in a rut

I'm stuck.

I'm stuck in this unending pattern of watching and waiting. Only it's not the really holy kind of watching and waiting they tell you will lead to God's perfect will for your life. It's the kind that gets snarled with barbs or doubt and fear. Maybe the waiting is in vain. Maybe there's nothing to watch. Maybe it's the voices in my head telling me to keep waiting or stop waiting or whatever.

Gracious. I'm tired just thinking about it.

But here I am. Watching. And waiting. And hoping like crazy that I won't wake up tomorrow and find out that this was all a gigantic mistake.

Analysis Paralysis

I always laugh when I hear the title of today's post. It's how we in my office describe the powers-that-be who think an idea to death and then end up doing what we were already doing in the first place. It can be pretty demotivating to see a great idea get stuck in the mire of worry and overthinking.

But I realized that I'm guilty of it in my own life. I've been thinking about making some big changes in my life for a while and every time I think I get to the place where I'm ready to make a decision and make my move, I chicken out. I've been considering buying a house for over a year. Over a YEAR. But I've done little more than a casual online search. Because I'm afraid. Of getting in over my head, of having to do all the fix-it stuff myself (I'm power tool-challenged).

And I guess taking the plunge and buying a house is sort of admitting defeat in a way. I've always thought that I would have a house with the person I married - whether it was already his or we bought it together. But if I bought my own house I would be saying, "I'm giving up on the marriage thing." Is this a logical train of thought?

Maybe I'm paralyzing myself in analysis. Again.

divine touch

I'm writing this down before it slips through my grasp again. It's something I've been thinking about for the past few days, an image I can't get out of my head. So it probably needs a place to grab a bit of air.

I was listening to a pastor over the weekend (I wish I could remember who) and he was making the distinction between God asking me to put my hand in His versus Him saying I'm holding your hand. I never really thought about the difference between the two, but it's comforting to know that when I'm too weary or defeated to stretch out my hand, I don't have to. Because His hand is right there, guiding me through the valley. And He won't let go.

Basketful of Eggs

Every time I think I know what I’m going to write, some other compendium of thoughts comes to the forefront, and I can’t do anything until I’ve managed to round them up and get them down on paper.

I’ve been thinking about the old song “I’m putting all my eggs in one basket…” and how much it relates to my life right now. Over the past year I have gone from having a life that was surrounded by baskets of lots of different people and activities, to one that has essentially centered around one basket. It’s been a basket that’s been warm and cozy at some points, and that’s been downright painful at others. It’s been bright and shiny, and it’s been dark and dingy. And this week it seems to have gone missing.

So my question is, how can I remove my eggs from that basket if I can’t find it? Does that mean I’m lost? I know I probably should have played my cards differently on this one, but I was so resistant to the idea of playing in this situation that I ended up losing the game — and myself — in the end anyway. The scary thing is, I can’t decide whether it’s better to stop looking for the basket and start over or to hunt the basket down so I can empty it.

Scarier still, what if the basket doesn’t realize it’s missing?

Thanksgiving

I’ve been thinking a lot about this Thursday. When this week began, I was actually dreading the holiday for the first time in several years. I was lamenting that I don’t have family in the area, that it’ll be such a quiet holiday, and that it seems like every other person I know is doing something special or fun to celebrate. You got it: I was feeling sorry for myself.

But I realized that this is pretty silly, if you think about it. If I stop to evaluate things, I have so much to be thankful for. I have the day off. I have a mom who loves me more than anything. I have a place to sleep, to keep my stuff warm and dry. I have food to eat. Food I like to eat. I have a car to get me places. And even though they will be off celebrating with their families, I have good friends. Friends who think I matter. Who care about me. I’m healthy. I have a job that gives me enough money to pay for what I need. I have a God who loves me even when I am so unbelievably hard to love.

But still, in the dark corners of my heart a slight residue of sadness remains. Why am I not more thankful?

disappointment

Recently I’ve been feeling disappointed a lot. I was getting ready to write that someone had disappointed me a lot recently. But can a person really do that? Or am I really doing it to myself? What I mean is, am I disappointing myself because I’m letting this person have control over this emotion? Because when I feel disappointed, it’s not just “Oh, that’s too bad that this person didn’t do fill-in-the-blank.” It’s, “that’s too bad, and I wonder what’s wrong with me, and what should I have done differently.” It’s always my fault.

My friend Amy said over the weekend that she feels responsible for people’s feelings. Like if someone came out to support something she was doing, she would want reassurance that they were having a good time. Their good time would help her to have a better time. I can really identify with that. The source of this disappointment, assuming it’s not me and is the person who triggers it, probably has no idea. But because I want to be sure that person is feeling well, I never tell the person what they’re doing. What sense does that make? It seems like it should be so easy to just get it out there and move on. But it's not.

I’ve been trying to conquer this negative emotion by thinking about the One who can never disappoint. Because right now, if I knew that absolutely NO ONE was incapable of disappointment, it would be hard to go on. In fact, knowing this is probably the only reason I made it out of bed today. The problem: my head knows it, but my heart is still clueless.

So I cling with all my fingernails to this truth, and pray for peace to make it 5 more minutes. Another hour. Another day. I pray tomorrow is better.

Roller coaster

It's been a long week. I had a sort of "circle of life" experience on Monday. A friend of mine lost her dad to leukemia on Monday morning, and then my good friend delivered her long-awaited baby girl in the afternoon. I know that people die every day and babies are born every day, but I was just struck by the timing of it all. At the beginning of the week there were tears of joy at the hospital, holding a new, wrinkly, soft bundle of arms and legs. And yesterday there were tears of sorrow at the graveside for my friend as she faces a future without her daddy.

My friend Chris asked me if the sad tears were about unresolved family issues of my own. And maybe he's right about that. But I think this week also brought me face to face with the reality that it could be my mom one day. In the back of my mind, I still have 50, 60 years to hang out with her. But this man was younger than my mom. We're just not as young as we think we are.

This week has been a mirror for a situation I've been facing for the past couple of months. The highs of something new and fun and extraordinarily amazing. The lows of something that seems to be coming to an end. I know there's a lesson tucked in here somewhere. I just haven't figured out what it is yet. Nobody tells you about this stuff when you're growing up.

Greensleeves

I am never more aware of living in the far country than at this time of year. It's barely November, and everywhere you turn is already blanketed in Christmas music and decorations. But it's always during the next 6 weeks or so that I feel torn between the commercialism of the TV specials and shopping and the reason we celebrate in the first place. Every year I vow to be more "holy" in my remembrance, and every year I fall far short of my goal.

This year I'm cautiously optimistic. I just hope I don't wake up on December 26th wishing I'd done it all differently. It is just another reminder of how much I need and receive His grace.

So Lord, with 47 days to go, give me the wisdom and clarity to bask in the joy and love that led You to send Your Son to be flesh and dwell among us. Let my eyes not get crossed in the Charlie Brown lights and shiny wrapping paper, but let them focus instead on a humble manger, with a baby already cross-bound. Let me not be so focused on finishing my Christmas shopping that I miss opportunities to serve those who need Your love. And let whatever progress I make toward this goal be offered to You as a sacrifice of praise, because we both know it's not my efforts. I am just the vessel.

Life in the Far Country

What does "Life in the Far Country" mean? It's a nod to an artist whose music I am especially fond of these days. He wrote a song called "The Far Country" and named his album after it. It's based on Meister Eckhart's quote "God being at home, while we are in the far country."

The more I think about that, the more its truth pierces me. I live in a world that is not my home. And every day I struggle against the desire to find satisfaction and approval here. Meanwhile, a mansion is being prepared for me. And how many days do I walk through this life as though this were the end. Thank goodness it's not.

That home gives me hope.

My First Real Blog

My friend Amy has been telling me for years now that I should jump into the waters of the blog river. Why blog, I thought. Who will read this stuff? Is having a blog just having an indulgent page out there in space? But for some reason, now it just makes sense. With every day that passes, every hour that evaporates, I am losing pieces of memories and experiences that make me who I am.

I may never have visitors to this site. But I somehow feel a sense of relief just knowing it's here. Like a good friend at the end of a hard day.

Welcome.