To blog or not to blog, that is the question

It's not that I have nothing to say these days. Far from it. You wouldn't believe the questions I'm asking myself. They are big questions about where I should be investing my time and what my calling in life should look like, based on the giftings given to me and the experiences God, graciously, has allowed so far.

All of this thinking and processing has somehow rendered me speechless. Or, in the case of this blog, wordless.

I don't honestly think I am spinning my wheels, that I am completely directionless. But it is safe to say I am living "in-between." That is, I'm investigating possibilities, putting a little pressure up against a door or a window, asking God if this is the direction He might have me travel. Many days, I am wishing I could speed things up; occasionally, I wish I could slow my thought process down.

Lest you are confused, let me just say that something is happening in me internally, growing and expanding, that makes me believe I am meant to do one-on-one ministry with people who hurt and face challenges of many kinds. I am also becoming aware that when God doled out my spiritual giftings, in the areas of encouragement and teaching, then made this clear to me, he meant that I should use them. Not haphazardly or accidentally--but intentionally. And I think I can say this quite honestly: I am willing to be used, even if it costs me something. Which it most definitely will.

If this ministry happens to be chaplaincy, I have some work to do. I need to attend seminary, and possibly to be ordained within my denomination, to seek a job where I can serve outside the church in a workplace, university, hospital, or hospice setting--or a combination thereof. So you see, the stakes are high. This isn't a small endeavor or a haphazard, "well, if it ever works out." This requires thought, money, and planning. Then it requires that God provide an opening in an institution where I can serve.

This is too big for me to comprehend on some days, but here is the deal. Today a hospital chaplain whom I greatly respect told me she has been praying about my seminary decision, that God will give me discretion and a clear calling. And although I have prayed about this on several occasions, I've decided to begin asking God for more clarity daily. I am asking him to confirm this for me. And I have to tell you, I'm confident He'll come through. He's got an excellent track record.

I'm also asking that He'll give me courage to change things up in my life, and to listen carefully to His voice for direction. Then to follow it.

Honestly, it might mean giving up this blog and several other things in order to work my way toward the goal He is creating in my heart. But those are small potatoes, when I think about how trusthworthy He is, and the fact that I don't want to waste this short life of mine, not even for a minute.

Today, I attended a volunteer training program at the local hospital. I am one of 50 local volunteers chosen to serve in the No One Dies Alone program. That is, volunteers will literally be present with someone who doesn't have any available friends or relatives available while they are actively dying. As the program was presented, the chaplain spoke of the many patients who lift their arm out and speak someone's name as they are passing on, as they reach forward to eternity. And I have to tell you, I know more than ever that heaven is a real place, and that through my faith in Christ, I am going there someday. For whatever reason, God has given me a peace about participating in this program and being present with people during this Sacred time.

I don't know how to describe what God is doing in my heart, except to say that a gradual awareness of my ability to be present in difficult situations is emerging. I have talked with those in the chaplaincy vocation about the emotional realities they face, and I know they are great. But God is greater.

Thanks for listening to the wheels as they turn in my mind and heart. I am wishing and hoping and praying for just enough light for the next step. Stay tuned.

Valentine's Day, Schmalentine's Day

Last week, Hallmark most likely made half their annual sales. The floral industry and the teddy-bear factories got their usual business boom, even though the sales were probably down a bit.

Candy hearts, chocolate kisses, sentimental wishes.

After high school, I began to dread Valentine's Day. No other day that I know of provokes more tears from the unattached who wish they were firmly attached to someone, anyone. Even worse for those whose marriages just turned sour or whose budding romance wilted before the big day arrived. Oh, the drama.

Over my single years, I received a few gifts from the very occasional boyfriend, but I couldn't keep any of them permanently. When the relationship dissolved, it hurt too deeply to stare at the aftermath. I'm a romantic at heart, and broken romances in my past are in some ways still tender to the touch. (Yes, even after experiencing a wonderful marriage.) I can't explain why--except to say that when I invest myself in someone, I throw my heart and soul into the bargain. When it came to my affections, I went for broke a few times and got my heart tangled and mangled in the process.

But let's move on, shall we? This post is not just about all the sorrows I plowed through when the calendar inevitably turned to February 14. This year, my Valentine could be found sitting across my table, watching TV in my living room, and even cuddling up next to me in bed.

And I discovered something. This year, when the calendar flipped to V-Day, it was mostly another day. A wonderful, enjoyable day, yes. But another day with my loving husband. I didn't have outrageous expectations that couldn't be met. It wasn't all romance and googly-eyed sappiness. It just was.

It turns out, after all, that Valentine's Day is really no big deal.

Now I'm not trying to tell you "it's not a real holiday" and I certainly wasn't wearing black (as do some whose names are irrelevant). I bought the card and the chocolates, too, people. I'm not immune. And the inspiring card from my husband will remain on my dresser for a week at least. He did a bang-up job, and as far as I'm concerned, the card is a keeper.

But, when we reduce loving sentiments to a one-day-a-year proposition, everyone loses. Husbands and wives let themselves "off the hook" until their anniversary, children and parents sometimes feel good about expressing their love just once a year, coworkers might turn mean again on February 15 . . . well, you get the idea.

Tonight, it's the dailyness of life that seems to mean the most to me. Especially when marriages around me seem to be crumbling. And all my prayers for healing don't seem to stop the tide of years of unexpressed angst, unthoughtful treatment, unsaid words that needed so desperately to be heard.

For now, I will keep on praying. I turned to I Corinthians 13 about an hour ago, and I prayed verses four through seven for some friends of mine. I prayed that God would show them how to love, that he would show them how to heal. How to rebuild. How to hope again.

And as I was reading these verses, over and over again, the words hit with fresh force. These words are a guarantee of how God feels about the love between he and me. He's really crazy about us, folks. Unconditionally. Irrevocably. Undeniably. And if Valentine's Day would be about anything at all, I wish it would be about this:

Suzie (insert your name here), my love is patient and kind.

I don't know if you've noticed, but it's not jealous or boastful or proud or rude.

Turns out, my love does not demand its own way.

Even when you're selfish, my love is not irritable, and I don't keep a record of when I have been wronged.

I've been there through every moment of your history, and my love is never glad about injustice, but it rejoices whenever the truth wins out.

Suzie, today I hope you know that...

my love (for you) never gives up,
I never lose faith in you,
my love always hopes for you,
and most importantly, my love endures through every circumstance in your life.

This is the kind of love I'd always hoped for. And it was there all along. When I felt and knew it, deeply. When I wasn't sure. When I hurt. When I rejoiced. When I won, and at the times when I felt I lost everything.

I can testify, this is one love that never fails. A love for me, and a love I hope and pray you will realize, too. (I Corinthians 13:4-7)

When Life Says Pause

I watch the TV show House. Hugh Laurie's character is crazy and witty, but now that I've watched virtually every episode available by way of reruns, I'm growing a bit tired of this egotistical genius of a doctor. I'd like for him to be a little less crazy and to get his painkiller addiction under control. I'd like for him to grow up and to make even a small step toward a healthy relationship with someone, anyone. 

I imagine that in my dreams, I'd like him to find his "new normal," to get sober, to believe that relationships matter, and that life is not about his own comfort. Then again, as of this last weekend, I understand him better than I ever did. I wish I didn't, but...

Last Friday morning, I awoke with a start around 5 am and started calling for my husband. Something was very wrong, and in my semi-conscious state, I knew it. Something hurt. And it was me. "David!" He came running in, as he was up getting ready for work, and asked what was wrong. I told him I hurt, and he asked me to roll over so he could massage my neck. When I did, I screamed. 

I'm a little fuzzy on how I got from the bedroom to sitting on the chair in our living room. But when David reviewed some options for getting my neck checked out, tears started to flow. "I don't think you realize how much this is hurting me," I said. "I've had neck pain before, but this is way different."

And so David did what any protective husband would do. He drove me to the Dr.'s office when it opened at 8:30 am and informed the front desk that I needed help as soon as possible. I was never so grateful to see a Dr. in my life. Dr. H didn't know what I had done to myself, but she felt the neck area and proclaimed it a "neck spasm." One shot of muscle relaxer, and two prescriptions later, I walked out. I took the drugs as soon as I could, but there was no relief. 

To make matters worse, the flexaril muscle relaxer made me want to lie down like a puddle on the carpet. But when David tried to help me into bed, the pain of descending to the mattress and laying there made me cry and scream. The pain was just as bad when he helped me to sit up. Something was seriously wrong. 

David stayed home from work and proceeded to do everything in his power to help me get comfortable. He called a pain management Dr./friend of ours and asked him what to do. The doc scheduled us for physical therapy, which meant I had to lay down again. Which led to some crying and yelling, which was embarrassing, but unavoidable. It was not a pinched nerve, the therapist said. Which was only slightly comforting.

Next, we drove awhile to get to our chiropractor. He adjusted me so I could move a little more freely, but the pain was still consistent, no matter how I moved. It was then that my wonderful doctor who issued the prescriptions had mercy on my predicament: the nurse called to say I could take vicodin since the other options weren't working. And I have to tell you, peeps: from Friday night-Monday night vicodin became my friend. 

Because in the end, I had a dreadful case of a neck spasm, and the best I could do to remedy the situation was to take the drugs and rest. Eventually, it would calm down. Today it is behaving like a slightly troublesome ache and pain should. Quelled only by advil, the spasms are less frequent and much less intense. I went for a walk today. I worked on my computer. I am reemerging from my haze. 

My immobility over the weekend got me thinking about how we push ourselves to do more, even when our bodies are telling us to rest. It also got me thinking about God's expectations of us when we are hurting. The Bible says God is close to the brokenhearted, and that he binds up our wounds.

I once had a youth group leader who told me that we are usually much harder on ourselves than God is. Think about it for a minute. Very profound. Because while I was doped up this weekend, trying to alleviate the pain, my life was not truly on hold. God was there, desiring only that I lean into his strength, cry out to him in my pain, and to rest my ailing body so I could recover.

I'd prefer to accomplish a few projects, clean the house, call a few friends, mail some letters, and be in church. But that was not to be this weekend. That was not what God expected. The "pauses" in our life are allowed--and I think, sometimes directed by God--to help us look to him for our worth and value. To sit and listen to him and to soak in his love for us. It's true what the author Brennan Manning says in his books: he really is trying to call us "beloved." 

But we are too busy, too driven, too afraid of stillness, to hear that still, small voice. And our Abba-Father is a gentleman. He will not force his love on us, though he knows how it will heal our hearts.

Stop. Today, I want to ask God why he loves me, and listen to his response.

Still. I want to sit quietly without an agenda and have him show me how to order my day.

Start. When the pain leaves, I want to focus on relationship with him. Asking him to pour his love through me so it will splash over on others. I want him to teach me how to love others with abandon.

I'm glad our lives occasionally force us to pause.  

"Blessed are the single-hearted, for they shall enjoy much peace. If you refuse to be hurried and pressed, if you stay your soul on God, nothing can keep you from that clearness of spirit which is life and peace. In that stillness you will know what His will is."

-Amy Carmichael, missionary

Pictures to Ooo and Aahhh Over

You have spoken, and here are the wedding photos from our recent photo shoot. Enjoy! (I even caved and posted a kissing pic...)

Thanks to our photographer, Sarah Musselman: photography.sarahmusselman.com

The Big Tease

Y'all, if you really want to see these wedding pictures, we need at least one more "comment" left saying so...if I do say so myself.

And here's a little tease.

Thanks to our brilliant photographer, Sarah Musselman. Plenty more where that came from. You know what to do.