Why do I feel as if I am being broken . . . . and reformed?
This evening I realized that I am afraid, possibly more frightened than I have ever been in my life, yet I have no desire to bolt. I'm not even frozen in place. I am excited. Energized. Alive. In a way I have never been before. I look about me with eyes that see more than walls and buildings, roads and pavements, cars and people. I see life. I see potential. I see the future with my waking eyes, as if it were printed on the lenses of a pair of glasses. It isn't rosy. It's real. But it's still amazing. Unbelievable. Unfathomable. Inspiring.
I'm holding my breath. My head spinning. My heart pounding. My eyes filled with tears. When did life become so beautiful? When did I learn to see it? When did fear cease to be an impediment? Why is my soul broken, yet beautifully whole?
Is this what it means? His strength is made perfect in my weakness. Faith is the evidence of things unseen. Perhaps it is faith that has covered my eyes with new lenses. Perhaps it is the very brokenness of my soul that gives room for divine strength.
In the midst of the chaos. In the midst of a world with no guarantees. I can no longer say of my future that it is 'full of uncertainty' because I am no longer uncertain. I have been shorn of my doubt. I stand before the Lord, in the beauty of his holiness, with nothing to offer but my brokenness.
And he smiles at me. . . . because now, at last, he can use me. Finally I am ready to receive the gifts he is eager to give. I have a taste, the wonder of the plan of God on my tongue.
I want more.
30 August, 2008
22 August, 2008
Fears, Future and Expectation
My new artist of interest released his second CD this week. The first track is entitled "Give Me Your Eyes." The singer ponders the crowds of people we pass by every day: "all these people, going somewhere, why have I never cared?" The crux of the song is the singer's prayer "Give me your eyes for just one second/ Give me your eyes so I can see/ Everything that I've been missing/ Give me your love for humanity/ Give me your arms for the broken hearted . . ." Just now, as I listened to the lyrics, my eyes filled with tears, as I thought of the people I have seen on the streets of Cardiff. From the man by the side of the alley with a blanket and a battered umbrella, trying to shelter from the rain to the scores of professionals that I pass on Queen Street every time I go into the city centre. Sometimes I just stand and watch: the passersby, the street performers, the rugby or football supporters on their way to a game, the mothers with small children. What are they thinking? Why are they here? What do they want out of life? Do they enjoy performing on the street? Why are they homeless? Does that mother love her child? Why do they smoke? The questions multiply as I watch and wonder. Somehow I have a heart for these people, but only in a small way.
That was when it hit me, for weeks I have been struggling with loneliness and fear. I identified the fear with my apprehension that I will not be allowed to remain in Wales after the expiration of my visa at the end of January. I fear above all things that I will not be allowed to stay where my heart is. Perhaps this is my greatest fear, but it has a twin. I also fear what will happen when I pass the end of January, when I'm issued that next visa, when my future seriously begins. Because at that point I will be given challenges and asked to do things that I would have declared impossible even six months ago. Testing, strengthening, 'well done. . . I will put you in charge of many things' - the words that I have dreaded, and yet they are the words that I am striving to hear.
My struggles in the past weeks have also been in the area of over-analysis, something that will not astonish anyone who knows me well. Having been made aware that I will be put on the preaching rota for this coming year, I have struggled to see past my ambivalence: is this something I want to do or not? When I said this to Graham yesterday, he looked confused. "When I accepted that I was called, I just did it. I didn't analyze it." It was an effective way of telling me that I was chasing my tail, even if that wasn't what he set out to say. As I was thinking last night, mulling over my conversation with Graham, a phrase popped into my mind. Perhaps I just need to accept that I have accepted it. Maybe my analysis is looking for something that isn't there, because I have changed, but it happened so suddenly that I didn't realize it.
That wasn't the only thing that was accomplished by the conversation with my pastor yesterday. Toward the end of our time together, I realized something: the prospect is exciting, and I'm not the only one who thinks so. The future might be daunting, it might be frightening, it will change me and it will challenge me, but. . . wow, I can't wait!
That was when it hit me, for weeks I have been struggling with loneliness and fear. I identified the fear with my apprehension that I will not be allowed to remain in Wales after the expiration of my visa at the end of January. I fear above all things that I will not be allowed to stay where my heart is. Perhaps this is my greatest fear, but it has a twin. I also fear what will happen when I pass the end of January, when I'm issued that next visa, when my future seriously begins. Because at that point I will be given challenges and asked to do things that I would have declared impossible even six months ago. Testing, strengthening, 'well done. . . I will put you in charge of many things' - the words that I have dreaded, and yet they are the words that I am striving to hear.
My struggles in the past weeks have also been in the area of over-analysis, something that will not astonish anyone who knows me well. Having been made aware that I will be put on the preaching rota for this coming year, I have struggled to see past my ambivalence: is this something I want to do or not? When I said this to Graham yesterday, he looked confused. "When I accepted that I was called, I just did it. I didn't analyze it." It was an effective way of telling me that I was chasing my tail, even if that wasn't what he set out to say. As I was thinking last night, mulling over my conversation with Graham, a phrase popped into my mind. Perhaps I just need to accept that I have accepted it. Maybe my analysis is looking for something that isn't there, because I have changed, but it happened so suddenly that I didn't realize it.
That wasn't the only thing that was accomplished by the conversation with my pastor yesterday. Toward the end of our time together, I realized something: the prospect is exciting, and I'm not the only one who thinks so. The future might be daunting, it might be frightening, it will change me and it will challenge me, but. . . wow, I can't wait!
18 August, 2008
I used to live here.
I used to live in this place. In fact, in a way, this would have been a good day. Today I'm not despairing. The truth is, at this moment, I despise myself. Foolish, isn't it? Irrational. Perpetuating the cycle that got me here in the first place. I could unpack it all. I could explain how the anger springs from hurt, how the hurt springs from loneliness and fear, how these things are routed in experiences I have had, or desires I now have, and how all of it is an exercise in futility because God can prevail in spite of my fears, loneliness, stupidity, fill-in-negative-noun-here.
This is when my brain gets the better of me. The more education I get, the more I over-think, second-guess and analyze. Never has the mantra don't think about it, just do it been more important, and rarely have I been less inclined to heed it. Plugging my ears and singing isn't helping. It doesn't make anything go away. It doesn't solve any problems. It doesn't get anything done. It only wastes time putting off the inevitable in a childish and irresponsible bid to escape from reality.
Did I mention that I despise myself?
Somehow I sense that my true self is stronger, more upright, sharper and wiser than ever before in my life, but it is lost and suffocated in the embrace of this clingy, reptilian, overwhelming 'besetting sin'. Even as I see this, I lose the power to will, the desire to know. Instead the desire to surrender overwhelms me. It is so hard to fight. Why not just give in? Of course, I know all the answers to that question, but while I retain the will not to give in, I cannot seem to find the will to stop listening, to through off this thing that is hindering me, to run with perseverance. I cannot hear. I cannot see. I cannot breathe.
Even as I cry out to God for deliverance, I wonder if I really want it. I doubt if he will really do it. I feel the inevitability that I will find myself in this place again at some point. I used to live here. In many ways, it would be so much easier to stay.
This is when my brain gets the better of me. The more education I get, the more I over-think, second-guess and analyze. Never has the mantra don't think about it, just do it been more important, and rarely have I been less inclined to heed it. Plugging my ears and singing isn't helping. It doesn't make anything go away. It doesn't solve any problems. It doesn't get anything done. It only wastes time putting off the inevitable in a childish and irresponsible bid to escape from reality.
Did I mention that I despise myself?
Somehow I sense that my true self is stronger, more upright, sharper and wiser than ever before in my life, but it is lost and suffocated in the embrace of this clingy, reptilian, overwhelming 'besetting sin'. Even as I see this, I lose the power to will, the desire to know. Instead the desire to surrender overwhelms me. It is so hard to fight. Why not just give in? Of course, I know all the answers to that question, but while I retain the will not to give in, I cannot seem to find the will to stop listening, to through off this thing that is hindering me, to run with perseverance. I cannot hear. I cannot see. I cannot breathe.
Even as I cry out to God for deliverance, I wonder if I really want it. I doubt if he will really do it. I feel the inevitability that I will find myself in this place again at some point. I used to live here. In many ways, it would be so much easier to stay.
12 August, 2008
Rain. Lake. Tears.
Last Saturday afternoon, I discovered an amazing thing: you can rent movies off of iTunes! I had a suspicion this was the case, and so did a little bit of research. Indeed there are several hundred films available for rent direct to your computer. Granted, the films I particularly wanted were unavailable, but there were plenty of others to choose from. Some of them were even decent. I downloaded the necessary upgrade to iTunes and when the extraordinarily long installation was complete, I began cooking my supper of rice. So far my plan was working perfectly, I selected a film, clicked the 'rent' button, sorted out a billing issue and then got a bit of a shock. The movie began downloading alright, but underneath the downloading status bar were the words "six hours remaining." Six hours quickly became five, but after that there was little change as the status bar stubbornly refused to make any marked degree of progress.
Disgruntled, I ate my supper, watching the little status bar instead of the movie, put my dishes back in the sink, strapped on my sandals, pulled on my newest hat, and headed out into the wet summer evening. The rain, which had been falling since I woke in the morning, had eased off and the sidewalk was awash with puddles. I splashed through these with a perverse pleasure in the wetness. Unsure where I was going when I left home, I soon found myself bent on a visit to Roath Park Lake. As I neared the roundabout at the south end of the park, the rain began to spit again, I pulled up the hood on my sweatshirt and trudged on through the grey evening, past the locked gates of the garden and children's play areas, until I finally reached the northern end of the park and glimpsed the grey water of the lake through the bars of the iron fence.
I sped up, suddenly alive with the desire to get to that water. I hurried past the end of the fence, down to the lakeside path and picked my way across the wet grass to the very edge of the water. No sooner had I reached this odd, open-air refuge when the tears spilled from my eyes and I cried out to God with a pain I hadn't realized was in my heart. The water does that to me, pulls the depths of my soul out of myself and reminds me of my maker.
In time I picked my way back to the path and started out to walk around the head of the lake. I paused now and again to watch the silent swans gliding on the rain-pocked lake, to watch and listen to the two immature coots paddling about near their mother, to hear the almost imperceptible sound of the rain falling on the lake. The rain was falling in earnest now, but I let my hood fall back so I could hear better, leaving the cap to shield my face.
All told I walked for about 2.5 hours on Saturday night, returning wet, chilly and tired to my room to find the status bar had advanced far enough for me to begin my film. It was a mindless movie: The Muppets Take Manhattan. I watched. I laughed. I crawled into bed. I slept.
But I'm still wondering about the tears, the pain, the sound of the rain on the water, and what is really going on deep in my soul. I cannot see it. I cannot hear it. In many ways I can only barely feel it. But I know it is there, a change, a shift of some kind, and I know it is a beginning. Something completely new coming to birth within me and as the moments of pain draw closer together, I wonder what this advent will look like?
Disgruntled, I ate my supper, watching the little status bar instead of the movie, put my dishes back in the sink, strapped on my sandals, pulled on my newest hat, and headed out into the wet summer evening. The rain, which had been falling since I woke in the morning, had eased off and the sidewalk was awash with puddles. I splashed through these with a perverse pleasure in the wetness. Unsure where I was going when I left home, I soon found myself bent on a visit to Roath Park Lake. As I neared the roundabout at the south end of the park, the rain began to spit again, I pulled up the hood on my sweatshirt and trudged on through the grey evening, past the locked gates of the garden and children's play areas, until I finally reached the northern end of the park and glimpsed the grey water of the lake through the bars of the iron fence.
I sped up, suddenly alive with the desire to get to that water. I hurried past the end of the fence, down to the lakeside path and picked my way across the wet grass to the very edge of the water. No sooner had I reached this odd, open-air refuge when the tears spilled from my eyes and I cried out to God with a pain I hadn't realized was in my heart. The water does that to me, pulls the depths of my soul out of myself and reminds me of my maker.
In time I picked my way back to the path and started out to walk around the head of the lake. I paused now and again to watch the silent swans gliding on the rain-pocked lake, to watch and listen to the two immature coots paddling about near their mother, to hear the almost imperceptible sound of the rain falling on the lake. The rain was falling in earnest now, but I let my hood fall back so I could hear better, leaving the cap to shield my face.
All told I walked for about 2.5 hours on Saturday night, returning wet, chilly and tired to my room to find the status bar had advanced far enough for me to begin my film. It was a mindless movie: The Muppets Take Manhattan. I watched. I laughed. I crawled into bed. I slept.
But I'm still wondering about the tears, the pain, the sound of the rain on the water, and what is really going on deep in my soul. I cannot see it. I cannot hear it. In many ways I can only barely feel it. But I know it is there, a change, a shift of some kind, and I know it is a beginning. Something completely new coming to birth within me and as the moments of pain draw closer together, I wonder what this advent will look like?
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