Hope, Fear, Determination

"That's what momma always says. She says that beginnings are scary, endings are usually sad, but it's the middle that counts the most."
-Hope Floats

I am tired to the very core of my life being a never-ending series of beginnings and endings.  I'm not getting enough middle.  Since I graduated college I have moved communities- like, everyone in my life is new- five times.  I am currently living in my second Reset situation in two years.  And in a few minutes I will voluntarily go do another small beginning in this year of beginnings.

Another I-need-to-introduce-myself-to-everyone-in-the-room evening.

Maybe this time the stars will align and I'll get to stay here and people will have a chance to KNOW me and for me to KNOW them and they will become my family so that I don't have to live life by myself.

Maybe.  Hope is frail, but it's hard to kill.

It's exhausting and scary, walking in alone.  Full of flashbacks of walking into the cafeteria on the first day of high school...

...nagging whispers of insecurity...

...pangs of longing for the family and people-turned-family that you had to leave behind and you wish were at your side now, reminding you that no matter what these new people think, at least one person in the room knows who you are and loves you anyway.

Moving is hard.  Being single is harder.  Doing both at the same time is like being forced to participate in an emotional version of American Ninja Warrior on steroids.  It tests your nerve and teaches you about yourself.  Hard lessons.

I'm not as confident as I'd like.  But brave isn't fearless.  Brave is determined.

So tonight I will again insist that my hope win out over my fear.  I will walk in, imaginary plastic cafeteria tray in my hands, and try to remember names.  Smile and answer questions.  Endure the awkward silences endemic in baby relationships.  I will be determined.  I will protect that tiny bit of hope that tells me this won't always be my life.  And I will pray that my hope is telling me the truth.

Peas please!

I don't really remember how I decided to grow a sun-room garden.  It was probably related to the crazy-cold-snowy winter we have just survived in the Midwest.  I do know a real garden was never a real consideration, thanks to the bunnies that live in my yard.  My neutral feelings toward rabbits combine with my laziness to equate an aversion to planting food for bunnies.  So I decided I could do some potted garden plants in my sunroom, well out of reach of my kitties.  Cause I can actually throw them farther than I trust them.

Anyway, I went to Menards.  I wanted to grow some tomatoes.  I did some stellar, high-school-project-worthy internet research and was armed with the knowledge that tomato plants need about 5 gallons of dirt each.  I find this to be a little greedy, but my feelings seemed unlikely to change anything in this situation, I resigned myself to feed my tomato plants' gluttony for dirt.

The Plan was to leave with some big plant pots, some tomato plants, and some dirt.

What I actually left with was a seed bed flat, a bag of starter soil, and three packets of seeds.  As it turns out, you can't find tomato plants in northern Indiana in early April.  It's too early.

Already smarter.

So I planted those tiny little tomato seeds.  Was I surprised that they looked like the seeds you find in the tomatoes on your sandwich?  Yes I was.  Does this make any sense?  No it doesn't.

I also plants some snap peas.  The directions said the peas should be "direct sown", not started and later transplanted.  But I had no place to direct sow anything, so I planted them in the seed bed flat, too.  I mean, it's an art, not a science, yes?  Here's what it looked like.  I realize that this is not an interesting photo, but I take pictures when I'm proud of myself...

Water and wait.  And the magic begins.  Have you ever grown something from seed?  It's like watching a miracle.  I know that science can explain it, but for me, the explanation takes nothing away from the magic of watching something that seems dead come to life.  Life pops out of the dirt.  I think it explains why you don't often run into an atheistic farmer.

A few days later and my peas, by far faster than the tomatoes, were ready to graduate to big boy and girl beds.  Happily, my green-thumb-friend Megan happened to be coming that weekend, and she was willing to help.  Everything in life is better with a friend along for the ride.

We headed to the store.  Cause buying dirt isn't weird for the rest of the world.  The prices of the containers were insane.  Like, $25 each.  And I would need, oh, maybe 10.  Luckily, I came up with a solution.

Disney Princess to the rescue!!  I bought a kiddie pool.  It was $13.  Please note that it says, "A dream is a wish for every princess."  This nonsense leaves me hoping that line's a poor Chinglish translation and not Disney's intention.  Anyway.  Process pictures...

Am I using a serving spoon as a trowel?  Yes.  Am I feeling happy?  Again, yes.  As is Megan, in her stance of victory (pictured here with slotted spoon).

Our finished project.  Yah, we planted our peas in two concentric circles.  Were we considering staking the plants?  Um, no.  Well, I should speak for myself.  Megan may have been, but I wasn't.  Oops.

But never fear!  A couple weekends later, as the plants reached heights of a foot or so, on the porch with Dad and Sue and Sara, we came up with a great staking plan.  Using my smarty-pants phone pictures, Dad's tape measure, my estimating gestures, and our awesome mathematical skills, we figured out how much wire fencing I would need, and Dad cut me the piece.  He formed it into the right shape for me and I carried it home to The Fort.  If fit perfectly.  Shazzam!!

You're amazed, right?

Look at those beautiful peas!  I can't wait until I get to eat some yummy-lishous snap peas right from my sunroom!

If You're Not Spending the Evening With Your Valentine

Here it is- 6:45pm on Valentine's Day.

If you get to be with your Valentine today, Happy Valentine's Day!  I hope that you're spending the day being loved well by the one you love.  If you happen to find yourself at Red Lobster, please eat a Cheddar Bay Biscuit on my behalf.  Seriously.

But this message isn't really for you.

This message is for us.

Those of us who don't look forward to Valentine's Day.  Those of us who squeeze our eyes shut tight and try to get through the day with as little sorrow as possible.  We, who walk that line, sometimes less-than-successfully, of trying to not seem jaded or bitter or jealous or lonely on this day that makes us feel most jaded or bitter or jealous or lonely.

This message?  It's for me, from my Father.  And if God is your Father too, and you hurt on February 14 too, then this message is for you, too.

If you don't have a Valentine
If you have never known a February 14th with a Valentine and you wonder why
If you can't be with your Valentine today because they have gone where you can't follow
If your own arms are empty and you wish for nothing more than to celebrate this day with your own little ones

I'm sorry for how much harder this day can make that.  I'm sorry with the groaning, weeping, gut-wrenching sorrow of someone who understands each of these places.

Will you let me remind you?  You are not forgotten in the chaotic mess of pink and hearts and red and flowers not for you.

I see you.

Better, far better, God sees you.

He holds our tears in a bottle, yours and mine- not forgotten; never wasted.  Each tear for a purpose, Truth tells us, though Feelings tries to convince us otherwise.  Don't believe Feelings.

Remember with me that Truth is more important than Feelings.  The Truth is that we couldn't be more loved- not if our kitchen tables and office desks were veritable mountains of rose bouquets or if we'd gotten enough chocolates today to send us into a sugar coma to last until the first good spring thaw.  We couldn't be more loved, even if our arms were full of someone to love.

Remember with me that this world is not our Home.

Home is coming, though.

Home will be when our feelings and Truth finally match up.  When we will not only KNOW we are loved, but we will FEEL loved beyond our wildest dreams.  Love so deep and unconditional and full and rich and nourishing and playful and glittering and perfect, that hearts and chocolates and flowers won't stand a chance.  We will forgot the sensation of being lonely.  Can you even imagine!?!?

We will know only the Truth of Love.  And it will be forever.

But in the meantime, you and me?  We're going to fight our way through.  We're going to press into Jesus and know that He will sustain us and that one day all will be well, though today feels anything but.  I am praying you through today.  Will you do the same for me?

And now I leave you not with Happy Valentine's Day, but with a better closing, and this if for all of us who call God Father:

Cling to Truth until we're home, friend.   One day in Heaven.

Did you hear the train?

Yesterday my nephew, who's four, was here for a quick visit.  Oakley loves trains.  And by that I mean he LOVES trains with the fire of a thousand burning suns.

Anyway, we were walking up to an electronics store, where his dad was looking for a gift for his mom, "from the kids".  As I was opening the door to let Oakley in, he turned suddenly to look at me with wide eyes.  "I hear a twain!" he exclaimed.

I listened, and he was right.  There was a train whistle blowing.  But if he hadn't mentioned it, I wouldn't have noticed.  If I had continued into the store and you had asked me, "Was there a train whistle blowing outside?" I'd have said no.  With confidence, no less.  And I'd have been sure I was right.  I didn't hear it because I wasn't listening for it.  It's not that I don't like trains.  They're fine.  But Oakley?  That boy lives and breathes trains.  His love of them causes him to be forever tuned in.  He is always, under the surface, listening for trains.  And so he hears them.

I can't shake the memory of the excitement on Oakley's little face, and how I felt when I realized that I was totally missing what was so important to him.  I can't shake it because of the spiritual lesson it reminds me of.  We hear what we're listening for.  We see what we're watching for.

God isn't hiding.  He isn't hard at work in exotic mission fields only.  His visions and dreams aren't blocked from the Western world by some sort of high-energy microwaves.  What blocks him out is us.  Someone says God spoke to them in a dream and we pass it off as indigestion.  We're not looking.  We're not listening.  We're walking through life, spiritually blindfolded with spiritual earplugs firmly in place.

We have forgotten silence.  It makes us nervous; and no wonder.  It is in the silence that the Spirit can speak to us.  He comes in the still, small voice, remember?  We fear what He has to say to us.  Will He insist that we surrender something?  Will he press us to do something that frightens us?  Will He poke and prod at a wound long covered, long ago sustained, but never healed?  And so we drown out the silence.

We scorn stillness. We call it laziness.  And worse than that, we ignore the entreaties of our God to be still, and we say instead that Good Christians work for the Lord.  Never mind that the Lord asks us to come away; to walk away from all the bustling and be alone with Him.  Never mind that this is the pattern set for us by God's own Son.  We decide for him that God understands.  That family needs me to bring them a casserole.  My kid's science fair project is due tomorrow.  My house hasn't been dusted for weeks and the in-laws will be here soon.  I have to bring snacks for the Bible study.  We leave no time to be still.  We make excuses and we stay busy and we un-learn how to do it, so that even if we give it a half-hearted attempt, we fail.  We fidget.  We check our email.  We look at our watches.  We make mental lists of things we need to accomplish.  We've forgotten the skill of stillness.

And all of this points to the same problem.  We are too busy being good for God to be with God.  We are too busy serving to be still.  And at the heart of it, hidden deep down beneath layers of spiritualization and justification to protect us from the sinfulness, is fear.

We fear that what we will hear, what God will tell us or ask of us, will be too much.  Too hard.  Too scary.  Too impractical.  Too radical.  We fear the opinions of those around us.  Our family.  Our friends.  Our churches.  We have decided that refusing to hear is less sinful than refusing to obey.

We know how the world perceives radicals.  It's not positive.  We don't want that.  We want, instead, the clean, sanitary, bright-and-shiny GOODness, and not the unknown of GODliness.

We don't hear the train whistle because we're not listening for it.

We don't hear God's voice because we've made a concerted effort to drown it out.

But God isn't asking us to be good.  He is asking us to be Godly.  To face down our fears and trust him enough to look foolish.  Trust him enough to seem irresponsible.  Trust him enough to let others- even others in the Church- call us radical.

We resist.  We do life half-heartedly, and because of that we become overwhelmed with all the things that pull at us.  We try to get by on spiritual junk food, and then are mystified when we have no spiritual energy.  What God calls us to do is not possible without his power.  And we cannot tap into that power if we're not listening and obeying.

God will not empower us to do busywork in order to ignore His true calling in our lives.

We're doing it wrong, Church.  We're doing it half-way, and half-way doesn't cut it.  The whole world is watching.  They're watching us do it wrong and label it "GOD" and suffer through life.  Why on earth would that draw them in?!?  This should not be.  Because it's not just yourself that you're making miserable.  It's ruining your reflection of God, too.

All or nothing.

Embrace the unknown.

Listen for the train.