Upside Down

It has been one of those weeks that takes a lot of all the stuff I need more of.  We are in week two of the low iodine diet and the thought and preparation that has gone into every single meal is starting to wear on me. My patience is thin. I know it could be worse, but I long for the opportunity to not have to think about every meal and every ingredient.

On Wednesday night I taught a lesson on The Beatitudes. We talked about the idea of each beatitude bearing a double blessing. The blessing of current condition--which is not necessarily a pleasant state, and the future blessing--the reward. I love The Beatitudes because they teach us what we don't really want to know: suffering or struggle can be a blessing. Little did I know how much I needed to hear myself speak these truths out loud.  

On the way home that night I stopped by the post office to get the mail. I pulled two packages out of the box. I sat in my car and looked at the first one addressed to me from the District Attorney. I felt my heartbeat begin to quicken, my stomach begin to turn. I knew what this was. Finally, after a lot of deep breathing and a call to my courage, I opened the package. Inside I found a letter detailing the arraignment and May court date of the man who robbed us before Christmas. There were forms instructing me of my rights as a victim, there was information regarding a possible subpoena to testify, there was a form for me to fill out detailing the impact this crime has had on my life. And it all came flooding back. 

Later that night, when I couldn't sleep, I opened the second package. It was a book of blessings I had ordered and didn't expect to receive until next week. In the introduction to his book, The Space Between Us, John  O'Donohue writes "...God is omnipresent, and life itself is the primal sacrament, namely the visible sign of invisible grace. The structures of our experience are the windows into the divine.When we are true to our call of experience, we are true to God." I breathed in those words and welcomed, at least for that night this blessing of experience. 

Of course, everyday is a new day, and when I awoke yesterday, I woke with a heaviness. As I went through the day, I found myself feeling more and more lonely, more and more angry, but only because I didn't want to let myself feel what was trying to surface again: fear. I had almost talked myself out of yoga class in the evening until I realized fear was what brought me to that class in the first place, and I couldn't let it take it away from me. Needless to say, by the time I got to the mat, I was a ball of issues. I struggled the entire time. Nothing came easily. Blessedly, our class was small last night and our teacher talkative with all of the stuff I needed to hear, so by the end of class when it was time to go to the wall and stand on our hands, I remembered why I was there. When Aaron asked me if I was ready to kick up on the wall--the thing I have always refused to do--I said "I don't want to, but I think I need to." And here is what I realized: When we have to call on our strength, we immediately feel weakest. When we have to be brave, we feel the most fearful. With the help of a compassionate teacher, I went up on that wall even though everything in my body told me not to. The moment was brief. I cussed. And then I cried. But I did it.  

On the way out of class, I found myself in conversation with a sweet soul of a woman. I had never known her name, but she has always been one of my safe people in class--she has an easy smile that she often directs at me. We stood in the parking lot talking for awhile. She asked me my story and spoke sweet, sweet words to me. She told me some great stories and shared her heart with me. She hugged me when we parted, and I was thankful that after being willing to be upside down for a moment, when I stood back up, there was someone standing there and that was where I found my blessing. In a parking lot, in the space between us.

In Reality

I have lost eight pounds. Granted, in comparison to some of my friends who have lost significant amounts of weight recently, this is just chicken feed as my granny used to say. But having lost significant amounts of weight in the past, I know that starting is the hardest part. That's when you have to get real.

For me, the reality was that I had let life beat me up. Instead of looking at life as a challenge--an adventure to be enjoyed-- the way I used to, I began to see it as something to endure. So I hunkered down and waited for the next attack. And to no surprise, each one came, and each time I balled up tighter in my foxhole. Life had gotten hard and scary so I hid. Literally and figuratively. I was a runner through most of my thirties and I ran freely. Joyfully, most of the time. Then I grew fearful of what could happen while I was out there. It is hard to run while carrying the weight of the world on your back. I learned that the quickest way to lose your love is to become afraid of it.

About a month ago, someone asked me what had been going on in my life. I told her the circumstances. And I told her how I felt. She said she knew that she didn't know me that well, but she didn't think that sounded like me. The cowering, the hiding, the lack of joy. She made a few more comments and suggestions and because I can't let many posts go by without mentioning yoga, I can tell you, that is how I ended up sitting on a mat, crosslegged, learning how to breathe.  Fear drove me there. Fear of people and circumstances, but also the fear of staying the person I had recently become.

I'm learning how to breathe again. I am learning how to sit still, mentally and physically and be fully present. I am learning to close my eyes without bracing myself for attack.  I am learning which boundaries to keep and which to relax. I am learning how to lean into that which is difficult and breathe through it. And I am learning that my reality is not good, nor bad. It just is. I am learning to let go, but knowing I had to take hold first. Life is so much easier to fight for when you stop fighting against it. 

"The woods are lovely, dark, and deep"

The following are excerpts from Jesus Calling by Sarah Young:

"Waves of adversity are washing over you, and you feel tempted to give up. As your circumstances consume more and more of your attention, you are losing sight of me. " February 27


"Don't look for affirmation in the wrong places: your own evaluations, or those of other people. The only source of real affirmation is My unconditional Love." February 28


"You are on the right path. Listen more to Me, and less to your doubts. I am leading you along the way I designed just for you. Therefore, it is a lonely way, humanly speaking." February 29


I am realizing more and more that I have a need for a daily devotional not just as a catalyst to dig into the Word, but also as a catalyst to look inward. I need to see the things within myself that I don't want to see so I can deal with the things that need to be dealt with. The last three days of my devotional have done just that. They have spoken to my desire to just give up (not even knowing what that looks like), feelings of inadequacy, and a loneliness that is just as palpable in a room full of people as it is when I lie awake in the middle of the night.

I'm guessing this is what one gets when they offer up their own ease and comfort for forty days. Why would we expect any less when we willingly walk into the wilderness? And I guess there is no other way to comprehend God's longing for our hearts to be only His, than to have all we want stripped away--even for a short time. I know God doesn't want me to be afraid, lonely, unseen, or inadequate. But maybe I need to feel those feelings when I look to humans or circumstances to fill a need they can't possibly fill. And maybe that is the wilderness journey I have to offer these next few weeks: the willingness to walk down a dark path, alone in order to know without a doubt that Someone goes before me to make the way.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep. --Robert Frost

"Who am I that You are mindful of me?"

"Then the LORD will create over all of Mount Zion and over those who assemble there a cloud of smoke by day and a glow of flaming fire by night; over everything the glory will be a canopy. It will be a shelter and shade from the heat of the day, and a refuge and hiding place from the storm and rain." Isaiah 4:5-6

Almost every run in my short history of running has started on this street in the picture. It is my safe place. My warm up lasts the length of this street and whether I am anticipating a great run or a difficult one, whether I start out carefree or budened, it is my favorite place to begin. In the heat, the canopy of old oak and pecan trees offers me dappled light and respite from the sun. In the rain, it is a giant, old umbrella of sorts, only letting through a fraction of the storm raining down on me.

And isn't that what it is like to sit under the protection of a Savior? I think I finally understood this idea for the first time last week. As I started down Avenue J, I voiced in my head my thankfulness for the shade. And out of nowhere, I was suddenly struck by this scripture from Isaiah that I couldn't even completely remember.  I was completely humbled to truly understand for the first time what it means to sit in the shelter of God. I have always thought of God as holding me in the midst of storms. I could wrap my head around that thought. I could accept that I would have to bear everything that rained down on me, but at least I could do it if I was being held. It had never occured to me that what I actually experience is just a fraction of the storm. I am protected because I sit under the canopy of God's Glory.

I used to think I had to protect myself, that God had too many other people to protect. And just as dangerously, I thought the enemy wouldn't bother to mess with me because I wasn't worth messing with. I am humbled by the thought that I am worthy of both attack and protection. I have been attacked in the last couple of years in very specific ways. Ways that played on my fear of violence, ways that dragged up hurts I thought were healed, ways that made me feel vulnerable and unsafe, ways that played on my fear of loss and the unknown. But worst of all, ways that made me feel like I had to bear it all alone.

But I am realizing more and more that I am being protected in ways that are making me no longer lean on my understanding. Ways that are making me redefine security. Ways that are making me grateful for the present and vulnerable in the way God wants me to be vulnerable. Ways that are forcing me to rise up when I want to hide. Ways that give me courage and strength and humility. Ways that make me sit in awe and speak with hope. Ways that make me seek refuge. Ways that remind me daily that His ways are not my ways. And for that, I thank God.

The Narrow Space

This blog comes to you today from the narrow space between a rock and a hard place. At least, it feels like that is where we are. My goal for the next month is to not grow bitter about this place. I won't complain about how dark and cold it feels, but I will make an effort to scoot into the light. You guys may need to remind me to scoot over sometimes and let you sit down. I will try to remember that you will be the ones who bring the light with you.

So I will sit here and hold my husband's hand. And I will know that God crouches there beside us in the narrow space. And He brings His friends.