The Worst Season of All

This has been a season of goodbyes. It started, as it often does, with a graduation. Some of my friends were seniors in college this year, and the beginning of May brought their time in the area to an accomplished close. Summer is also travel season, and it brings several dear friends and family into town – and then right back out. Life itself brings with it continuous, annoyingly reliable change, and it has moved some dear friends further away than I would like. Most unwelcome of all was the extraction of my “baby” brother from my local life, as he is fully engaged in the process of striking out on his own as a fully-educated, extremely talented adult. (I am excruciatingly proud of him – I only wish I could be proud from less than 5 hours away.)

I hate goodbyes. They signify the absolute worst kind of change – the kind of change that hinders my relationships. I am extremely fond of my relationships, and fonder still of the people inside them. I love regular face time with my people – even though “regular” ranges from semi-monthly to several times a week. The absolute biggest disaster – the force most capable of upending my life – is that which puts those I see regularly far enough away that this becomes impossible. (I know I am not alone in this sentiment.)

And yet they continue. Time after time, month after month, year after year, people leave. And each farewell stings just a little bit more – each loss is placed on a growing pile of similar losses, some still tender because they have not yet had time to heal. As time passes, I find myself tempted to give in to the bitterness that stalks my heart. I have grown so tired of these goodbyes that when I learned of the most recent departure, there was a whisper deep in my heart that said, “Of course he's leaving – everyone leaves.” It was the desperate cry of a hurting heart that wants, more than anything, never to hurt again. The pain was eager to harden my heart to those I love most, refusing to let them close enough to hurt me when they – inevitably – leave.

For the briefest moment, I considered it. But then, without a second thought, I cast it away forever, for I realized that, despite how great this pain may be, the joy brought by the closeness and dearness of these relationships is far greater.

More importantly, I think it's time for me to have a little more faith – not in the whole of humanity, not even in the “goodness” of those I love – but in the God who gave them to me, the God who takes them away. It is when I begin to think of these people as mine and of my happiness as pivotal that everything comes unraveled. Instead, it is time for me to realize that God has a plan for something bigger than my relational satisfaction, and He intends to use these wonderful people I dearly love to enact it. It is time for me to trust in God to take care of me, even when it appears as if He is taking away those who made me feel most cared-for, and to hope that, perhaps, He may yet let me keep some of them. Even amidst the goodbyes, it is time for me to make new friends, to deepen the friendships I have, and to invest myself entirely in those around me, no matter how long they may remain nearby.

“We shall draw nearer to God, not by trying to avoid the sufferings inherent in all loves, but by accepting them and offering them to Him; throwing away all defensive armour. If our hearts need to be broken, and if He chooses this as the way in which they should break, so be it.” – C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves

There are two dear friends – one near, one very far away – who have helped me cope with this season of goodbyes, along with many others who keep the lonelies away. To you I owe a great chunk of my current sanity. Thank you. Of course, without the constancy of my Almighty Creator, Redeemer, and Friend, I would be but a tear-drenched heap on the floor. It is You I need close to me, it is Your face I must see each day, and it is only You who will never leave me for something better.

Musings on Paper

Forgive me, as this blog is entirely off-topic, but I think it's time for some lighter material.

Currently, my mind is on paper – both literally and figuratively. I just spent several hours pouring my heart into my journal. When I was finished filling 13 pages, I stuck the journal back into my bag, where it is currently keeping the company of a second journal, three paperback books, an NIV Bible, and my planner. Also in my immediate possession are one laptop, one iPhone, and one iPod touch – devices capable of storing and accessing infinitely more information than these 7 items contain, in a fraction of the space. In fact, most of what I have in paper format I also have in digital format – right here, at this precise moment. So why do I bother to bring anything besides my electronics with me? Why do I insist on reading a paper Bible, instead of reading from my Bible app, or even reading the Bible online? Why do I refuse to buy kindle copies of new books, and instead insist on the paperback? Why do I insist on journaling in a paper journal, instead of typing my words into a Word document? And why, oh why, do I even possess a paper copy of my calendar, when exactly the same information is contained in my iPhone calendar?

I cannot adequately explain the need for a paper planner. My life has suddenly gotten much busier (because God provided a full-time job for me), and I have a kajillion things to keep straight. I guess I'm so busy that the iPhone calendar provides an insufficient visual image of just how busy I am. I like to be able to glimpse my whole crazy week in a single moment, as opposed to <swipe><swipe><swipe>. That, and I don't trust technology with something so critical as my schedule.

As for journaling, well that part makes sense. There is just something so wholesome – so real – about putting a pen to paper and creating words where there were never words before. There is something so freeing in seeing a literary work of art – or even just a simple letter to a friend – in one's own handwriting. There is magic in using my own hand to design the curvature of the letters that frame my inmost thoughts – for that is how I learned to love to write.

The natural human desire for tangible permanency leaks into my passion for paper books. I like to feel the paper that contains these words – words some author spent sleepless nights and frustrated hours perfecting just for me. I like to see the thick stack of pages I've already consumed, and the hopefully smaller stack of pages I have ahead of me. I like to flip easily back a few pages, to where I used a physical pen to make a personal note, without fearing I'll lose my spot. And that act of using my own hand to comment on another's work and mark the parts I absolutely adore makes me feel more alive than <menu><highlight><yellow><note><yes><"I wish this were made of paper">.

And then you've the issue of distraction. I can give my whole attention to this book without fearing it will start vibrating or flashing memos across the top. Don't get me wrong – I am tethered to my phone because of its practical necessity. But I am not fond of this necessity. I am ever so fond of reading. And there are times when I want to forget the world that is contained in my little Apple task master and immerse myself in literature without being reminded of the meeting tomorrow or the likability of my most recent facebook status.

And there's something so final – so permanent – about reading a paper Bible. The words on page 972 will still be there tomorrow, and they will be exactly the same. I need not rely on internet connectivity or the whimsy of an Apple device in order to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that God loved me so much that He sent His only son to save me. It's right there, on page 972. And it will be there, rain or shine, winter and summer, blackout or zombie apocalypse... though in a blackout I would have to use the light from my iPhone to read it.

So I shall continue carrying my giant bag with my laptop and several books. Life is just better with paper in it. So, all in all, I guess I'm thankful for trees. 

Victory Amidst Defeat

Discouragement is one of the concepts that crosses all sectors of humanity. It's the result of being human in a broken world. So, because I inhabit planet Earth, I've experienced my fair share. I won't for a moment pretend that the situations that have brought about my discouragement would even register on the tragedy scale – but as I've explained before, my heart is frail anyway.

In my short life, I've experienced discouragement ranging from mild to severe on several occasions. Some was the direct result of a life happenstance, some was mere emotional turmoil – a gift from my enemy. Typically, this discouragement is confined to one realm of my life and does not bleed into the others, making it easier to handle.

Recently, an onslaught of discouragement afflicted all three major realms of my life simultaneously – Logistical Trivialities (into which my employment falls), Personal Relationships, and Ministry. Immediately after the last discouraging puzzle piece slid into place, I flew into my bed and vowed to stay there until God finally saw fit to take me Home.

There's really no way to describe what happened next. It consisted of many tears and much prayer. I said a lot and heard very little in return. I called up the Prayer Troops and begged for their intercession. There was a fair amount of bargaining, and some begging for time to rewind. The bottom had dropped out; life was unraveling; I had become a messy puddle of a person.

Then God blessed me with sleep. And when I awoke – whether the result of mental recalibration or the prayers of my prayer warriors, I shall never know – peace was mine once again. Mental clarity ruled, and for a brief instant I recalled the blubbering fool I had been less than an hour before. That Past Nora was not a Victorious Nora; that was a Defeated Nora. But defeat is not one of the fruits of the Spirit, nor is it a characteristic of a child of God. My flesh had won – but now I was on to it. Now I was aware of its little game.

So I have vowed never to let myself be so defeated again. I won't be arrogant enough to vow never to be at all defeated, because unless sweet relief from life comes this instant, that vow will soon be broken. But I will not surrender as easily next time. Next time I fly to my bed, it will be because something far worse has happened to me than has ever happened to me before. And next time I meet this same amount of discouragement, I will blubber for a shorter amount of time and waste fewer words in bargaining. And if I am made to live long enough and endure enough disappointment, one day I will experience complete victory over the urge to fly to my bed and blubber and bargain. One day I hope to meet discouragement head-on – unflinchingly.

Until then, Lord, I ask only for victory amidst this defeat.

Ever Weaker

There are a couple modern science-fiction stories featuring a giant spider – a spider so big that it could lift even a hefty human off the ground. Such spiders do not exist in the real world – which is fortunate, because if they did I would have sealed myself into a concrete bunker years ago. Recently, however, I have realized that I treat several of my problems like fictitious giant spiders.

In my last post, I compared my biggest fears in life to spiders – tiny, fragile creatures next to God's giant steel-toed boot. If God is as powerful as the Bible says He is, then He is able to crush them as easily and as swiftly as a boot crushes a spider. I am fully convinced that God could handle even a tarantula of problems without any struggle whatsoever.

But recently, I have found myself beginning to believe that giant spiders exist – spiders larger than life, against which God may struggle in His fight. Take my employment, for example: I'm a Registered Nurse who graduated from school in 2010, and I've had zero experience since. As I feared, this makes finding employment rather difficult. So I have begun to doubt that I will be able to find a nursing job. God is powerful, of course; but this is a giant spider problem. So if nursing was in the plan, I had to take action. Knowing I am too tiny to help fight this giant spider, I looked around for ways to shrink it. First, I lowered my expectations and started looking around for a less-enjoyable, less-skilled position. And then, when that didn't work because I found myself still so very unqualified, I started looking around for ways to make myself appear more qualified. Now we would have a more manageable, tarantula-sized problem. These, of course, are not wholly unnecessary courses of action, but stick with me and you will see my error.

I approached God again, this time with a smaller problem. I said, “God, last time I was here I asked too much from you by asking you to fight a giant spider, so I totally understand why you didn't come through. But now, all I want is for you to take care of this tarantula.”

This is when I was slapped in the face by the Holy Spirit. He got my attention, and when He was sure I was listening, He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Cor 12:9).

Giant spiders do not exist, either in real life or in metaphorical terms. There is no spider that could pick me up and carry me off; neither is there any problem I could ever face that would make my God break a sweat. With God fighting for me, even I am not too unqualified to find a nursing job. He may ask me to settle for a less awesome position or pursue further training, but it will not be because He is unable to succeed otherwise.

Many times over the last several months, I have uttered the phrase, “I don't know whether God will do this, but I know He can.” God's answer has been, “Do you?” He has challenged me to believe fully that He can do all things. And I issue this challenge to all of you.

I don't know what God has in store for me, but whatever it is, it will not be a second-rate future that He settled upon because the other futures were impossible to acquire. My God is bigger than everything – all of it, all at the same time. Whatever your situation, God is bigger. Whatever your burden, God is stronger. He is bigger than death – even death of your dearest. He is bigger than illness – even incurable cancer and AIDS. He is bigger than divorce. He is bigger than same-sex attraction. He is bigger than unemployment. He created this entire massive universe, after all. Your plight cannot overwhelm Him - He can squash it like a bug.

This does not mean He certainly will. But don't for one second stop asking Him to help you – and don't let the deceiver convince you that He can't.

“Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong” (2 Cor 12:9-10). Today, I am content with my under-qualification, and I will not stop setting my sights ever higher. Lord, make me ever weaker, so that when I succeed, the world will know I did not do it on my own.

Spiders and Fuzz

Spiders freak me out. I have an irrational fear of tiny eight-legged creatures who are so fragile I have managed to kill a few accidentally. It's one of those fears that cannot be rationalized away, try as I might. If I live to be ninety, I will be a tiny ninety-year-old woman who can't kill a spider without wearing four flip flops, counting herself down, and smashing the poor spider three or more times, just to be sure it's really dead. And I'm sure the victory dance will still be as loud and dramatic as it is today.

Sometimes, this fear of spiders causes me to experience mild paralysis and elevated heart rate at the sight of a cleverly-disguised ball of fuzz. Without my contacts in, these wads of fabric become very convincing spiders. I often wonder whether the spiders who live in my walls spend hours contriving these practical jokes and then sit back and watch me freak out. I can't say I'd blame them – I'm sure it's quite a sight to behold.

I wish I could say spiders and fuzz are the only causes for mild paralysis and elevated heart rate. Being a worrier, I often worry myself into full-blown fear. Listing all the causes of such fear would take way too long, and would actually be quite unnecessary. With the possible exception of the irrational spider fear, the rest all have one common factor: I don't trust God enough to take care of ___. Usually, that blank contains the word “me.” Occasionally, it contains the name of a friend or family member I'm afraid of losing in one way or another, or who happens to be going through a tough time. This lack of trust in God makes all of my fears irrational fears – no different from my fear of tiny arachnids, and no less ridiculous than my fuzz paralysis. These situations I experience are mere fuzz in comparison with God's power. Even the more serious circumstances are tiny spiders next to a giant steel-toed boot. Even if I were to meet the tarantula of problems – the death of a loved one, poverty, cancer – God is big enough to squash it like a bug. “So we say with confidence, 'The Lord is my helper; I will not be afraid. What can mere mortals do to me?'” (Heb 13:6, NIV).

So even if I live the rest of my life petrified of spiders, I should be able to handle real life with grace and dignity – for what can mere spiders and fuzz do to my God?

Not Alone

"...Our whole being by its very nature is one vast need; incomplete, preparatory, empty yet cluttered, crying out for Him who can untie things that are now knotted together and tie up things that are still dangling loose." -- C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves

It's such a relief to know that I am not alone in feeling so desperate for God.

Standing Still

I don't cope well with change. I've lived in the same county since I was three years old. I've had the same best friend since I was … three years old. I've never lived more than fifteen minutes away from my parents. I held my first job for six years. And a few months ago when I got my hair cut shorter than it's ever been before, I had a mild panic attack. So you can imagine how I felt when the family whose nanny I had been since January moved out of state last month.

The first emotion I felt when I found out they were moving was grief: these two little girls I love to pieces were going somewhere I wouldn't see them every day. But on the occasions when the sadness took a break, I felt the panic setting in.

Being a control freak, I like to be prepared for everything that happens to me. I like to have plans A, B, and C in place, with a few more back-up plans prepared for each extenuating circumstance. I mentally prepare myself for each alternative. My strategies are organized flow-chart-style: If x is true, enact Plan A; if y is true, enact Plan B; if z is true, run away screaming. And so on.

I had no plan in place for being out of a job.

So I began planning. I considered all my options. I weighed each alternative. I set deadlines for myself. And I asked God to initial my proposal. His answer was an emphatic “No.”

So I went back to the drawing boards. I came up with different options, different methods, and a different time line. This time, I was hopeful that I would find approval. Again, God's answer was “No.”

Let me clarify what I mean by that. I didn't hear God say “No.” I didn't even encounter opposition that made me question myself. But every time I told God what I planned to do to amend my circumstances, I immediately felt uneasy. And even when I adjusted my methods, the uneasiness did not diminish. Each time, I thought I had come up with the wrong plan. But no plan I presented was met with approval.

Very gradually, I began to discover my error: I was taking control. I thought that if I didn't do something – if I didn't provide a solution – that no solution would be found.

My conversations with God began to take on a different tone, and slowly I felt Him whispering to me, “Do you trust Me?” Broken-hearted, I realized my answer was “No” – I had not been trusting Him.

After all He has done for me, I still think I can do better. After all He has taught me, I still think I know best. After all of the events in my life that seemed like disasters have been intricately woven into a beautiful tapestry of love and provision, I doubt He can provide for me.

That was a hard pill to swallow.

So now my methods are different. With strenuous effort, I am following the advice Samuel gave the Israelites: “Stand still and see this great thing the Lord is about to do before your eyes!” (1 Sam 12:16). I have stopped planning, and have begun to let God's plan happen to me. I will remain still until He tells me to move.

The most comforting realization is this: nothing will ever happen to me that catches God off guard or spoils His plans. There is nothing that can cause Him to say, “Oh, shucks. Now I have to go with plan B, and I'm gonna need Nora's help to do it.”

I have now been unemployed for three weeks. Nothing disastrous has happened yet.