Tissues, Tears, and Altar Moments - Given up, Given Over

So I have this package of tissues that I keep in my purse at all times.

They're from China.  Given to me by a friend as a "just in case" as I ran out the door of her flat to explore The Forbidden City.

I never opened them... That is until the day I left and my heart broke.  The day I sat in the back seat of an old car, windows rolled all the way down, and listened to the cries of "Zàijiàn, stef-ah-nyay! Wǒ ài nǐ!" I don't know much Chinese, but those are two phrases I never have forgotten: Goodbye and I love you!  And the tears fell freely, even as I laughed at those precious little bodies stuck half way out the second story windows, arms waving wildly.

Those tissues have lasted me this long because that's the only time I use them: when tears fall and my heart breaks.  I only use them during the "I give up" moments.  The "I'd like to plan my own way, thanks, but I am called to be a follower, not a planner" moments.  The wrestling with God moments.  The "Peniel - I have seen God face-to-face" moments.  They only come out in those moments when I realize in a deep way that the cost of love is grief, but love is always worth the price.

And there are moments - altar moments - when the call of God and the weight of His glory make it all too clear how much of a failure I am.  How weak and deeply human.  How prone to fear and idolatry, especially the idol of control.  And it doesn't get me very far.  And in those altar moments, the grace-filled call to surrender all is so clear, yet so painful to heed because, while I want the Lord to have all of me fully given over, the Lord does give and take away and to bless His name can be hard.  But I need to get to that heart-place daily.  Because "He who did not spare His own Son, but gave Him up for us all, how will He not also graciously give us all things?"  (Romans 8:32)

All.  Things.  Maybe it won't look exactly like I imagine, but He will not withhold the desires of my heart.  This good God who loves me so deeply will hold nothing back.  So moment by moment, I need to practice giving up this trying to make things happen and giving over my heart and my life to Him to refine and reshape my desires and dreams.

And that is so. much. harder. than it sounds.  But I long to live that way... Given up and given over.

When your world is shaking - Breath Prayers

I've felt it all day, that inability to catch my breath.  My life is in transition again, and changes, even the little ones, even the ones we know will be just fine... changes shake up our worlds.  And when my world is shaking, I'd like to sing with JJ Heller that Heaven stands and I stay secure in His hands (because that is Truth).  But the reality is when my world shakes I shake and anxiety kicks in and I can't catch my breath.  So I wind up and run, because effectiveness and efficiency have always been my answer to anxiety in the transitions, but that's not a good answer!

I learned about this spiritual discipline when I was in a prep class for my trip to China in 2011.  It comes from the story Jesus tells about the tax collector who went the temple to pray.  "But the tax collector stood at a distance. He would not even look up to heaven, but beat his breast and said, ‘God, have mercy on me, a sinner.’" (Luke 18:13)  Breathe in: Lord Jesus, Son of God.  Breathe out: Have mercy on me, a sinner.  This idea eventually became part of the mass.  In the Latin it is Kyrie Eleison.  In: Kyrie (Lord).  Out: Eleison (Have mercy).  Lord, have mercy.  And yes.  It says so much because I need mercy.  I am so, so human.  I sin.  I try to run my own life.  I grow fearful instead of trusting.  When my world is shaking, I need mercy to steady me.  

And I always find it.  I count gifts I never deserved.  I wake up and hear Him call me Beloved before I do a thing.  

Oh, He shows mercy to this sinner moment by moment, breath by breath.  And that's the discipline of breath prayers.  I inhale Jesus and exhale a plea for mercy, then repeat and find the prayer answered, because only mercy keeps us breathing, and only Christ keeps us steady when our changing worlds are shaking

Stop, Stoop, and Scoop - Gather the Manna

Sometimes I just don't know how to walk this life.  I pretend I do... with my big talk and pretty words.  I try to... by writing gifts and writing Word on the walls of the mind, hoping it will sink into my heart, travel that farthest distance.  Sometimes though, life gets blurry and foggy and I am tired and worn and I'm good at forgetting and getting distracted and bad at the discipline of stopping and giving it over and putting one foot in front of the other.  And it all goes over my head and I can't get it to sink in and anxiety and anger come easier than patience and joy.

And maybe what I need is to step out of my tent, out of this flesh in this everyday life, and gather the manna. I need to get down on my knees and scoop it up, breathe His Spirit deep.  Because I can see it, this mysterious providence I don't deserve, and I can even be thankful for it, marvel at the gift, hear how this "What is it?" speaks of deep, deep love... I can see it and still walk by it, still hunger deep until I stop, fully stop, stoop down in humility and gather the manna.  God can provide, but I will not be sustained until I drop down to my knees, scoop it up and put it to my lips.  God can provide, but I must GATHER and EAT.  God fulfills, but I must drink.  Oh Lord, let me scoop and gather and not walk by!

A Mother's Day Story - Marvel in the Mystery

I never would have expected it.  I just wanted to take the Montana roommate out for some good Mexican food.  I've been to that restaurant dozens of times, ordered the same thing, never even bothered to look at a menu, and I am caught completely by surprise.  I don't even remember how it started, just the poignant joy.  My mother telling stories fifty years old, stories I've never heard before, dripping rich with heritage and history.  Stories of growing up in Mexico, living with her grandparents while her widowed  mother works cleaning houses for those living the American dream, trying to provide, and her siblings go to school.

We laugh at the stories of a frizzy-haired girl, skin sun-darkened, running around the dirt roads of Mexico in nothing but a pair of ruffled underwear, sipping tea and munching on cookies while her grandfather hangs out with his buddies.  We laugh until we cry as she tells us how she and her cousins made mud pies decorated with bottle caps and rocks and actually sold them to neighbors.. until those kind souls began locking them out because they had enough bottle cap pies to last a lifetime.

And when we get to the part where I'm picturing that five year old girl who would one day become my mother standing in line at the mill with her bucket of maiz boiled with cilantro and lime clad, as usual, only in her ruffled underwear and faithfully waiting to take masa home so her grandmother - my great-grandmother - can make the day's tortillas... When we get to that part, I see my mother is really crying as she remembers how happy those days were when all she had was all she needed.  And I have never loved her more, this woman who has loved me and hurt with me and raised me.  Her pictures are still so vivid and I can see her pulling them up in the theater of her mind.  Grandfather, the Spaniard with khaki shirt and pants, straw hat and ankle-high boots.  Grandmother with her mantilla around her head, floor-length skirt encircling her as she sits by the fire cooking tortillas - hand molding them and placing them on the comal one by one.  My mother counting and recounting the gifts.  And I feel the prickling sting of conviction for the number of times I have cried out that it is not enough when it is and it always will be.

And I marvel in the mystery of stories written on hearts.  Generations forming and reforming.  Good always outweighing bad.  Joy transcending.  God always present, even if unknown or unnoticed.  And truly it doesn't make sense.  How the messiness of life can somehow be forgotten in light of the joyful memories.  How, when all we have is all we need, it is enough.  And there is this mystery to it.  A mystery to love transcending.  A mystery to every relationship in our lives.  A mystery to how a life begins and where a life can lead.  And I marvel in it each day.  Ecclesiastes says it this way, "Just as you do not know how the breath enters the bones in a mother's womb, so you do not know the work of God who makes everything." (11:5)  Ah yes.  A mother's story.  A life's beginning.  A life's living.  God's work.  Every one, every day, a mystery in which to marvel.

A Lifeline for the Worn - What the Heart Knows by Heart...

I click on the video and it makes me smile.  Big.  These two sisters whose words have changed lives, laughing as they stumble through this Word that gives Life.  And I am reminded.  It's the joy in their words and faces, the way they can't stop themselves from injecting "Wow!" and "I love this!" and "This is my favorite part!" between every single verse.  The way she punctuates the phrases with her hands and closes her eyes as if savoring each syllable.

She says it in a way this musician can understand: "Your life can't sing unless you play... and you can't really play unless you know how to play through the hard parts... but if you want to make music through the hard parts - play the left hand alone... because when you can really write out the left hand from memory, you can really play!"

These Words I am learning to write out by heart are Life.  They are a Lifeline.  They are rich and sweet, like honey on the lips.  It is the Word of God, and I need it desperately.   I am reminded of how much I long for the Truth of God to abide in me.  I long for it to change and transform me.  And it's not just memorization for religion's sake.  It's not memorization because it's right or expected.  It's like inhaling, learning a new language, a heart language.

And it's this: What the heart knows by heart is what the heart knows, and I want my heart to know God is perfect and worthy of all my trust and thanks in all things.  I want my heart to know this jar of clay holds a treasure, that God loves ALWAYS, that He is my source of peace and joy and... all.  And so I memorize and learn His words by heart so I might know.  So I might LIVE.

When there's no new song - Rehearse the Refrain

Some days it's harder to put on the lenses.  The flame just doesn't want to light.  I listen for the whisper but my ears seem deaf.  And so I put one foot in front of the other, let dog out, brush teeth, make bed, change clothes, then sit before the mirror to do hair and makeup... and sometimes that's the hardest, best moment.  The hair won't lay right and the makeup just won't cover it all and I have to look weakness herself straight in the eye.  And I don't know how to pray or what today holds, and it's hard to remember why I'm getting up and doing it all again.  So I force my lips to form those same ancient words, the ones I've been repeating daily for months, the ones Jesus taught us to pray two thousand and some years ago, because I am a woman in deep need.

Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name...

I say the words slowly, try to savor them, and after that final "forever," I keep going and I feel like a broken record, crying out for eyes to see and for daily bread and I'm begging God to redeem my brokenness and bless those I love and meet their needs and I've been here before... yesterday, last year... and I've said the same words and I'm here again.  And I long for a new song and, without a doubt, there is a place in this Becoming life for just that, but today... today I have nothing new to offer.  Just the same life that I placed on the altar yesterday and keep taking back up and giving back over, hoping I'll leave it there longer this time.

Today, and maybe everyday, I just need to be reminded.

I look in the mirror and I wonder if people see in me something I don't or if I see things in myself they don't, I feel the fear of being exposed rising, I ask the "What's next?" question... I need to be reminded.  So I rehearse the refrain, the part of the song that keeps returning, that we always come back to.  And it's the first part of the song we learn by heart and the last part we forget.  I rehearse the refrain...

God is always good and I am always loved.

Great is Thy faithfulness!  Great is Thy faithfulness!  Morning by morning new mercies I see!  Thou changest not, Thy compassions, they fail not.  Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord unto me!

With all creation I sing, praise to the King of Kings.  You are my everything and I will adore you, because the answer to anxiety is the adoration of Christ!

This God, His way is perfect! (Psalm 18:30)

And of course, always coming back to that one word - I wear it around my neck now, a counterweight to keep me balanced - Eucharisteo.  Grace. Joy. Thanks. Grace. Joy. Thanks.  And again, and again it rises.  When circumstances change.  When I grieve (and I always will for it is the reverse side of that treasured coin, Love).  When I'm at a loss again, I do this with lips, with heart, with tears, with guttural groans.  I sit, just like I tell my babies to do at the keyboard, and I practice.  I rehearse the refrain.

Why Seeing IS Believing - Count Gifts

I need to confess something.  I am deeply afraid of being alone.  I am afraid that those I love and am coming to depend on will leave, walk away, grow tired of me.  I'm afraid I'll never find the Adam to my Eve, that help-meet.  I'm afraid I'll prove not good enough to be loved and cared for, not good enough to build lasting relationships and find people who want to walk life with me.  And as I write these things down, I feel almost foolish, because hasn't God proven over and over that He is faithful and never leaves and His timing perfect?

But the fear is real because faith and love, as Luci Shaw says, are intangible and unseen and I can move in that direction but never achieve full certainty.  "God Himself, a Spirit real but invisible calls [me] to live this Adventure guided by a hand and an arm that [I] cannot see or prove in irrefutable terms."  So how then, do I follow?  And perhaps Ann is right.  I feel it deep now, deeper than the beauty of the words on the page: If perfect love casts out fear, let me count the ways He loves!

I can't see this God or the arm that guides, but I can see 1,000 and more gifts.  All around, 1,000 reminders that He loves.  Oh how He loves!  My heart sings.  And so I count the gifts and I whisper thanks and I recite Psalm 18:30, "This God - His way is perfect, the words of the Lord proves true, He is a shield for all those who take refuge in Him."  And I believe.

And this is what it all comes down to: Eucharisteo, this trifecta of joy and grace and thanksgiving, is all about love.  Call it what it is! Because it's not enough to keep a list or give thanks or name graces or seek joy.  I must call it what it is!  Because ultimately what we are thankful for, what grace is, why we have joy, the Eucharist itself comes down to love.  Why did Jesus, when facing death and unrelenting suffering, betrayal and rejection, give thanks?  Because of God's deep love for us!  The breaking of the body, the drinking of the vine comes down to love.  And this isn't  new; it's just finally clicking.  And if I am to LIVE, I must live in light of this:  God loves deep and real.

And it is not the trite "God will never leave you" that gets me through.  It is the fact that God loves deep and relentless and shows it 1,000 ways.  And if we who are evil know how to give good gifts, how much better are His?  And I can even suffer broken like Jesus, like Job, and still give thanks, thanks in the brokenness because HE LOVES!

Lord, teach me to live this language of love, to use Eucharisteo to lead me back to your arms, time and again.