God's Provision, pt II

This is the month that my life changed in a lot of big ways last year. Job changes and church changes and relationship changes and city & state changes. Enough change for a whole lifetime, thanks. I think I'll resign from changing and become a statue.

It's been a year, and I think that even amidst my wondering "how long, O Lord?" I've always thought it wouldn't be too long. I've always had this idea in my mind that, once I figured out what God was trying to teach me in one season, He'd move me into the next season. I'd end up at my destination and look back and say, "It was all leading to this!"

But I've learned a lot in the last year, and my season remains.

Yes, most of the fluctuation has ceased (thank You, Jesus). I have a job and I live with my family and things seem to have finally settled down for a little while. The part of physical bewilderment around every turn has ended.

But the part where I'm still not sure what my purpose is or why that had to happen or what I am supposed to do and where I'm supposed to go from here, the part where I've been stripped of everything and it feels like I've taken 50 steps backwards with no known reason why...that part of the season I'm still in. I still have no answers and no real direction. I still feel like I'm in a wasteland of sorts, very far away from (and sometimes unsure if there even is) a "destination." I still deal with shadows and echoes of pain and loss.

So I write this post because my most-read post last year was one about God not providing. I don't know where you are, you who read that post last year. Maybe you're out of that season, or beyond it, or just beginning it, or still in the middle of it. Wherever you are, I wanted to touch base with you.

I emailed my friend Justin with lots of facts about my current life, like random puzzle pieces dumped onto the table in hopes that maybe he could piece some things together and give me at least an idea of the picture they're supposed to make, so that I could make sense of what I'm living.

No pressure.

Instead, and thankfully, Justin said this:

It may seem like everything you've come through looks like it's not the right fit - but it may not be the right fit because God needs to change your shape instead of the situation. God changing you is more important than God using you....We can't discount the fact that God puts us in remarkably frustrating situations sometimes not to change them, but to change us. Surrender in these situations looks something like, "God, I surrender to a season, that while I might not be able to change the circumstance, I will allow you to let it change me."

I have been praying that prayer a lot. A lot.

Because during the first part of this season it was all I could do just to endure, to simply hold on for dear life and pray I make it through. But now that I've endured and had quite enough of this season and am ready for the next one and am ready for it now, I find I must surrender.

The new Bethel album has a song called "It is Well." They sing, "Through it all, it is well." I listened to the first half of the song and admitted to the Lord, "I have not thought much of this last year has been 'well,' Lord."

But then I realized that singing "it is well" does not mean "I am happy with this." God doesn't ask you to be "happy" when He leads you through suffering and difficult times.

Instead, I think "it is well" is a prayer of surrender. The same as "so be it" or "not my will, but Yours."

Even if everything I don't want to happen, happens, it is well.
Even if I am somewhere I don't want to be for longer than I want to be there, it is well.
Even if I don't know where You're taking me and You will only light one step at a time (or sometimes just ask me to hold Your hand through the dark), it is well.
Even if I have no idea when this season will end, or if it ever will, or what the purpose of it is, it is well.
If you want to change me, transform me, break me, and reshape me, it is well.

The second half of that Bethel song goes like this:

Let go, my soul,
and trust in Him
the waves and wind
still know His name

So this part II of my "what if God doesn't provide?" question from so many months ago is not a "be encouraged, friends, because I have arrived and God provided and He'll do the same for you!" post. 'Cause I haven't arrived. I'm still very much adrift at sea.

But be encouraged, friends, because the waves and wind still know His name.

Be encouraged, friends, because there is no one more trustworthy to be surrendered to.

And be encouraged, friends, because this is what the Lord speaks over me, and He speaks it over you, too:

I'm not done.
This isn't a mistake. 
You didn't mess anything up. 
And you aren't messed up.
Nothing is beyond My redemption. 
I've known from the beginning where I want you to be and what it'd take to get you there. 
I'm working on it. 
I'm not done.

the ten lepers & me

This is a picture I have hanging above my computer, as a reminder.

Those are my feet. They were sticking out of a car window last May.

Six weeks earlier, they were propped up on my chair while I lay on the floor next to my desk. Easter weekend was over. Our three services of the morning had just concluded, which had followed a Saturday night service which had followed a Saturday Easter festival which had followed a Good Friday service.

My back hurt.

In the other room, a couple of pastors were gathering their things to head home. Without mentioning the past 48 hours, they began talking about the message series starting next weekend.

I stared at the ceiling.

The biggest, longest, greatest, most exciting, and most exhausting weekend of the year had hardly finished before we were already discussing next weekend.

No time to bask in the joy of what had just happened in our community and church.

No time to rest from the hours and hours and hours of work that went into setting the stage for it to happen.

In Luke 17, Jesus heals ten people who have leprosy. Every single one of them walks away but one. One man who was healed of leprosy comes back and thanks Jesus for healing him.

Jesus responds in verse 18, "Has no one returned to give glory to God except this foreigner?"

A couple of weeks ago I sat with my roommate, Kim, in our box-filled apartment on one of my last nights there. I was in the middle of packing up my life and moving.

"What a year!" Kim said.
I rolled my eyes in agreement as I thought of all the crap over the past 12 months.
Then Kim said, "Let's talk about how far you've come in a year."

A-ha.

You often hear ministry leaders talk about "celebrating wins." What went well? Where was success? It seems to me that it's much easier to talk about what went terribly, what we need to do better, how we need to prepare for what's next. And all those things are very, very important.

But so is celebrating wins.

Whereas my mind automatically sifted through what went terribly, my roommate wanted to celebrate the wins. She was being like the one healed man while I was being like the nine who walked away.

Because celebrating wins is returning to give glory to God. 

It isn't complimenting ourselves or puffing up our egos. It isn't being idealistic or unrealistic or any other istic. It isn't ignoring the crap or overlooking the mistakes. Celebrating wins is recognizing what God has done. Acknowledging how He has worked. Being thankful and grateful. Keeping our eyes fixed on Jesus.

It's something that I want to do much more of. I want to celebrate the wins in my life. I want to celebrate the wins in my work. I want to return to give glory to God.

Because sometimes I think God celebrates what He does in our lives more than we do.

It's all about perspective.

I needed a light bulb for my IKEA lamp - the kind that are only sold at IKEA, of course, because IKEA is the Apple of home furnishings.

So I detoured to Cincinnati on my way home from Wisconsin, after seven hours already on the road, a cassette tape on spiritual warfare, and lots of Amy Grant (the "Heart in Motion" album).

The moment I pushed on my brakes to take my exit, my oil light came on. Not a casual light-up like when you're running low on gas and your gas light kind of fades in and out as if saying, "So, hey, you could use some gas. But no rush. Whenevs. I like your sweater." This light blared like it suddenly realized WE WERE ALL GOING TO DIE.

I quite audibly heard my dad say, "As soon as the oil light comes on, you need to take your car to a mechanic. You could ruin your engine."

I, alone in my car, quite audibly responded, "What do I do what do I do what do I do."

I decided that if I could make it to IKEA, I could check my oil and see if my light was bluffing. (Guess what, everyone: I know how to check my oil. Guess what, everyone: That's about as much as I know.)

There just happens to be a mechanic right across the street from IKEA, did you know that?

I pulled into the IKEA parking lot (because I still needed a light bulb, regardless of the state of my car) and popped my hood. My hood has seen a lot in its days, so after climbing on top of it and stomping on it while growling "What. is. your. problem" through clenched teeth, a nice man with his wife and two kids passed by and helped me open it. "Mommy, why was that lady jumping on top of her car?" his daughter probably asked as they walked away. To which she probably responded, "Walk faster and don't make eye contact."

(I later discovered that sticking a cassette tape in the release lever inside while pulling on the hood up front does just the trick. It helps if the cassette tape is about spiritual warfare, but it's not a necessity.)

There was no oil in my car. None. And IKEA on a Saturday night is a ZOO.

As I pulled across the street to the mechanic place (with my light bulb in possession), my engine made rattling noises. I pictured it blowing up and told Jesus I was ready.

The man inside told me they didn't have time to look at my car that night. I think he saw that I was going to cry, because he told me to pull up to the bay so he could quickly check my oil. (I then learned what a "bay" is.) Inside my own head I kept pleading that my dad would magically appear and solve all my problems, because that's what dads do.

The mechanic confirmed my discovery of 0% oil, seemingly shocked. Then he walked to the back of my car, stuck a finger in the tailpipe, and pulled it out covered in black gunk. He showed it to me like I should be very concerned. I shook my head as if I couldn't believe what this meant. Really, I had no idea what this meant.

"And it's not powdery," he further proved the point I was oblivious to. "It's wet."

He probably realized I was clueless (he was very observant, apparently - or maybe my face just displays everything I'm thinking [yeah, probably that]), because he then explained that my car was burning up my oil. Depending on how much it was burning, I could've done serious damage to my engine and might need a new one. I tried not to cry. He called another mechanic over to take a look.

There are two things that can happen when you are a.) a girl and b.) clueless about cars. Mechanics can either take advantage of you ("You need a new hoojamawhatsit OR ELSE and that'll be $2,500 - cash or credit or blood?") or they can take pity on you and be overly kind and call you things like "honey" in a fatherly and non-creepy way.

I thank God that these two mechanics were the latter kind.

While one guy filled my car with oil and commented on the weather, the other refilled my windshield wiper fluid and checked my transmission fluid, and I stood there dumbly. Then they gave me directions to the nearest AutoZone and wrote down exactly what oil I needed to buy.

"Don't let them trick you into getting anything more expensive," Observant Mechanic said. He handed me a cloth. "You'll need this. It's clean. Stop in about an hour to check the level of your oil. Do you know how to check your oil?"

Yay! I know something.

"Don't rush it," Weatherman Mechanic said. "Take your time."

"Can I pay you something?" I asked.

Observant Mechanic waved a hand and crinkled his nose. "Nah. That's what we're here for."

I drove home and cried a lot. Because at first I had been terrified and frustrated and exhausted at the thought of more bad things happening to me. At first.

But then I was overwhelmed by God's grace. What if I hadn't gotten off in Cincinnati and my engine had exploded on the highway? What if I had gotten off somewhere else where there wasn't a mechanic right across the street? What if the mechanic I had gone to was grumpy and greedy and either didn't help me or charged me a lot?

"I took care of you," God said. "Look at how I took care of you."

You can choose not to see God's grace. You can choose to only see the dark and murky places and things. You can choose to complain and pity.

Or you can choose to see how He has watched your every step. You can choose to see how He met your needs. You can choose to see how He rescued you. You can choose to see how He was with you (Deuteronomy 2:7).

Because He has and was and is. It's just all about perspective.

"Here on earth you will have many trials and sorrows," Jesus said. "But I have told you all this so that you may have peace in me, and take heart, because I have overcome the world." - John 16:33 (paraphrased and emphasis added)

Things I've Learned in 2013

How to process events, thoughts, and emotions with the Lord. He knows your heart better than anyone (Psalm 33:15) and is the greatest Counselor and Comforter in helping you work through what needs to be worked through. The greatest peace I have felt this year has come not when I have had answers, but in the lonely moments when I've poured my heart out to a seemingly empty space, only to feel afterward that God has taken all of my spewed-out words, put them in order in His little book, wrapped His big arms around me, and said, "I know; I understand; I see; I've got it; I will help you; trust me."

How to give others the same grace God gives me. God is so faithful to work deeply and gently in our hearts (Ephesians 3:20-21). I've experience this beyond measure this year. And when I am tempted to look at others and ask, "How could they do that?" God reminds me of all the times this year that I have wished to receive grace from others and haven't. He reminds me of how patient He has been with me (and He has been patient, my friends). And He asks me to trust that He will work in their hearts as deeply and gently and patiently as He has worked in mine (Romans 14:4). My only responsibility is to love, too, let Him do what He will in His own time, and allow Him to keep working in me.

How to keep a tender heart amidst loss. This has been one of the hardest lessons of all. Hardening your heart to avoid pain is a much more appealing option. It gives you a sense of control and confidence. I like both of those things! But hardening your heart to avoid pain hardens your heart to be met by God, too. And in being met by God, you are given a deeper, unshakable confidence in the Lord that has nothing to do with control and everything to do with surrender. And the ironic thing? Freedom comes in surrender. (Warning, however: Keeping a tender heart also means you may cry at ridiculous times, like when you see a dead chipmunk on the sidewalk, or when you pass a broken highway sign, or when watching Edward Scissorhands.)

How to find Jesus as my place of safety and protection. I must've repeated Psalm 91:2 hundreds of times over the course of September. "You are my place of safety and protection; you are my God and I trust you." A "place" should be something tangible, like a house or a church or a city; something you can see on a map. But God shows me that He is a place. This supernatural, undefinable place that we can hide in and find rest in and run to (Psalm 32:7, Proverbs 18:10). This place that He actually asks us to set aside all achievements and accomplishments before we enter into. The only place we are defined apart from our successes and failures (Jennie Allen*).

How to be defined apart from my successes and failures. Applying for jobs and going on interviews and writing up countless cover letters is nothing but selling yourself, talking yourself up, and trying to prove you are something and someone and valuable and an asset. But God has used this season of barrenness to show me how valuable I am with nothing. When I present Him with all that I have and ask, "Does this make me somebody?" Desperately hoping He approves of my efforts, because I try so hard, He pushes it all aside, pulls me onto His lap, and says, "I make you somebody. You are mine."

How to let things die with hope. Lots of things have died around me this year. I have battled a lot of hopelessness and fear. I have tried hoping that things will get better. I have tried hoping that people will act a certain way. I have tried hoping that I won't lose one more thing. But hoping in all those things makes my hope a very fragile thing that is easily broken, and I am left reeling in wreckage all over again. So instead, I hope that God will make me new. I hope that God will keep doing a work in me and making me more like Jesus. I hope that God will use what little I have to glorify Himself and build His Kingdom and bring people to Him. And that kind of hope never disappoints, because God is true to all He promises (Romans 5:5, Psalm 119:114), and He makes things new (Romans 12:1-2). You cannot control what dies around you, but you can control how much you allow God to grow within you.

I will still fail and forget and make mistakes. But I am thankful for, beyond thankful for, sometimes breathless at, God's grace, nearness, love, and ever-faithfulness, that picks me up and helps me try again.

So that is what I do.

"Who is to say what is good or bad anymore? Not till heaven will we know. From his eternal perspective, it's tolerable to allow our temporary dreams to fall apart. But we seize more of God when he seizes us through our broken dreams. He is wildly unpredictable, and learning to question and accept his ways is part of the journey of following an unsafe, invisible God. He calls the shots on what happens to us in this short stint here. He calls them, whether we want to let him or not. Our faith must remain greater than our pain and our fears." - Jennie Allen

* Readings throughout this season:
Anything: The Prayer That Unlocked My God and My Soul by Jennie Allen
Victory Over the Darkness by Neil T. Anderson
Enemies of the Heart by Andy Stanley
Until the Day Breaks by Dana Candler