arrows out from behind our red man that showed maybe he was hiding things like "hurt" or "sad" or "fear." She finally said, "I know" and drew an arrow that said, "Stress."

She was feeling a little overwhelmed by all that she felt she "had" to do today (which was surprising to me given that it's summer and the only things she really had to do today were 10 minutes of Chinese homework and taking a shower). Digging a little deeper, it seems the stress also covered the sadness of the attachment she's formed to our friends' cousin who is visiting and will be leaving on Friday. For the next 5 minutes Megan cried about several things that are weighing on her.

I can't say we got to the bottom of everything - my default these days is to assume that transition stress is at play too -  but I do know that suddenly now I have a very different girl who is happily filling water balloons for an epic neighborhood fight later. It's a good reminder of the importance of looking anger in the face and asking myself, "Hmm . . . what's really going on here?" Apparently doing so can be quite freeing. :)

Timing

"For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven. . . He has made everything beautiful in its time." Ecclesiastes 3:1, 11


This morning I contemplated these verses, and they took me back to a moment in high school. It was probably one of my lowest points - I was feeling extremely lonely, so much so that I wrote a poem about it during English class one day. That was 2nd hour. During 3rd hour Psychology class, the vice principal came to our classroom and pulled me out into the hallway. He had a girl with him named Emily Novak. He told me she was new to the school and had essentially the same schedule as me. She quickly became one of my best friends, and from that day everything changed.

I look back on that story and think, "God, your time is impeccable." He knew exactly how I would be feeling that morning in 2nd hour, and brought Emily and her family to me at just that moment. I shake my head in amazement.

I could go on and on about moments when God stepped at just the right time in my life. It's like He delights in swooping in to save the day, to show His glory, to prove once again that we are not alone, that we are seen, that we are heard, that He is good.

When I think of the moments when God's timing demonstrated His goodness, His tenderness, His power to provide, it gives me hope. Because I'll be honest and say that there have been times when His timing wasn't what I would have chosen. Yet even those times, He has used for good, for our growth, for His glory. Always, He is working to make everything beautiful.

So when I anxiously check each morning for new houses that might have come on the market, I'm tempted to think, "God, come on! We need a house!" But I know that He is really good at doing things like that at just the right time. I know it will come, and I know it will be good.

Just When You Think You've Grown . . .

I am just now emerging from the aftermath of our 3 1/2 weeks in the States, followed by a goodbye party to some of our dearest friends, followed by a week of intense coaching (me being one of the coaches) of some of our leaders. To top it off, or maybe as a result of all that (yeah, more likely the latter) I came back, holed up for several days, and then came down with the cough my dad had just before we left the States (dad, you've given me better parting gifts, I have to say).

Thanks to some Chinese medicine I am finally on the mend (that stuff makes you want to choke and curse your uncle but it's effective) but it was a tough week for me. When I first came back from the coaching week, I had been encouraged by the fact that I was emotionally and spiritually in a good place. Normally, these weeks of coaching are as tumultuous for the coaches as for the participants. I had commented to my fellow coaches that, on observation, I had felt a new solidness in me. I felt like God allowed me to see greater depths of the pain and struggle of peoples' journeys and yet felt less compulsion to be the one to move them somewhere else. I was happy just to be a conduit and I think because of that I felt bolder and freer to say things I wouldn't normally have said. It was good. I thought, "Huh, I think I might be growing. Thank you Jesus!"

And then the cough hit, and there still weren't groceries in the house, and my family would ask for dinner and I would stare blankly at them. And every morning the kids woke up and asked about what to do and I would stare blankly at them, and so they would Wii their mornings away. And people were asking me about our summer plans and how I am feeling about leaving and I would stare blankly at them.

This is not my normal mode of operation, and it was killing me.

I like to be a girl with a plan, who makes the most of her time and is on top of things. Last week that girl was nowhere to be found. I kept using the word "remedial" in referring to my capacity to do life until my husband graciously advised me (ok, he just plain told me) that I had to stop using it. And while there's a natural frustration that comes when you aren't able to function the way you're wired, it shows that I still struggle with the fact that I can make structure and performance an idol, and base my perception of myself on it.

So just when I thought I was growing . . . it seems I still have some growing to do. Yep. This is the in between.

My Form of Gluttony

People have always asked us, when we get back to the States, what restaurants we like to hit, what American food we've missed. This is funny to me on a couple levels because it assumes that a) we have no western food in Asia, and b) Chinese food isn't awesome enough. These are both erroneous thoughts, especially b.

It also assumes that food is important to me. I'm an "eat to live" person. That list that's been going around on Facebook about the top 100 foods you're supposed to eat before you die? I think I've eaten 20 of them. That sadly includes Pocky and Spam, which under no circumstances should be included on that list. I eat so that I do not die. So no, there's really nothing I crave from the U.S.

No, my gluttony takes other forms. Primarily, it is literary. I was inside the library within 24 hours of hitting American soil. I got some books for the kids and hunted down 4 for myself. I went again yesterday and got a whole new stack. I'm on my 3rd fiction book while here, which seems tragically low to me, but I've been distracted by things like weddings and house hunting. I have two more I hope to cover before I leave.

Some people overeat in America. I overread.

Off the Beaten Path

I have always been a play by the rules, inside the box, compliant kind of girl. It's served me well (and probably those trying to lead me) for the most part. People generally like those kind of people. At least they like that they aren't doing things that others don't like.

But this morning at breakfast with friends, I was reflecting on the fact that God seems to keep leading me off the beaten paths. Asia for 13 years? Homeschool? These aren't the norm. I know this will become more apparent as we move back to the States and out of the realms where others are doing the same oddball things. 

On top of my seemingly wacky life choices, I feel like I am moving into a place where many of the values and lessons I have learned are counter-cultural, both at work and in life. I'm starting to see that one of the great challenges for me is not only to stand firm in these things I have come to embrace, but to recognize the times when God is calling me to share them with others, to stir things up. I am not a stirrer. I am a "gently slip into the shallow end and hope no one notices" kind of person.

But a few weeks ago, during our bi-weekly Dan Allender mind meld, he talked about passions and burdens. Passions are those things you love, the places where you want to say "yes," where you are even brought to tears because you are so moved by an issue. Burdens are the other side of the coin, the things you hate, the things that make you say, "not on my watch," the places where your blood boils.

This whole topic came to me this morning because my friend was sharing about some things at work that are disappointing to her, things that touch on my passions and burdens. I felt my heart caught up in the issues, that sense of wanting to pound my fists on the table and say, "Something must be done!" and then, "And I want to be part of it!"

Then I thought, "Wait. Did I just think that? But I don't do that kind of thing! And I don't like being that person!" But the passions and burdens in my heart are from God, and I know that I must honor them, even if I get a few sideways glances or create some discord. I've been wandering so far off the beaten path in the last 13 years, why try to find my way back now?

Good Grief

Grief is one of the obvious downsides of transition. It's always tempting, when I leave a place, to avoid grief. I can do it by staying busy or staying focused on what's to come, or I can diminish my heart by telling myself that I'm not as attached as I am.

I've learned though that none of those are good options because grief is a friend. It helps us feel deeply and see how much our hearts have been opened to others, to love. To deny it is not only to be untruthful about the impact a place or person has had on me, but it closes my heart to the future. Denial of grief does not make the pain go away. It simply shames it and hides it away for another time.

I've noticed this all around me, not only in people who are going through a transition like ours. We don't like to deal with grief, and we don't like others to deal with it either. So we avoid it by staying busy, or focusing on only the positive things in life, or we tell ourselves it's not that big of a deal. Worse still, as believers we spiritualize grief with platitudes like, "Oh but God will use this" or "This is His will." Those things, albeit true, stifle our hearts and our ability to process the hurt.

Dan Allender said it well this week in our video, "We live in a community that does not know how to grieve, and won't allow grief. And we live in a community, therefore, that silences those who know shame, because if you cannot grieve then shame must stay silent." 

The other night at dinner, we were talking about our move. Ethan became very emotional and said, "I don't want to talk about it! Whenever I start to think about it, I just avoid it!" We talked about how instead it might be better to give ourselves times when we DO let ourselves think about it, and let ourselves feel the depth of the loss of leaving, and weep over it. We don't need to cry constantly between now and when we leave, but we do need to honor our hearts and allow ourselves space to feel. 


Grief is good. It allows us to purge the pain and wrestle with God in the darkest places, only to see that He is there as well. He is as good in the darkness as He is in the light, but we can't see that unless we allows ourselves to go there. Grief brings healing. It keeps our hearts open. I hope I can remember all this through the process!

Life In Between

For the past few months, I've been pondering the idea of what it means to live "in between." It seems that in many areas of my life I am called to live between who I was and who I will be, depravity and redemption, this place and that one, this identity and another. As a believer and a displaced person, I feel like I'm never fully at home.

I wrestle with this a lot. I'm someone who likes things to be wrapped up neatly, for life to be predictable and manageable, but it seems like God calls me to more and more mess in my heart and life. Many years ago, I was encouraged to pursue being someone who is "undone." That sounded like a horrible idea. Being undone sounds messy, awkward, embarrassing, uncomfortable. You're telling me I have to fall apart? No thank you. But a few weeks later, I asked Ethan not to do something because it was "unsafe." He asked me what unsafe meant. I said, "It means not safe. Like untied means not tied, and undone means . . . not done." Light bulb! So being undone isn't just falling apart, it's recognizing I was never "done" in the first place? Got it. 

One of the biggest ways God makes me aware that I'm not done, that I'm still living in between, is through transition. Nothing stirs up your heart and makes you lose your equilibrium like change. Last September we somewhat unexpectedly began a process of change that has led us to see that our time in Asia is drawing to a close. We hadn't shared this news with everyone until recently, so I haven't been able to share how I am processing the emotions of saying goodbye to what has been home for 13 years. This September we will leave here, head back to Minnesota for a few months, and then start a new life in Orlando, Florida.

So now we are living between excitement and fear, terrible sadness and joyful anticipation. Sometimes it feels like too much to bear, and we still have 4 months here. It will only be a greater tension as our departure draws near.

I've been looking forward to being able to share our transition process on my blog because I believe it will help me work through all this upheaval. I plan to change the url for my blog soon, since I will no longer be living my Asian life (and we're certainly not the Butz fam in Singapore anymore!). I anticipate that it will take a long time before we feel settled back in America. In fact, I expect that we will never completely feel settled there. It will just continue to be my "in between" life.

Parenting is Hard

A few weeks ago at church, an elderly gentleman visiting from the States was our guest preacher. He has been a child psychiatrist for decades and has 5 kids of his own. Given his background, I was hopeful that his message about parenting would be full of wisdom and encouragement. The two main points were, "Parenting isn't hard," and "The goal is not to give your kids a happy childhood. It's to raise them to be good people."

I wanted to throw things at him.

His reasoning was that God has made it abundantly clear in scripture how we should raise our children, so if we just do what the Bible says they'll turn out fine. It reduces the Bible to a guidebook, and parents to people who either follow the guidelines or not. If your kids don't turn out well in this reasoning, you have no one to blame but yourself. This reasoning doesn't account for the fact that we are sinners raising sinners in a fallen world, with an enemy focused on our demise. This reasoning is both naive and discouraging. If I pretend these realities don't exist, I will berate myself when I find that parenting isn't easy. Now I'm not denying the other great reality which is that God is on our side, and He will fight for us. But I don't think it does us any good to minimize the truth of the battle. Parenting is hard. It's crazy hard. It's "what have I gotten myself into?" kind of hard. Even with God on my side. I can't imagine doing it without Him.

And then there's his second point. Now I agree that the goal is not to give our kids a happy childhood. But my goal is far beyond making my kids "good people." As Ravi Zacharias said, "Christianity is not about making bad people good. It's about making dead things alive." I have come to believe that the greatest thing I do for my kids is not to teach them rules for living, but to show them how desperately we all need Jesus, and how abundant is His salvation for our need.

Doing that means we have days like today when it's hard. Hard with a capital H. Days when our sin natures clash like in some epic battle, swords clanging, over things as seemingly trivial as Latin homework and piano practice. I could be discouraged and wonder, "Why is this so hard? What am I doing wrong?" Or I could remind myself that this is where we learn. This is when we grow. This is where we recognize that we sin, and we confess, and we receive forgiveness from Him and each other. This is when we have the opportunity to become not good people but dependent people, who are not learning a list of rules but learning how to live by the Spirit.

Poem

If thou could`st empty all thyself of self
by Sir Thomas Browne

If thou could`st empty all thyself of self,
Like to a shell dishabited,
Then might He find thee on the ocean shelf,
And say, `This is not dead`,
And fill thee with Himself instead.

But thou art all replete with very thou
And hast such shrewd activity,
That when He comes, He says, `This is enow
Unto itself - `twere better let it be,
It is so small and full, there is no room for me.`

Oh that I would be the former!

The Power of Story in Community

"All children mythologize their birth. It is a universal trait. You want to know someone? Heart, mind and soul? Ask him to tell you about when he was born. What you get won't be the truth; it will be a story. And nothing is more telling than a story."
- The Thirteenth Tale, by Diane Setterfield

In the last few years, I've thought a lot more about my story. Partly this is from coaching others to know their stories, partly it is through reading To Be Told by Dan Allender, partly it's just the way God is leading me. Many people think the past is just the past - over and done, let's move on. But we are a composite of our stories and how they shaped us. We are our past and the messages we write on our hearts from every moment we live. And I'm coming to believe that it's unlikely we will change those messages (and some of them are lies) unless we really examine the stories that told them to us.

And more importantly, I'm coming to also believe that we can't really know our stories on our own. Lately, we've started to look at our stories in community. A group of us in town have started meeting every other week to watch a video series by Dan Allender about writing our stories. Afterward we break into three groups and reflect on what we saw. In the process, we've started telling our stories to each other.

It's interesting, when you tell a story from your life to someone else. You think you know it, you understand it, but I think until you tell it to someone else, you don't see the truth in it. I've had people tell me incredible sad stories, but they laugh while they tell them, not realizing that it is their laughter that helps them avoid the terrible pain of what happened in those stories. I have told others stories and heard them say, "That must have been so hard," and until that moment, I haven't realized it myself. When we tell our stories, others can ask questions and help us connect the dots to who we are in the present because of our past. And I feel like one of the greatest gifts is when someone listens to your story and feels it with you, and loves you in it. It's a powerful thing.

What I’m Really Learning on Pinterest

I’ve learned something by being an avid follower of others on Pinterest: lots of people have blogs. Interesting blogs. Blogs that seem to have legions of followers and generate money. One blog I found raised $25,100 in 10 hours, and no one gave over $25.  That’s a lot of people interested in one blog.

So here’s the problem: I’m jealous. I want people to read my blog and tell their friends about it and want to advertise on my blog because it would be good business. I want people to ask me to review things on my blog and offer me book deals because of it and maybe even a reality show (side note: I would NEVER want to be on a reality show. But I wouldn’t mind being asked). In short, I want attention.

I don’t like that I want attention. I wish it weren’t true, but it is. So instead of denying it, I want to look it in the face and say, “What’s up girlfriend? You want to tell me why this is so important to you?” In a nice way. You know, a way that makes her want to sit down over a cup of coffee (or in my case, an ice cold Coke Zero) and spill her guts.

And I think what she/I would say is that as much as God has opened my eyes to how I use the attention of others to find value and has given me freedom in it, it will always be a temptation for me. A strong one. One that makes me not even want to look at the internet because I don’t want to see another person who seems to be getting more attention than me. So what do I do with that?

I think I let myself grieve it, first of all – grieve the fact that despite my redemption, there are parts of me that seek life and love in places other than God. I confess it as sin, because it is – a prideful attempt to justify myself. Then I thank Him for the love and grace He has for me that He would show me this and not leave me blind to it. And I thank Him that it can be less and less true all the time, by His Spirit transforming my heart. I remind myself that life is about His glory, not my own, and that all my worth is found in Him. That’s good news.

That Date That Wasn't

In light of Valentine's Day approaching, I thought I'd take this time to share with you the story of The Date That Wasn't.

It was 1995 and I was living in Mankato with 4 other women in a house right next to the university. I had convinced one of my roommates to watch The Jerk (oh the irony) with me. Partway through the movie I had already fielded 4 telemarketing calls and let's just say my tolerance for being propositioned was running thin.

Then I had this phone call. I swear every word of this phone call is true and unexaggerated:

Me: Hello?

Random guy: Hi Gina?

Me: Yes?

Random guy: Yeah, I was just wondering if you wanted to go out with me on Friday night.

Me: That depends. Who is this?

Random guy: I'm not really sure I want to tell you.

Me: Well then I'm very sure I don't want to go out with you.

Random guy: Well . . .

Me: Do you think I'll go out with you if I don't know who you are??

Random guy: (ok I won't publicly out him here. I am quite sure he doesn't read my blog but that would be just mean. Suffice to say he identified himself).

Me: I'm going to my parents' house this weekend (honest to God truth).

Random guy: Oh. OK.

I don't know how he saw that ending differently. I guess he must not have thought it through or he was just banking on the element of surprise. Maybe he thought I'd be caught off guard enough to say, "Sure, pick me up at 6" and then when he showed up, I'd be locked in. Poor guy. I hope since then he's worked up a little more courage.

Grammar

Dear fellow internet users,

There are a few things I need to get off my chest, if you will permit me to vent for just a minute. It's about grammar. I like it. I'd love for more of us to embrace it. Could we all agree to the following?:

lose and loose are not interchangeable. You cannot loose your friend.
an apostrophe makes something possessive, not plural. Mom's does not mean more than one mom
it's "would have" not "would of"
there IS such a thing as too many commas

Ok, thank you. I imagine some of you agree with me. Others of you think I'm a little (or maybe a lot) uptight. You might be remembering my post recently about being a control freak. Yes, this is evidence. You don't even know the half of it.

But what can I say? I'm a word girl too, and a little part of me is sad every time I see grammar mistakes.

Messy

I hate messes. I can tolerate them for awhile, but then something in me snaps and I go into a flurry of cleaning. I have even, at times, thought I would enjoy being a cleaning lady for someone. I find great satisfaction in tidy, sanitized spaces.

Right now my heart feels like a mess, and I'm at a loss to know how to tidy it up. For the last few months I feel like God has come in and stirred things up and opened doors and pulled back the covers and generally left everything in disarray. So I'm left standing in the middle of it, looking around at the chaos thinking, "That's the last time I invite that guy over."

The mess has a lot to do with seeing deeper levels of my depravity, the ways I look for life apart from God. It's also seeing the hurt I cause and the hurt done to me, and how rather than letting myself acknowledge the hurt I find other ways to medicate or distract or numb myself. It's feeling as Paul said, "For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I keep doing."

On the one hand, it's discouraging to see things I thought had died, places where I thought I had grown, still alive and well. On the other hand, I have grown, and God has changed the way I see myself and Him in seismic ways. It's not that haven't grown, it's that I'm not done. This is His doing, His way of moving into a deeper experience of Him.

This mess feels like realizing that what satisfied my heart in the shallow end of the pool doesn't work as well when God picks me up and throws me into deeper waters. So while I know that God deeply loves and accepts my mess, and part of the issue is that I don't, just to tell myself that and move on won't cut it this time. To do so would be like me throwing all the mess in a closet and shutting the door.

So what do I do with this mess? I keep asking God that. And I think He smiles gently and says, "Wait" because maybe instead of getting through the mess I need to learn to be in it. Maybe staying here means taking a harder look at what's behind it, why I do what I do. Maybe it's making me feel the depth of my nothingness before Him and the corresponding depths of His unrelenting love. Maybe it's so that I can show people my mess a little, like I did last night with some good friends, and feel the strength and comfort and love that we can give each other when we say, as they did, "I love you in your mess."

Little Miss Something

When I was little, I was a big fan of the Little Miss books, so I was happy when someone tapped into this market and started making Little Miss t-shirts. The first one I bought was this one:

 I bought it somewhat ironically, or maybe just by faith, because I am not always the most cheerful person on the block. I also bought this one:

 

 Which is maybe a little more true. Ok a lot more true. I have realized lately that what I really need is one that says, "Little Miss Control Freak." I don't like the fact that I try so hard to control my world. In fact, I used to think that I was more of a recovering controlaholic, because there are ways I have learned to unclench, but God has made it clear to me that at a deeper level, the desire to control is still alive and well in me.

I think in some way we all like control. Because what is control but trying to be the gods of our own little worlds? And isn't that what sin is - a rage against God and His Lordship over us? We are born into war against God, and laying down our weapons in complete surrender is a long and continual process.

I saw this clearly with the playground bully. In Gina's world, other children wouldn't beat on mine. I saw this when, on vacation, our friend's daughter tripped and fell on some rocks, requiring 7 stitches, while under my care. In my world, that wouldn't happen. I see this when my dog continues to pee in the house, even though the self-proclaimed god of the house is displeased. Each time, I have had to wrestle with God, and He reminds me, "Ah, but I am God, and you are not, Gina."

I like what Anne Lamott says about this, "It helps to resign as the controller of your fate. All that energy we expend to keep things running right is not what keep things running right."

True words, but not so easy to do. Yet I'm encouraged by the very real truth that He is patient and gracious to show me these things in order that I could become a woman who truly has surrendered all in childlike trust. So when He gently reminds me that I am stomping around my world demanding my way, I hope to listen and confess and let Him have a little more of me.

And also, I need to find a "Little Miss Trusting" shirt.