"You know what I figured out today? Maybe God has a bigger plan for me than I have for myself."--Jamie (Mandy Moore) in "A Walk to Remember"
I really do have a hard time imagining the possible, and even knowing what I really want, because I am afraid to hope for something that might not come true. I would rather not hope at all than risk being disappointed--which is a major problem. But I do have expectations, even if I don't have wild, beautiful dreams. I have plans, and modest hopes, and ideas about what seems achievable, and I cling to them. They are all I have, after all!
"If you do not feel strong desires for the manifestation of the glory of God, it is not because you have drunk deeply and are satisfied. It is because you have nibbled so long at the table of the world. Your soul is stuffed with small things, and there is no room for the great." --John Piper, A_Hunger_for_God
But maybe I actually have far more available to me. Maybe God can take better care of me than I can take care of myself. Maybe my vision is limited and overly cynical. Maybe I am too hesitant. (On Sunday, my pastor asked us: "When was the last time you failed because you took a risk, out of faith?" Peter sank when he walked on water, but he had the faith to be in the position to fail.) Just because I don't see a better possibility doesn't mean there isn't one. Just because it's not what I expected doesn't mean it's not good. Maybe I set my standards too low. Maybe my eyes are closed to what could be.
"To Him who is able to do immeasurably more than we can ask or even imagine, according to his power that is at work in us, to Him be glory in the Church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever."--Paul of Tarsus (Eph. 3:20-21)
Maybe the world is bigger and more beautiful than I imagine. Maybe the fates are kinder than I think they are. Maybe I'm lucky. Or maybe God really is in charge of everything, like I say I believe, and maybe He really does love me, like I try so hard to know.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Monday, March 2, 2009
Fear
I am homesick. I think it's because I am afraid of what's here.
I am afraid of where I am going. What am I doing? How do I deal with these situations? What is it that scares me about the possibilities, about that particular interaction, about growing closer, about talking and talking and talking, about staring?
I don't know. All I know to do is to write, and sleep, and hope. I know to face the things I want to run from. But the truth is that I want to run away, home, to the warm weather and my own room, to silence, to the mountains and the beach. I want to run 3000 miles and 3 hours of time difference away. (Difference: I cannot quantify how much difference there is between us. When you care about all the same things, how big a problem is it that you seek them in completely different ways?) I want physical and temporal distance to keep me safe, to be the guards so I don't have to guard myself, to be barriers so I don't have to erect them myself. I don't want to push you away, but I also can't seem to let you in. What is it about the way we interact that makes me feel burdened? Why am I afraid, when this is everything I thought I was looking for?
I want to be home, I want to be a child, I want life to be simple. Nothing is wrong, but something is wrong, and I can't name it.
But maybe the real reason I'm homesick is just that it's been a month. Maybe it's just that it's March and the snow is pouring down. The sky doesn't exist today; it is all full of snow. No such thing as space. A snowflake occupies every place--just like person occupies every place in my mind, in my schedule. I am sick for solitude. I am sick for the familiar, for the family. I have never thought of myself as a fearful person, but I find I have more in common with Much-Afraid than I realized. When will I find my hinds' feet and reach the High Places? I'll stop pretending: it's not the snowy weather or the number of weeks away that make me long for home, but the climate of my soul and the number of fears in my heart.
I am afraid of where I am going. What am I doing? How do I deal with these situations? What is it that scares me about the possibilities, about that particular interaction, about growing closer, about talking and talking and talking, about staring?
I don't know. All I know to do is to write, and sleep, and hope. I know to face the things I want to run from. But the truth is that I want to run away, home, to the warm weather and my own room, to silence, to the mountains and the beach. I want to run 3000 miles and 3 hours of time difference away. (Difference: I cannot quantify how much difference there is between us. When you care about all the same things, how big a problem is it that you seek them in completely different ways?) I want physical and temporal distance to keep me safe, to be the guards so I don't have to guard myself, to be barriers so I don't have to erect them myself. I don't want to push you away, but I also can't seem to let you in. What is it about the way we interact that makes me feel burdened? Why am I afraid, when this is everything I thought I was looking for?
I want to be home, I want to be a child, I want life to be simple. Nothing is wrong, but something is wrong, and I can't name it.
But maybe the real reason I'm homesick is just that it's been a month. Maybe it's just that it's March and the snow is pouring down. The sky doesn't exist today; it is all full of snow. No such thing as space. A snowflake occupies every place--just like person occupies every place in my mind, in my schedule. I am sick for solitude. I am sick for the familiar, for the family. I have never thought of myself as a fearful person, but I find I have more in common with Much-Afraid than I realized. When will I find my hinds' feet and reach the High Places? I'll stop pretending: it's not the snowy weather or the number of weeks away that make me long for home, but the climate of my soul and the number of fears in my heart.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Love
Disclaimer: Dear reader, please don't take this as addressed to you, but as a statement of this writer's struggles between reserve, expressiveness, false love (based on what I feel), true love (the I Cor. 13 kind), self-control, et cetera sentimentae.
The truth is, I miss you, and I don't know when I'll find a friendship like ours again. Maybe never: not because "we had something special" but because you are special. Each person is unique; each friendship--two unique people coming together--is unique. There may be someone else who resembles you in various relevant characteristics, but there is only one of you.
But I can never say this to you. I don't want to hurt you again by creating premises for false hope. I don't want to foster delusion. I don't want to make your wishes wrestle with your reason. I want to make things better but the only ways I know how to make you feel better will ultimately make things worse. Real love bears all things, hopes all things, believes all things. Real love protects.
Ultimately, I have to face the truth that I don't know how to love the way love is meant to be done. Agape is out of my power, no matter how well-intentioned I am.
But there is hope, because "It does not depend on man's desire or effort, but on God's mercy" (Romans 9:16). By the grace of God: real, hard, discerning, consistent, far-seeing, selfless love does happen. So, Lord, I am waiting.
The truth is, I miss you, and I don't know when I'll find a friendship like ours again. Maybe never: not because "we had something special" but because you are special. Each person is unique; each friendship--two unique people coming together--is unique. There may be someone else who resembles you in various relevant characteristics, but there is only one of you.
But I can never say this to you. I don't want to hurt you again by creating premises for false hope. I don't want to foster delusion. I don't want to make your wishes wrestle with your reason. I want to make things better but the only ways I know how to make you feel better will ultimately make things worse. Real love bears all things, hopes all things, believes all things. Real love protects.
Ultimately, I have to face the truth that I don't know how to love the way love is meant to be done. Agape is out of my power, no matter how well-intentioned I am.
But there is hope, because "It does not depend on man's desire or effort, but on God's mercy" (Romans 9:16). By the grace of God: real, hard, discerning, consistent, far-seeing, selfless love does happen. So, Lord, I am waiting.
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