2 Corinthians 4

Sooo… I know that one of my New Year’s Resolutions–for some of you just tuning in, yes I actually make them and yes I try to keep them–was to memorize a passage of scripture for each month in 2013.  I did Psalm 1 & 2 in January (and blogged about it), then 2 Corinthians 4 in February, and I started to memorize Isaiah 53 in March (in honor of Easter and because I love it), but I made it about halfway through before losing steam.  I know… I know… and I never posted my thoughts on 2 Corinthians 4 either!!

So here I am.  Trying to catch up.  But I’ve decided to forge ahead and start a new passage for the month of June–Ephesians 4.  No use getting stuck in a rut.

(Please note that I use paragraph breaks in order to better organize my thoughts.)

2 Corinthians 4

(1) Therefore, having this ministry by the mercy of God, we do not lose heart.  (2) But we have renounced disgraceful, underhanded ways.  We refuse to practice cunning or to tamper with God’s word, but by the open statement of the truth, we would commend ourselves to everyone’s conscience in the sight of God.

(3) And even if our gospel is veiled, it is veiled only to those who are perishing.  (4) In their case the god of this world has blinded the minds of the unbelievers, to keep them from seeing the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God.

(5) For what we proclaim is not ourselves, but Jesus Christ as Lord, with ourselves as your servants for Jesus’ sake.  (6) For God, who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,” has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.

(7) But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us.  (8) We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; (9) persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; (10) always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies. (11) For we who live are always being given over to death, for Jesus’ sake, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our mortal flesh.  (12) So death is at work in us, but life in you.

(13) Since we have the same spirit of faith according to what has been written, “I believed, and so I spoke,” we also believe, and so we also speak, (14) knowing that he who raised the Lord Jesus will raise us also with Jesus and bring us with you into his presence.  (15) For it is all for your sake, so that as grace extends to more and more people it may increase thanksgiving, to the glory of God.

(16) So we do not lose heart.  Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day.  (17) For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, (18) as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen.  For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.

—

You guys, I… love… this passage.  Like, I don’t even know where to begin.  I really needed this passage in February.  So much about it was and is relevant in my life.

Verses 1-2 >>  “Therefore… we do not lose heart.”

One thing I am getting better at dealing with is that, sometimes, the greatest sort of “persecution” we may face in our walk with God comes from other Christians.  I have a few ideas as to why this is:  1. We expect persecution of our beliefs to come from people who do not believe, but we do not expect it to come  from people who do.  Therefore, the latter sends more of a shock through the system.  The disappointment of being shut down from another believer can be disheartening.  2.  Experiencing persecution from someone who does not believe can strengthen our resolve.  When someone who does not believe shuts me down, I am emboldened by the fact that this is what I believe.  However, experiencing persecution from someone who does believe can breed doubt.  I think, Wait… but I thought… So am I in the wrong??  Am I… weird??  Am I the only Christian who thinks this way?  Doesn’t that mean I need to check myself??  Crap, what if I’m one of “those” Christians?  Hey wait, who are “those” Christians?  HELP ME!!

When I put this all in words, I see how fragile one has to be in order to be so easily swayed by others.  I’m not… anymore.  But one thing I really struggled with when I first began to “get back on track” with God is that I was so excited about Him!!  And I expected everyone else to be, too.  Instead, what I found is that the church and its members are invariably at different states of growth at any one point in time.  And this is a beautiful thing.  But, like me, sometimes the people who seem to “have it together”… don’t.  They are cynical and jaded and sometimes angry.  And that’s OK.  I still don’t have it all together.  But at least I’m honest about it now.  The only thing that keeps me together is that Jesus Christ is my personal savior and that He makes this mess I call myself OK in the end.

I’ve learned to stand clear of anyone who has some serious nit-picking to do with the church.  And it’s not that I think the church body is perfect… we’re not!  But I think statements that assume If all Christians just did this then… or If all Christian just didn’t do that then… are destructive and seeded with falsehood.  First and foremost we are called to be different, to be transformed, to be renewed by Jesus Christ.  Action–that little verb called “do”–comes after.  In my own life I have to constantly check my heart so that I can love others by giving them the benefit of the doubt.  What I mean is, usually when I’m looking at someone and going, “Oh my gosh, they can’t possibly be serious right now… I bet they’re so insincere and are just saying or doing that because they think it makes them more holy…” it’s me who has the problem.  It’s me who is just saying and doing stuff.  Think about it.  How often does a critique of Christianity rely on skepticism or mockery of a zealous heart?  I know there are fakers out there.  But there are many real ones, too.

I still get obnoxiously excited about Jesus sometimes, but not as much as I used to.  This bothers me.  I went through a stage–back in February, actually–when I wondered, “What’s the point?”  I can’t even come up with the all of the details to describe how I felt at the time.  Maybe, in some small sense, the real question was, “What am I getting out of this?”  It was a selfish one, to say the least.  The answer is: absolutely nothing.  I get absolutely nothing out of being excited about Jesus except for the joy of being excited about Jesus.  I realized, I don’t need someone to agree, “Wow, that’s really cool!” when I share something about Him.  Having someone reassure me and share it with me was never the point in seeking God in the first place.  But I still need to share it.  At the end of the day, the point is that the name of Jesus would be lifted high.  (John 12:32)

Verses 3-4 >>  This part is always hard for me to swallow.  I get a bit indignant and sort of stamp my foot before God.  But what do you mean it’s veiled?  That’s not fair!

I think what’s important to remember is that this part actually promises two things:  1. If you believe in God and His son, then the gospel will be revealed to you.  You’ll understand it.  Things will make sense.  2.  The gospel has been veiled by “the god of this world;” as in Satan, not God.  God’s true desire is to reveal Himself to all people.  He promises that if we seek, we shall find.  (Luke 11:9)  I’m so excited by people who do not believe yet they just… can’t… stop… searching.  I just want to jump up and down and shout, “Yes!  Keep asking questions!  Keep getting frustrated!  Keep struggling!  It’s a good thing!”  Apathy is what terrifies me, more than anything else.

Verses 5-6 >>  Again, it’s not about me.  It’s about Jesus.

Verses 7-12 >>  For the past year or so, the question that has been on my heart has been about suffering.  I think that God is able to use sickness and suffering in order to bring glory to Himself.  But how???  By healing people?  Yes… and yet… no.  Too often it seems God chooses not to heal someone.  Cancer and disease eat away.  But why?  If you pray and you pray and you pray for someone to get better, but they die anyway, doesn’t that mean the prayer went unanswered?  Didn’t it go unheard?

This is where some people start talking about “God’s plan” and “God’s will” and “God’s time.”  If you notice, they’re really only taking words and attaching God as the possessive to them.  It’s about as helpful as comforting someone at a funeral by saying, “There there, it was just God’s donut…”   (Knowing me, the next funeral I’m at I’m going to think of this and burst out laughing and then everyone is going to GLARE at me.  Because I… WORDS.)  The reaction to this sentiment, of course, is completely warranted.  What does that even mean?  What do you know!!  Go away!!

My bible study has seen a lot of sickness and suffering this past year.  One night we completely avoided our study and ended up talking about it.  If God can allow such bad things to happen, then is He still good?  I can’t believe I’m about to share this, but I sometimes entertain a horrendously morbid thought… I wonder, I am not afraid to die, but what if I were to survive something that left me wishing I was dead?  What if I became horribly maimed?  What if it was one of those situations where my spouse or whoever stopped loving me because of it?  What if I end up completely alone?  Is God still good?

I know this seems very easy to say, you know, given that I have all my limbs and a chimp hasn’t gnawed my face off or anything, but yes.  Yes He is.  God is always good.  Always.

(Ugh, and can I just say that I feel like everything I’m saying is completely silly and weird right now?  I’m in a Dayquil fog from being sick… SICK!! …so sorry if nothing makes sense.)

I guess what I remember, when it comes to these verses, is that my hope was never based in my health or my appearance or even in having all my limbs.  HA!  It is based in Jesus Christ alone.  And that is enough to get me through any sickness pr suffering, whether that be myself or someone else.  We can talk about God’s plan and God’s will and God’s time, but let’s first just go back to the beginning–God.  Let’s not stop and try to figure out why and what next and when.  Just… God.  He is in control.  And He is love.

I know, it’s not much.  But He’s everything.

Verses 13-15 >>  “…so that as grace extends to more and more people…”

I love that.  God isn’t willing that any should perish.  :]  (2 Peter 3:9)

Verses 16-18 >>  This is like the grand finale of the passage.  And not just because it’s the end.  I like the repetition going back to the beginning: So we do not lose heart…  Like, hey I hope you were paying attention–these are all the reasons why we don’t throw up our hands and say “What’s the point??”  Because it all matters!!  Because we are being renewed day by day!!

Being renewed day by day means:

The inner spiritual life of a Christian is not subject to the changes which come upon his outer life. The body suffers; but if one is living in fellowship with Christ, one’s spiritual life is untouched by physical sufferings. The normal Christian life is one of constant, unchecked, uninterrupted progress. Unkindly conditions do not stunt it. Misfortunes do not mar it.

The inner growth of a Christian should be continuous. The renewal is said to be “day by day.” No day should be without its line. We should count that day lost, which records no victory over some fault or secret sin, no new gain in self discipline, in the culture of some virtue, no enlargement of the power of serving, no added feature of likeness to the Master. “The inward man is renewed day by day.”

–From The Outer and Inner Life, J. R. Miller, 1895

I really liked Miller’s article.  You should read it!  The only thing that gives me the slightest bit of pause about it is that we should be “untouched” by physical sufferings.  Yes, nothing should “stunt it” or “mar it,” but I think physical suffering can very much touch us!!

I think what’s most important is, at the end of the day, who is Lord of your life?  Who are you turning to?  In whom is your hope?  Verses 7-12 make it very clear: We may not be destroyed, but we are struck down.  And that’s OK.  Jesus Christ may not allow our lives to be marred by physical suffering, but it may touch us.  And he will work in us through that.  Living the Christian life isn’t remaining stoic and unphased in the face of adversity.  It is having the choice to despair or forge ahead and it is choosing to cling to Christ as our hope and Savior.

The Christian life is not perfection.  It is redemption.

It is putting on the full armor of God so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and when you have done everything, to stand.  (Ephesians 6:13)

Bodies Revealed

On my way back to Chicago Tuesday morning, I passed  one  two  three  four dead deer on the side of the road.  Sometimes a few yards beyond their carcass, (black, marble eyes staring from beyond the yellow line), I saw a patch of red along the pavement, and entrails curled like phantom branches in the sun.  Nothing left but for the stuff of what they were made of; their bodies, revealed.

I held my breath as I drove by (and sometimes over) each and every one.

It reminded me of driving to my grandfather’s funeral… two years ago this month.  It was my birthday weekend.  It was a disaster.  Four years into our relationship and Troy had never spent a birthday with me.  (Was it too much of an inconvenience?)  And when he finally did… people died!!!  A slightly dramatic correlation, but nonetheless true.  :]

We spent Saturday at my grandfather’s funeral.  And I remember stressing out the whole time that he was uncomfortable or bored or overwhelmed.  And when I think back on that, I wonder why.  That should have been my time to mourn and for him to worry about me.  Even if he was uncomfortable or bored or overwhelmed, he should have still been there and without my having to worry about him.

What’s funny is that, when you find someone who you’re really supposed to be with, it’s not a matter of being selfish when you’re allowed to be and selfless when you should be, it’s about both people caring more about the other than they do about themselves… and never letting the other person be ever so aware that this is happening– Look at me.  I’m caring about you.

Who am I kidding?  Troy and I were both incredibly selfish people.  And any selflessness we did have was hindered by possessiveness.  I realize now that this is also because we were very young.  But I’m not sure, were I still with him, that I wouldn’t still be that incredibly selfish individual.  I wanted him to comfort me that day because he was my boyfriend and that was my grandpa and these were my feelings.  But then the call came from his mother that this was to be his grandmother’s last weekend, and he sat in his car and he cried.

But not before asking me to get out and then locking the door behind me.

I remember seeing him in there on the phone with his mother.  Wanting to be alone.  Wanting me to be anywhere but with him.  And feeling so helpless.  It’s not even that I couldn’t help.  He didn’t want me to.  So after waiting in the heat until I realized he was not going to let me in no matter what, I went back inside to the cool, air-conditioned basement of the church where my family sat and ate potato salad and drank cold punch and burnt coffee and talked about my grandpa and how much he loved his farm and what a good man he was and how much he freaking loved my grandma—-

I already wrote once about how my grandparents never showed or talked about feelings much.  They were strong, post-war, post-depression, till-the-soil folk.  But one memory I will always take with me is of one Christmas-Eve when the whole entire extended family had to go around and each say something we were thankful for (Oh, how this type of thing usually makes me want to DIE…) but when we got to my grandpa–that year he had officially retired from dairy farming; he spent his days napping on the couch and watching golf, feeling ill-used–he wrung his hands together in his lap and said in his usual, mumbling, farmerly way, “Well, God has given and He has taken away a lot in my life, but all I’ve ever really ever needed He has given me right here…”

Then he put his hand on my grandmother’s knee, a gesture I had never seen from them before and that I never saw since, and my grandma made a slight sound with her throat and she took his hand too.  And I think about that ever so often.  How it was such a moment of love between my grandparents on display for all to see. Greater than even the time I went running down the stairs in the early morning during the summer week I spent with them when I was twelve, too excited for the day to stay asleep any longer, and how I saw them lying in their bed together.  They were still asleep, though it was unusual that they should still be in bed at that hour.  (“Laaazy Daaaisy May!” my grandpa used to holler when I slept at all past 9.)  They kept their door open in the summertime to keep a breeze moving through the old, stuffy house.  My grandpa had already milked the cows (and showered) before the sun, and now, oh, how his arm draped so tenderly around my grandma’s waist as they both dozed.  Such a simple thing.  But it struck me even then.

And then, seeing them there, at Christmas, alive with age and love, fingers intertwined, how I thought, “Dear God, I want just that.”

—-but then the family conversation turned to me.  Where’s Troy?  What’s he doing?  Is he OK?  They asked me until I wished they would just stop and I felt that sort of panic shake inside the elbows that comes when you just don’t know what to do and you want everything to go away and never come back.

And I wished Troy was a bubble that I could pop.  I wished that I could go up to him and push my fingers into his glossy, rainbow exterior and watch him burst into a million other bubbles that would burst into a million other bubbles that would burst into nothingness.  I wished, that if I had to spend the day alone, that I could spend the day alone.

But before this… before the locked car and the coffee and the questions… we were driving down the last stretch of highway before we got to the funeral home.  (I’ll admit, something that doesn’t quite add up in my memory, is when we were going to the funeral I remember being in my car and I was driving, but when he asked me to leave so that he could have his grief alone I remember being in his car and he had been driving.  These must have been separate days–maybe once we were on our way to the wake?–but they have sewn themselves together in my brain over time.)  And we passed over quite a bloody patch of guts lying in the middle of the road.  The body of the deer or whatever it was had since been towed away, but it seemed like nearly half of it had also been left behind, snarled and sticky on the road.  It was wickedly hot out that memorial day weekend of 2011, and so the stench of rotting flesh (seasoned with heat) quickly filled the car.  And I grew nauseous.

It is worth noting that Troy and I were driving with an unspoken tension between us.  He had come into town to see me for my birthday, yes, but only because–(to this day I assume “only because,” but deep down I know he would adamantly refute this and be pissed at me for even suggesting it)–only because he had hitched a ride with a friend and was hanging out with some of our his college buddies for the weekend as well.  I had picked him up at their place that morning.

The day before he had surprised me by stopping by–I was still  living at home then–on his way into town so that he could give me my birthday present.  It was an expensive, sterling silver Tiffany key necklace I had been drooling over all that year.  I don’t have eyes for expensive things like this anymore.  (I realize now I would rather have tin out of an earnest heart than silver that leaves me wondering.)  But when I opened it, I cried.  Partly because it was such a romantic, loving gesture.  I mean, it had to mean something, right?  But partly because I knew, I just knew, that if he was spending money on such expensive things like this, then it meant he wasn’t spending money on such expensive things like that… and wouldn’t be for awhile… if ever at all.  He was distracting me, placating me, suspending me.  It wasn’t fair.

I put the necklace on and he and his friend asked if there was anything cool to do in town.  I told them to go see Bodies Revealed–the forked and peeling bodies of “china men” on display at the Grand Rapids museum.  I told them it was disgusting and unethical but that it was cool and in the name of science, and so even though we had no clue who these people were before they died and if they had even given their permission for their bodies to be used in such a way, they should go and give their money to the cause.  Get in a good gawk.  I also suggested they wait to eat lunch until after they had visited.

Troy gave me a look.  He knew when I was being a bitch sassy.

They decided to take my suggestion, then dawdled around the door before they left.  I hinted more than once or twice that I would like to come.  And they hinted more than once or twice that they would not like me to come.  So then I shrugged my shoulders, played the cool girlfriend, and said, “OK, well, have fun.  Let me know how it goes.”  And they left and I went back to bed.

(They ended up hating it, which secretly brought me no shortage of pleasure.)

I’m sorry, don’t let my digression confuse you–we are back in the car on the way to my grandfather’s funeral.  We have just driven over deer guts, rotting in the sun.  The stench fills the car.  I am nauseous.  So nauseous, in fact, that suddenly I am overcome with the death of it all and am sent into a sort of panic.  Off the expressway, on an old dirt road, I pull over to the side and start to hyperventilate.  “It’s OK, it’s OK,” Troy says.  His words are just words.  They escape his mouth and vaporize into the air.  “It’s OK, it’s OK,” he says.  The jewelry itches at my neck.  It hangs between my breasts, and I snatch at it and lay it on the outside of the ruffled collar of my black, cotton dress.  I pat it down as if to coax it into staying there.  “It’s OK, it’s OK,” he says.  The rancid odor fills my lungs.  It clings to the upholstery of the car.  And even once it’s cleared the air, it lingers there.  In memory.  It persists.  “It’s OK, it’s OK.” Troy says.

But it is not OK.  My grandfather is dead.  The thing I always knew would come and I would often lie awake and think about as a little girl.  Won’t it be weird when…  And how can someone go on existing some place else when they are so gone?  So untouchable?  Even more so, how can someone be existing right beside you and be so gone?  So untouchable?  And how can absolutely everything make so little sense from one moment to the next?  Was I willing to wake up everyday with that impermanence?  With the untouchable?

I remember sitting there on the side of the road with Troy comforting me and just feeling the disingenuous-ness of it all.  I’m not saying Troy was flat out insincere.  I’m just saying that there was something between us that was already lost.  And we had both chosen to lose it because we both were just so fucking tired with the other.  So tired of caring and taking and trampling and stomping that we both just didn’t even care anymore.

I believe that love is kind of like a bicycle.  I believe it can stop moving.  I believe that, in keeping with this metaphor, at times love coasts and at times love flies and at other times loves takes an awful lot of energy.  It is exhausting.  It leaves you drained.  But I believe that loving someone isn’t saying “Can I love this person for the rest of my life?”  The answer to that is always no.  Because we automatically love ourselves the more.  But that loving someone is saying “Will I love this person for the rest of my life?”  Will I choose to wake up every day and, um, love this person up the hill?  Haha.  Will I keep this bicycle moving?

Troy and I stopped doing that.  Perhaps we both no longer found each other worth it.  Or perhaps we both just got too exhausted.  We allowed ourselves to peter out.

The relationship didn’t officially end until October 17, but if I’m really honest with myself, it ended that weekend.  It ended on my birthday, a memorial day Monday, sitting in hospice with his grandmother who took gasping breath after gasping breath.  Her face, emaciated and hung open with her dying, seemed almost beaked, like a bird.  And when it was time for him to have a last moment with her, I asked him if he wanted me to leave the room.  But this time he said no.  (This still confuses me.)  And while I sat in the rocker beside her bed, he took her hand on the opposite side and said, softly, “Hi Nanna.”  The words shook me.  I remember gasping in air as if I had been stabbed.  “Are you OK?” he asked.  No, I shook my head, but I waved him off.  I stared out the window and silently sobbed while he said his goodbye.

His mother used to drive me crazy.  She would make little comments when I was around and Troy would never stop her.  She often hurt my feelings.  She was the type to call on Valentine’s Day, right around dinnertime, and make Troy late, an hour late, for our plans.  (And Troy would never, you know, tell his mother he had a hott date with his girlfriend so could they please talk later…)  I’m sure she liked me… well enough.  But only well enough.  And I could never figure out why she didn’t, I don’t know, love me.  Love me the way my family loved her son.  What was wrong with me?  If there was a holiday and they took a family picture, they always took two: one with me; one without me.  Just… in… Case.. ?

After we broke up I imagined the perfectly constructed memories they were able to create where I used to exist.  Summer vacation on the lake: one with me; one without me.  I imagined myself being struck from the record.  Perhaps even deleted from cyberspace entirely.  I imagined it was all too easy for him to move on.  Just choose what to remember.  A memory.  A photograph.  One with me.  One without me.

But my family wasn’t like that.  For weeks after our breakup my dad ran an obnoxious photo-screensaver on the computer in our kitchen that, at the most inopportune moments–when I decided I could actually stomach some food, get out of bed, pull myself away from whatever TV show I decided was a tolerable nuisance against my thoughts of him–would snake bite my heart with a smiling, happy picture of us.  Graduation caps.  Sunny smiles on the beach.  His arm around me at my grandfather’s farm.  I finally begged my dad to take all of them down.  Go for that screensaver where it looks like the puppy is cleaning the screen.  The one where all the icons are on fire.  The one where you’re flying through space.  Anything but the memories from which he could never be erased.  Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind.  Or something like that.

I bring up Troy’s mother because on that birthday two years ago at hospice, there were a few moments when I actually felt that love I always craved.  When we arrived his mother hugged me and said sorry about my grandpa and I said sorry about her mother and we both cried into each other’s arms.  There were moments, all day, when she talked to me… like a daughter.  And she would look at me and say something and her eyes would well with tears and I would put my arm around her and she would lean into my embrace.  I always loved Troy’s mother, despite the bitterness I began to hoard against her.  In reality, I wanted so badly to be her daughter.  I wanted her to want that too.

The funny thing is, as I write all this down, this isn’t even about Troy or his family or our break up.  Not really.  It’s about something, but not that.  For now, it is just what it is.  I think moving on has made it so that I can finally talk about some of the things I hadn’t talked about before.  I think about Troy now and my relationship with him and I’m honestly interested in what it was and what went wrong, not necessarily in all of the hurt.  I think about the role I personally played to make it all come crashing down and the things I could have done better.  But this time, not for him.  For someone else.

The funnier thing is, of course, that when it comes to actually being with someone else, something has changed in my choosing.  I know that I will no longer be with someone for whom I’ll have to do things “better.”  He will love me for who I am.  And no, he won’t even “make me” better.  He’ll point me to the one who has already made me better in the first place–Jesus, and all that.  :]

I imagine there is a bicycle  And we’re coasting down that hill together during the early stages of the relationship when things are still fun and exciting and it feels like nothing can go wrong.  But the bottom of the hill is in sight, and at the bottom of that hill, there is another hill.  Only this time going up.  And I keep preparing myself to brake.  We will part ways at the bottom, I am certain.  He will not want to go on.  When things get difficult.  But I look over at him, whoever he is, on his own bike… (because tandem bikes are for looooseeeerrrrz)… and I am trying to gauge where he is at.  “Are you sure you want to do this?” my eyes plead.  But he is already moving for the upswing, pumping for momentum, powering into it.  And his eyes are saying, “Let’s go.”

Beyond the Dock

“…It is our nature to make a heaven out of places to which we can never return.”

–from Kindness, by Yiyun Li

—

I’ve had this image stuck in my head all day…

One of standing on a dock at the lake and jumping out into the water.

A shock of cold hits the chest like a bullet.  The lungs collapse inward.  It seems almost impossible to take a breath.  The body shudders.  And the feeling that shoots through the spine during these moments–when the body writhes with cold–is like the peeling of a banana.  The skin seems to split apart at the center, blooming forth, milky marrow underneath.  The bones, in turn, come apart and realign.  Until one is merely left gasping for air in the rock and turn of the waves, the dry self-assurance from the dock–one of warmth and anticipation–only a memory, an evaporating hand print on the brain.

(One would think such things wouldn’t rack the body so.)

And even if one were to swim back to the dock, even if one were to climb back up the ladder, still there would be the consequence of what has all been done: there would be the chill with each new passing breeze, the wet and dripping hair, the sludge of sand beneath the feet.  All so telling, telling, telling…

And in this case what can you do?  Begrudge the towel that hardly clothes you for the cold?  Or the granules of sand that dry and crust between your toes for the discomfort?  These things merely mock and shriek in response, You knew this would happen, you knew this would happen, you knew…

Really, you have to be able to stand on that dock and look down into that water (not having any clue what degree it is or how it will feel to slice into it) and know and accept before your feet even leave the platform that what is about to be done cannot be undone.

And so, as I shiver in the lake, as I think back to the warmth of the sun on my back and how it felt to stand there and want to jump but not know how it would feel, to still have the option to put my sandals back on and pad my way back up the dock into the comfort of a cottage and dry clothing; as I think of all these things…

Still, I’m glad I jumped.

The Fourth Annual EGSA Conference, 2014

Hi folks!

This year I am once again participating in the English Graduate Student Association’s Spring Conference.  It’s a great happy fun time to hear some of my colleague’s work outside of class and have some of them hear mine!

I was sort of in a scramble to figure out what to read this time around.  Last year I had a super polished story that I paired down to fit the time limit (you can take a look at the full version of that here or the shortened version of that here).  Now, more often than not, I feel like grad school is only helping me generate a bunch of material for me to work on once I actually graduate from grad school… funny that.  So I have a lot of stuff that is still a work in progress.  (I mean, seriously, how much polishing can one get done in the span of a ten week quarter??)

At any rate, I decided to settle for the piece I worked on in Narrative Strategies last fall.  I also originally published the final 20 page piece of that here; however, I’ve made some significant edits, including a title change.  The new stuff is all there in the PDF below.  I’ve called the piece “Portraits” because right now I’m still “sewing together” all the little parts and pieces and characters that this story needs to be.  I’m not quite sure what it is yet.  But one thing is for sure, it’s on it’s way to whatever it’s becoming.

Check it out!  And wish me luck!  I’ll be reading at 4.  :]

Portraits

On Your Mark

I am increasingly surprised by my extreme inability to stay on the mark.  Last Sunday  I sat sweating like a whore in church (my mother hates it when I use this expression, says that’s not how she raised me), except I actually was in church… and I’m not a whore… (But that is not the matter.)

My church is currently going through the book of Hebrews, a book written by an unknown author to a group of Jewish and Gentile believers undergoing crippling persecution and, thus, crippling fear and doubt about the gospel.  It’s relevant to Christians today because the book still speaks on issues of perseverance, discernment, and what it means to be centered on Christ in a self-centered world.  In some ways, I see it as one big encouragement epistle–that punches you in the face!!

There are so many good things about this book as a piece of scripture.  It hits home again and again that sin is wrong and that it is deceitful, yet the author highlights with equal brevity that sin, also, holds no contest with the grace and power of Jesus.  In the words of my pastors: the genius of Hebrews is that, rather than feeding the Jews and the Gentiles more religion, it offers a relationship instead–with Christ!

A small side note: The derogatory use of the term “religion” in this context is only in reference to the fact that the Jews and the Gentiles, in the face of persecution, were choosing to turn away from God in order to embrace comfort and tradition.  As I have grown in my faith and understanding of who God is (dude, I still have a lot of growing to do…) I no longer like to draw lines between myself and religion because… Well, let’s do what Hebrews says and actually look at Jesus: He was very religious!!  Yet His heart was fully and completely surrendered to God in the most perfect way.  So no, it’s never good to have religion without the relationship—without a heart that molds like putty in His hands—but, in my opinion, to scoff at religion altogether is to also miss the point.  Religion never equaled ritual and superstition; a hardened heart did.

Anyway, my church is only on chapter 4 at the moment, and chapter 4 talks about rest.

No, I wasn’t sweating through the sermon because I don’t get enough rest or sleep or solace or what have you.  (Actually, I wasn’t sweating at all, and especially not like a whore!)  Rather, there were other triggers along the way.

Unfortunately, I forgot my journal—rawr—so I couldn’t scribble down notes like I usually do.  Instead I had to just sit there and pay attention and try to remember things!  (Gah!!  Who does that??)  As a result, the things that stick out to me flash through my brain like glints of pearly, broken memory…

FLASH: The Deceitfulness of Sin

Aside from the fact that this is something craaazy people experience, I like to think that the little voice I hear inside my head (sometimes) is the Holy Spirit.  I can (figuratively!!) hear my brain ask questions.  Like, I’ll hear the pastor say something about “the deceitfulness of sin” and then immediately there is that voice…

[Dramatization.]

voice: So what sin has been deceiving you lately?

me: Oh, hello!  Um, I don’t know.  I guess I kinda gossiped about a coworker the other day.  But I prayed for forgiveness, so step off!!

voice: No, I didn’t ask how you’ve been sinning lately.  I asked how you’ve been deceived by sin lately.

me: Buhhh… Oh, hey look, a something better to do than think about this—

voice: NO!  Pay attention to me!!  What is black that in your life you’ve started calling white??

me: Yeah, I know… :[ :[ :[

voice: And WHY did you start doing it??

me:  ... I guess... Because it was easier...

I want to give concrete examples from my life—things that I've called white that really are quite black—and it's not that I can't think of anything and it's not that I'm afraid to share—I'm an open book, living under the grace and freedom of Jesus' complete forgiveness—but I'm afraid if I do it will make everything all too subjective.  Most deceitfulness in my life occurs over things that are very, very small... This or that won't hurt.  I can bounce back.  Egh I'll deal with this later.  No I don't want to read my Bible tonight.  Blah blah blah.  Yet they cause tidal waves of desperation in my heart.

My pastor explained it by opening up his message with one of those corny sermon illustrations.  (In my head, I imagine that all seminary students take a first year course entitled HOW TO CUT TO THE CORE WITH CHEESE AND CORN 101.)  He said that if a pilot gets off course by one degree he can miss his destination up to 50-100 miles!  (The more you know!)

The resulting picture in my head spurs other pictures...

I am the middle of a clock.  The direction of my eyesight forms the hand.  Jesus is at 12.  And there are so many fantastical things in my peripheral!  I slowly tick tick tick my eyes to the left or to the right (I may be a clock but I'm not constrained to clockwise directions).  And at first it's not very obvious.  But then I'm turned toward one... then sometimes 2... and at certain points in my life definitely 3.  In these moments I can still sense Jesus standing there at 12.  But I don't really know what He's about.  When I talk about Him, I pull from my memory what I can remember when I was facing Him.  And I am very convincing!  But I can't describe in detail.  And I am often forgetful.  I fill in the blanks with my own ideas.  I haven't gone back to 3 in a while.  But sometimes I still find myself at 12:01.  Or 11:58.  And sometimes 12:07.

In [still life] drawing they teach you to constantly be jumping your eyes back and forth between the page and the image.  But sometimes it just feels so good to set your eyes to the page and work.  Shade this. Shade that.  Finish this line of that shape.  And it always looks so good, you think.  Until you look back at the original image.  And you realize what you’ve got in front of you and what you’ve got on the page are two completely different things.  So you erase and begin again.

And oh how I get off the mark…

May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be ever pleasing to you, oh Lord, my rock and my redeemer.  –Psalm 19:14

The aim of our charge is love that issues from a pure heart and a good conscience and a sincere faith.  –1 Timothy 1:5

Pray also for me, that whenever I speak, words may be given me so that I will fearlessly make known the mystery of the gospel.  –Ephesians 6:19

But among you there must not be even a hint of sexual immorality, or of any kind of impurity, or of greed, because these are improper for God’s holy people. Nor should there be obscenity, foolish talk or coarse joking, which are out of place, but rather thanksgiving. –Ephesians 5:4

If we claim to be without sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us.  –1 John 1:8

Let’s not be coy.  Loving others unconditionally, a pure heart, a pure mind, a pure tongue, continuously seeking God and loving Him and practicing His character, are all things that I fail at miserably and on a consistent basis.

I was perplexed during the week that followed over how to deal with this then.  Of course there is the point blank answer: Look to Jesus.  But this actually is not very helpful.  If we really stop to think about all of the imperatives we throw around as Christians–Trust & Obey!  Look to Jesus!  Blah!–do we really have any clue what those really mean?  I heard this message, and I knew what to do, but I guess I just didn’t know how.  Really Katie, are you still that immature in your faith?  Sometimes!!

It is not unlike how a few months ago I found myself always praying the same prayer, “Dear Lord, help me to trust you more.”  Then one day I thought to myself, but what does that even mean?  How can I trust God more if I don’t even know what it looks like to trust Him?  So when I prayed I started telling God what I thought it meant to trust Him instead.  It means actively not allowing myself to grow sick about the future.  It means every time I’m worried about something I just tell you like you’re standing right in front of me.  It means asking you for things and giving you the glory for every single last stinking thing in my life… even if it’s so small that it seems silly to do so.  It means telling you day in and day out until I believe it in my heart that I know you’re going to take care of me and that I know you know what’s best for me.

This past Sunday’s sermon was eye opening.  Again, I didn’t remember my journal–wtf?–or at least couldn’t find it before running out the door that afternoon, but for a minute or two I honestly thought I wouldn’t need it… even though Pastor Crum was speaking and dude when he gets up to the pulpit you know it’s going to be good.  But I thought this because he started things off by saying we were taking a small break from Hebrews for the week and that we’d be focusing on Revelation chapter 1.  (I was sitting next to my guy friend, a delightfully pleasant though cynical graduate of Christian university, and I couldn’t help but silently share in his discreet yet audible sigh at the thought.  I don’t know if we had the same reasons, though.)  Revelation is compact and confusing and there’s lots of things with many heads and horns and swords coming out of them.  Or something like that.  So I sat back and prepared to let my eyes glaze over for the next forty-five minutes.

Except for not.  Two minutes in I was digging for a pen and finding scrap pieces of paper to scribble notes on.  Because the whole reason they were diverting over to Revelation for the week is for the very same reason I struggled to wrap my mind around HOW to look toward Jesus, how to keep that clock for going tick tick tick tick tick tick tick BOOOM…  (To quote The Hives.)

Hebrews 4:12-16 says…

12-For the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and of marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart.  13-And no creature is hidden from his sight, but all are naked and exposed to the eyes of him to whom we must give account. Jesus, the Great High Priest.  14-Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession.  15-For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin.  16-Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.

We see the image of the two-edged sword reappear in Revelation 1:12-16…

12-Then I turned to see the voice that was speaking to me, and on turning I saw seven golden lampstands,  13-and in the midst of the lampstands one like a son of man, clothed with a long robe and with a golden sash around his chest.  14-The hairs of his head were white, like white wool, like snow. His eyes were like a flame of fire, 15-his feet were like burnished bronze, refined in a furnace, and his voice was like the roar of many waters.  16-In his right hand he held seven stars, from his mouth came a sharp two-edged sword, and his face was like the sun shining in full strength.

This is John’s image of Jesus in all his glory.  Now, was there actually a two-edged sword coming out of Jesus’ mouth?  Um, no.  The Bible is as figurative as it is literal.  (But more on that another time…)  The two-edged sword here represents truth.  And in my notes I have written so many things.  I only hope you can make some sense of them all:

Double-edged sword = Scripture = TRUTH = Jesus
Jesus NEVER lies to us.  He will NEVER seek to DECEIVE us.
Why does truth = sword??  Ephesians 6:10-19
Because, our only WEAPON against the sin, the deceit, is TRUTH

Seven lampstands = menorah = representation of the presence of God
Presence of God = Jesus as man!

Son of Man = the prophet Daniel’s language
Jesus applies this language to his own self multiple times throughout the gospel
Son of man = vs 15 & 16 of Hebrews 4 — He empathizes with our pain!
Thus ROMANS 8.  He knows us better than we know ourselves.
He knows our requests before we even say them.
He knows what we feel even when we can’t put them into words…
when the depths of those formless feelings make us impotent before Him…
and so he goes and presents our requests to God FOR us.

Then, vs 17-When I saw him, I fell at his feet as though dead…

But why?  John (the writer) was the disciple “whom Jesus loved.”
He knew Jesus, and Jesus knew Him… but then, to see his majesty…
Truly seeing Jesus means to recognize his glory, power, and righteousness.

How do we conform Jesus to fit into our own ideas of what that is?
Cold Orthodoxy: Focusing on doing the right thing and forgetting WHY we do them.
Without Jesus, none of it matters.
(Revelation 2:4)  “You have left your first love.”
Our FIRST love should always be Jesus.  Nothing and no one else.
By serving Jesus first, I can serve others.
Focused motives = an exalted view of Christ!

The Holy Spirit empowers us to live a life that glorifies Him!

In verse 17, when John sees Jesus He falls on His face as though dead in acknowledgement of His complete and utter lack in the presence of Jesus Christ.  The beauty of this is that, in that same verse, Jesus doesn’t come up to John and go, “That’s right!  You’re gross and I hate you.”  (Or something like that.)  Rather, he comes up to John, and he lays his right hand on his shoulder–significant because the right hand as opposed to the left signifies distinction, honor, truth, favor, and he says:

Don’t be afraid.  I am the first and the last.
I am the living one.  I died, but look–I am alive forever and ever!
And I hold the keys of death and the grave.

Ain’t it funny how many times the bible tells us to not be afraid?  Because John humbles himself, because he sees the Christ for who he really is, Jesus brings grace, not judgement.  He holds the keys of death and the grave.  No one and nothing else can say that!

In other words, as Romans 8 so aptly puts it, “If God is for us, who can be against us?” 

There is no other living one.  There is no other key holder.  There is no other person in whom we can at once fall down on our faces in woe at our own wretchedness before him, and in the next instant feel not his smite but his blessing, his favor, gripping us by the shoulder and saying, “Don’t be afraid.  It’s me…  It’s going to be alright.”

Standing on that clock… if I truly aligned myself toward Christ, if I truly recognized and gazed into his glory day by day and moment by moment, I would not tick away.  I would fall down on my face, and feel his loving hand, and I’d stay put.

So I guess, Lord, help me to live with an exalted view of you.  Help me not to diminish you in my mind.  Help me not to think of you as any less than the complete glory that you are.  Help me not to focus on being kind or good or patient or anything.  Help me to focus on you and being obedient to your truth and then you will make me kind and good and patient and… anything.

Help me to live beyond the ticking of the clock.