If I had a nickle for every time I've heard, "Can your husband teach my husband how to do that?", I'd be independently wealthy.
I have been blessed with many gifts, not the least of which being a wonderful husband. We have known each other more than 18 years, been together for 16 and married for 14. When we got married I was 19 and he was 20, and everyone thought we were only getting married because we'd had a child. On our 10th anniversary, we renewed our vows, and on that day both sets of parents admitted to us that they never expected us to reach double digits. My first thought was, "Thanks for the vote of confidence." My second thought was, "Nah nah nah nah nah nah!" Immature, I know, but they deserved it.
For all those years, my husband has faithfully been by my side. He stuck with me through 3 years of severe depression, during which I almost killed our son twice, hit my husband in the head with a tea kettle, and contemplated suicide. He has stuck with me through the messiest financial blunders, the craziest of my moods, and the most painful health issues. When our life situations have gotten the ugliest, we have gotten each other through. And we are stronger as individuals and as a unit for it all.
One of the many things that makes my husband so endearing is that he is one of the last of a dying breed ~ he is a romantic. In our world of Women's Lib, chivalry is all but a lost art. And being a strong-willed and fiercely independent woman myself, allowing chivalry to happen for me is not always easy. But my hunny finds the small ways. I often get texts just saying "I love you" or "been thinking of you" or " you are so hot!" He has no problems being playful in the presence of others. He will get a mischievous look in his eye and slap my bottom or tickle me. He is always complimentary, even when I am least deserving. And these are the little things that other women envy, wishing their own husbands were just a little more thoughtful, or just a little less reserved in the expression of their adoration.
I am frequently reminded how obvious it is that my husband adores me. (And just as often I have to ask myself why, but that's another entry.) We have one friend in particular who gets very uncomfortable when we are affectionate with each other is our silly ways. "Will you guys cut it out?!", she will ask in exasperation. I keep reminding her that she's really just jealous because her husband isn't like this. And she admits to it every time. We've had other women tell us that it is almost embarrassing to watch the way my husband loves on me, but it's because they wish their own husbands were so sweet. I can't count how many people have told us that they want what we have in our relationship.
Which is a little disconcerting. I don't particularly like being that kind of an example. It means people are scrutinizing our relationship. It means that there is pressure to perform now. Sure people see and might be envious of the romantic stuff, but our life together has had it's rough spots, too. But maybe that's all the more for people to wonder at. Some major life changes have occurred during the years we've had together, and miraculously, the same changes that might weaken or crumble other marriages couldn't break ours.
Have you seen the movie "Hitch"? Will Smith's character plays a dating consultant, giving advice to guys looking to woo the women they have fallen for. It's all common sensical stuff, but it's little thoughtfulnesses and confidence builders that some guys just seem to forget. I think my husband was the inspiration for this movie. Maybe he should give a "Thoughtful Husbandry" workshop. How many women do I know that would sign their husbands up for that class?!
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Koinonia ~ Final Thoughts
Waking up on Sunday morning was still a struggle, even though I'd actually gotten some sleep. Once up and moving, though, I felt pretty good. It's amazing what healing prayer and a little rest can do for the body.
It was still dark, and a bit chilly, as I walked from the dorm to the dining building. Coffee was brewed, oatmeal and grits were cooked, and the walk back to the prayer room was dimly lit by the red hues of the very early sunrise coming through the trees. There was no hesitation this time when I got to the door, no apprehension about the possibility of the suggestion of staying for prayer. In fact, there was a lightness within me that I hadn't felt in weeks.
As the day progressed, and our work wrapped up, I reflected more on the previous 24 hours ~ and I became frustrated with myself. I had spent the entire first half of the weekend letting my demon get the better of me, letting it tell me that I wasn't worth healing, that everyone else was more important. I let my demon convince me that I would not be able to handle the battle if I called down the thunder, as if I would even be the one fighting.
Ironically, I neglected the inspiration for the tattoo on my hand. In Aramaic it reads "be still". Most people immediately think of the Psalm that says "be still and know that I am the Lord", but for me, the significance comes from Exodus. As the Isrealites were pursued by the Egyptians, they were halted by the Red Sea, and there they complained to Moses that he should have left them in Egypt, where they'd had it so much better as slaves. Imagine, they actually thought it was better to be beaten and abused instead of crossing a sea into the Promised Land! In the midst of their grumblings, Moses reminded the Isrealites that God would fight for them, if only they would be still and allow Him to.
"The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still." Exodus 14:14 Interestingly, this verse is immediately followed-up by "Then the LORD said to Moses, 'Why are you crying out to me? Tell the Israelites to move on.'" In other words, yes, the Lord will for us, but sometimes we need to make a move. We can't just wallow in our pity party and cry to God, waiting for His deliverance to be plopped in our lap. We must get off our duff and take a step ~ which usually needs to be out of His way. It took being prodded by my fellow kitchen workers, being pushed by my husband, and a lot of self-pep-talk for me to take that step. But once I made it, I then only needed to keep myself out of God's warpath. I may have been the battleground, but I was not the warrior.
Throughout the rest of the retreat, my heart was able to fully acknowledge and bask in the presence of the spirit. Thankfully, this was more than enough to overcome the disappointment I'd felt for succumbing to that small dark voice for so long. I felt to some extent like I had allowed myself to be robbed of this washing in the spirit during that first day, but I needed to let that go, knowing that the potential guilt was another potential stumbling block.
The last few hours that we were all together were some of the most intriguing. Another teammate, who had been serving in an entirely different capacity, told me that she'd felt a nudge to pray with me all weekend, but she'd not been particularly obedient about listening. She had served on the team when I was a participant, but we never really spoke that weekend, and since we were serving in different areas on this team, our paths never really crossed. So I'm not sure why she felt nudged toward me. Also during that time, several people told me how beautiful I was. This compliment always leaves me disconcerted. I told Josh that I'm used to hearing it from him, and I always appreciate hearing him say it, but I'm always uncomfortable when it comes from other people. When he asked me why I told him it was because I don't see it ~ I don't believe it about myself. I don't believe I'm ugly, but beautiful is not a word I would ever use to describe myself. Finally, I knew I was in for it when the soul-peeping disciple asked if we might get together sometime after the weekend to talk more.
Once again, God showed up in full force. He always does at these junctions in our journey. "For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them." Matt 18:20 Imagine when 45-60 gather for days at time. That's why I love to serve at these events ~ because God pours so much into me that I can't help but pour it out into others. My body leaves these weekend exhausted, but my soul leaves renewed.
It was still dark, and a bit chilly, as I walked from the dorm to the dining building. Coffee was brewed, oatmeal and grits were cooked, and the walk back to the prayer room was dimly lit by the red hues of the very early sunrise coming through the trees. There was no hesitation this time when I got to the door, no apprehension about the possibility of the suggestion of staying for prayer. In fact, there was a lightness within me that I hadn't felt in weeks.
As the day progressed, and our work wrapped up, I reflected more on the previous 24 hours ~ and I became frustrated with myself. I had spent the entire first half of the weekend letting my demon get the better of me, letting it tell me that I wasn't worth healing, that everyone else was more important. I let my demon convince me that I would not be able to handle the battle if I called down the thunder, as if I would even be the one fighting.
Ironically, I neglected the inspiration for the tattoo on my hand. In Aramaic it reads "be still". Most people immediately think of the Psalm that says "be still and know that I am the Lord", but for me, the significance comes from Exodus. As the Isrealites were pursued by the Egyptians, they were halted by the Red Sea, and there they complained to Moses that he should have left them in Egypt, where they'd had it so much better as slaves. Imagine, they actually thought it was better to be beaten and abused instead of crossing a sea into the Promised Land! In the midst of their grumblings, Moses reminded the Isrealites that God would fight for them, if only they would be still and allow Him to.
"The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still." Exodus 14:14 Interestingly, this verse is immediately followed-up by "Then the LORD said to Moses, 'Why are you crying out to me? Tell the Israelites to move on.'" In other words, yes, the Lord will for us, but sometimes we need to make a move. We can't just wallow in our pity party and cry to God, waiting for His deliverance to be plopped in our lap. We must get off our duff and take a step ~ which usually needs to be out of His way. It took being prodded by my fellow kitchen workers, being pushed by my husband, and a lot of self-pep-talk for me to take that step. But once I made it, I then only needed to keep myself out of God's warpath. I may have been the battleground, but I was not the warrior.
Throughout the rest of the retreat, my heart was able to fully acknowledge and bask in the presence of the spirit. Thankfully, this was more than enough to overcome the disappointment I'd felt for succumbing to that small dark voice for so long. I felt to some extent like I had allowed myself to be robbed of this washing in the spirit during that first day, but I needed to let that go, knowing that the potential guilt was another potential stumbling block.
The last few hours that we were all together were some of the most intriguing. Another teammate, who had been serving in an entirely different capacity, told me that she'd felt a nudge to pray with me all weekend, but she'd not been particularly obedient about listening. She had served on the team when I was a participant, but we never really spoke that weekend, and since we were serving in different areas on this team, our paths never really crossed. So I'm not sure why she felt nudged toward me. Also during that time, several people told me how beautiful I was. This compliment always leaves me disconcerted. I told Josh that I'm used to hearing it from him, and I always appreciate hearing him say it, but I'm always uncomfortable when it comes from other people. When he asked me why I told him it was because I don't see it ~ I don't believe it about myself. I don't believe I'm ugly, but beautiful is not a word I would ever use to describe myself. Finally, I knew I was in for it when the soul-peeping disciple asked if we might get together sometime after the weekend to talk more.
Once again, God showed up in full force. He always does at these junctions in our journey. "For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them." Matt 18:20 Imagine when 45-60 gather for days at time. That's why I love to serve at these events ~ because God pours so much into me that I can't help but pour it out into others. My body leaves these weekend exhausted, but my soul leaves renewed.
Koinonia ~ the Event
I never sleep well away from home, especially when my sleeping arrangement is a cot or mattress on the floor, which is usually the arrangements at these retreats. Friday night was no exception. Though it was after midnight by the time I got to bed, and though I was exhausted, sleep did not come easily. Combine that with the fact that my wake-up time was 545 and Saturday started off on a dissonant note. The wonderful thing about dissonance is that it can work as long as it fits into the harmony that surrounds it. Thankfully, that was the case. We had gotten so much prep done the night before that the morning ran pretty smoothly. And we were fortunate to work with an experienced kitchen crew.
Uncharacteristically, I am told, there was quite a bit of down time in the kitchen between meals. There is always a flurry of prep immediately before a meal, an adrenaline rush during the serving, and then the seemingly never ending parade of dishes during clean-up. But the crew was awesome and efficient, which allowed time for naps, which I took advantage of, and visiting the prayer room, which everyone else took advantage of. Personally, I was not looking forward to visiting the prayer room.
Earlier in the morning, before the official rush of brunch, some light breakfast foods were prepped and taken to the disciples in the prayer room. While we were there, my fellow kitchen worker suggested that we stay for a few minutes to be prayed over. Ok, I thought, there is safety in numbers and I felt better being prayed for as a unit rather than an individual at that point. Once again we were anointed with oil. The disciple that prayed for us sat on the other side of my co-worker and spoke so softly that I couldn't always make out what was being said ~ which was fine because the headache I was getting interfered with my concentration anyway. This was the second time my head felt like it might explode.
Throughout the rest of the day, as down time presented itself, I was encouraged to visit the disciples. I opted to nap instead. One of my roomies brought her young kitten and, though he was confined to a kitty playpen or was sleeping his owners bunk, he was a comforting presence. I love being surrounded by my own pets when I'm feeling beaten down. They don't have to be in my lap or touching me otherwise, just their presence on the back of the chair or couch is comforting enough.
As I was coming back from my nap, Josh was coming back from his turn with the disciples. He wasn't wearing his glasses, so I knew he'd been crying, but by the look on his face I also knew the tear were for positive reasons. He seemed overwhelmed, in a good way, by the prayer experience, and at once both exhausted and energized. That's the strange thing about prayer, it can be draining physically while at the same time rejuvenating spiritually. At some point, the spiritual energy refuels the physical and the body is able to get back to work. On this spiritual high, Josh was all the more persistent that I visit the disciples. Thankfully, there was work to be done now and I was able to buy time.
Truth be told, I was afraid to visit the prayer room on behalf of myself. First of all, there is a feeling of selfishness when I ask for prayer for myself. As a healthcare professional, I understand and take for advantage of "care for the caregiver". If a person fails to care for themselves, they cannot give themselves fully to the care of others. I understand and embrace this on a physical level, with no problems asking others to assist in my bodily healing, so why do I feel so guilty focusing on my own spiritual care? I am almost hyper-vigilant about taking care of my body so that I can take care of the bodies of my patients. Why can't I do the same for my spirit, so that I can more fully take care of the spirits of those around me?
Secondly, I knew there was a battle raging within me ~ and I wasn't confident that I could withstand what may come of intense prayer. My last round of spiritual warfare was fresh in my mind and the thought of experiencing that kind of pain again was not appealing to me. According to scientific law, for every action there is an equal but opposite reaction. I was terrified that when God showed up to fight the battle within the demon inside would rise to the occasion with everything it had, and that I would be ripped apart.
Dinner prep and service came and went, as did the other non-food related commitments of the staff for the evening. Finally, I had run out of reasons to put off going to the disciples, and since I had told Josh I would go after the events of the evening wound down, he wouldn't let me go to bed until I went to the disciples.
There are 12 disciples on the retreat weekend who are essentially prayer warriors, praying around the clock for individuals who seek them out, but also for the participants and the group at large. Since the retreat is 48 hours long, and no one expects these 12 folks to go that long with no rest, the disciples man the prayer room in shifts. As luck would have it, the disciple who stared into my soul the week before was there, staring into my soul again.
I sat in the chair of honor, so to speak, and was asked what I was requesting prayer for. I couldn't answer the question. The tears were already fighting to escape, but the words were not. Someone asked if I needed healing, and I could only nod. Then I was asked what the healing was for, but I still couldn't answer. I looked to Josh, hoping he would speak for me, and even though he knew what I'd been struggling with, he said nothing. After a moment of silence, touch was upon me and the praying began. There were a few general prayers for healing lifted up before Josh finally spoke directly to the release he knew I needed.
That's when I was hit ~ literally, it seemed. A pain suddenly arose that felt as if I'd taken a baseball launched from a pitching rifle to the left side of my head ~ and I'm pretty sure I winced. A moment later, there was the warmth of a hand perfectly over the pain, and right there, along the side of my forehead, I could physically feel the battle for my mind.
I don't know how long I sat there, feeling the pain in my head and the ripping at my heart. It felt like forever. Then, the pain in my head faded, so subtly that it took me a moment to acknowledge it, and the tearing at my heart was replaced with peace. Once the spirit in the room settled, the conversation of what others discerned ensued. It was intriguing what others were able to see in me. I haven't processed it fully yet, but everything that was said resounded with me.
Sleep came quickly that night, despite being away from home and on a cot. I was physically exhausted from the work of the day and emotionally drained for the experience of prayer. The allergy meds and PM pain killer helped, I'm sure. Finally, I was able to rest.
Uncharacteristically, I am told, there was quite a bit of down time in the kitchen between meals. There is always a flurry of prep immediately before a meal, an adrenaline rush during the serving, and then the seemingly never ending parade of dishes during clean-up. But the crew was awesome and efficient, which allowed time for naps, which I took advantage of, and visiting the prayer room, which everyone else took advantage of. Personally, I was not looking forward to visiting the prayer room.
Earlier in the morning, before the official rush of brunch, some light breakfast foods were prepped and taken to the disciples in the prayer room. While we were there, my fellow kitchen worker suggested that we stay for a few minutes to be prayed over. Ok, I thought, there is safety in numbers and I felt better being prayed for as a unit rather than an individual at that point. Once again we were anointed with oil. The disciple that prayed for us sat on the other side of my co-worker and spoke so softly that I couldn't always make out what was being said ~ which was fine because the headache I was getting interfered with my concentration anyway. This was the second time my head felt like it might explode.
Throughout the rest of the day, as down time presented itself, I was encouraged to visit the disciples. I opted to nap instead. One of my roomies brought her young kitten and, though he was confined to a kitty playpen or was sleeping his owners bunk, he was a comforting presence. I love being surrounded by my own pets when I'm feeling beaten down. They don't have to be in my lap or touching me otherwise, just their presence on the back of the chair or couch is comforting enough.
As I was coming back from my nap, Josh was coming back from his turn with the disciples. He wasn't wearing his glasses, so I knew he'd been crying, but by the look on his face I also knew the tear were for positive reasons. He seemed overwhelmed, in a good way, by the prayer experience, and at once both exhausted and energized. That's the strange thing about prayer, it can be draining physically while at the same time rejuvenating spiritually. At some point, the spiritual energy refuels the physical and the body is able to get back to work. On this spiritual high, Josh was all the more persistent that I visit the disciples. Thankfully, there was work to be done now and I was able to buy time.
Truth be told, I was afraid to visit the prayer room on behalf of myself. First of all, there is a feeling of selfishness when I ask for prayer for myself. As a healthcare professional, I understand and take for advantage of "care for the caregiver". If a person fails to care for themselves, they cannot give themselves fully to the care of others. I understand and embrace this on a physical level, with no problems asking others to assist in my bodily healing, so why do I feel so guilty focusing on my own spiritual care? I am almost hyper-vigilant about taking care of my body so that I can take care of the bodies of my patients. Why can't I do the same for my spirit, so that I can more fully take care of the spirits of those around me?
Secondly, I knew there was a battle raging within me ~ and I wasn't confident that I could withstand what may come of intense prayer. My last round of spiritual warfare was fresh in my mind and the thought of experiencing that kind of pain again was not appealing to me. According to scientific law, for every action there is an equal but opposite reaction. I was terrified that when God showed up to fight the battle within the demon inside would rise to the occasion with everything it had, and that I would be ripped apart.
Dinner prep and service came and went, as did the other non-food related commitments of the staff for the evening. Finally, I had run out of reasons to put off going to the disciples, and since I had told Josh I would go after the events of the evening wound down, he wouldn't let me go to bed until I went to the disciples.
There are 12 disciples on the retreat weekend who are essentially prayer warriors, praying around the clock for individuals who seek them out, but also for the participants and the group at large. Since the retreat is 48 hours long, and no one expects these 12 folks to go that long with no rest, the disciples man the prayer room in shifts. As luck would have it, the disciple who stared into my soul the week before was there, staring into my soul again.
I sat in the chair of honor, so to speak, and was asked what I was requesting prayer for. I couldn't answer the question. The tears were already fighting to escape, but the words were not. Someone asked if I needed healing, and I could only nod. Then I was asked what the healing was for, but I still couldn't answer. I looked to Josh, hoping he would speak for me, and even though he knew what I'd been struggling with, he said nothing. After a moment of silence, touch was upon me and the praying began. There were a few general prayers for healing lifted up before Josh finally spoke directly to the release he knew I needed.
That's when I was hit ~ literally, it seemed. A pain suddenly arose that felt as if I'd taken a baseball launched from a pitching rifle to the left side of my head ~ and I'm pretty sure I winced. A moment later, there was the warmth of a hand perfectly over the pain, and right there, along the side of my forehead, I could physically feel the battle for my mind.
I don't know how long I sat there, feeling the pain in my head and the ripping at my heart. It felt like forever. Then, the pain in my head faded, so subtly that it took me a moment to acknowledge it, and the tearing at my heart was replaced with peace. Once the spirit in the room settled, the conversation of what others discerned ensued. It was intriguing what others were able to see in me. I haven't processed it fully yet, but everything that was said resounded with me.
Sleep came quickly that night, despite being away from home and on a cot. I was physically exhausted from the work of the day and emotionally drained for the experience of prayer. The allergy meds and PM pain killer helped, I'm sure. Finally, I was able to rest.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Koinonia ~ Pre-K
Last April, Josh and I were blessed to attend a Koinonia spiritual retreat. Koinonia is similar to the Walk to Emmaus and Kairos retreats that we are also involved in, but Koinonia is shorter in its time-frame and a little more free in its structure. To be honest, I don't remember many details of that weekend, but I very clearly remember the spirit being present. I also remember Josh asking me how soon I thought it would be before we were asked to be on staff. I told him probably for the next weekend 6 months later.
Can I call it, or what?
Yes, Josh and I were called to be on the facilitating team for the October Koinonia weekend. We were given the option of working in the kitchen or as "disciples" in the prayer room. Thankfully, Josh committed us to kitchen duty. It's were we seem to be most suited. We always work in the kitchen for Emmaus weekends and I usually seem to end up in the food room for Kairos weekends, so we figure it's where we are called to be.
Being on a team for a retreat like this asks for a commitment of several weeks of team building meetings. The requirements differ from one ministry to the next, but the function is the same ~ to build a relationship between team members in order to more fully present Christ to the participants. We were not too terribly far into the team meetings when the darkness started to creep in.
The events of the early summer seemed to have left a door open a crack for a spiteful spirit to sneak in and hook its claws in me. All through this team building experience I struggled with spite and envy to degrees which do not ordinary rise up in me. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't shake it. During our last team meeting, as I continued to struggle with my demon, the disciples prayed over the rest of the team. As I moved from one pair to the next, feeling the laying of hands on my shoulders, I could also feel the conflict within, as if I were being pulled apart on the inside. When I finally reached the last pair to pray over me, one of them looked at me as if they could peer into my soul and see the evil that had taken up residence there. And it scared me.
One of the problems non-believers have with believers is the prevalence of "counterfeit Christians". Since accepting Christ for the second time I have tried to walk the talk. Now, here I was trying to hide my demons, embarrassed that I was less than perfect to serve. Not only was I battling spite and envy, but now I was burdened with the guilt of hiding it.
The few days immediately before the retreat weekend were the hardest for me. Circumstances at work were less then wonderful, events at home had me upset and resentful, and the hour long drive to the retreat was spent is anger, stewing and brooding. In hindsight, I can almost hear Satan laughing.
We got the the camp and set up our sleep arrangements, then headed toward the kitchen. There was a potluck dinner provided for the team and the hour(ish) before the official start of the weekend was spent in last minute prep and prayer. Once again the disciples prayed over each of the other crews within the larger team. One put anointing oil on each of our foreheads and prayer was offered up for endurance and protection. While they prayed over the other crews, I started to get a headache. When they finally made their way to the kitchen crew, anointing oil was placed on my head ~ and I thought it might explode from the pain. I chalked it up to sinus pressure and took some meds. The kitchen crew then proceeded to spend the rest of the evening in prep for the weekend.
Can I call it, or what?
Yes, Josh and I were called to be on the facilitating team for the October Koinonia weekend. We were given the option of working in the kitchen or as "disciples" in the prayer room. Thankfully, Josh committed us to kitchen duty. It's were we seem to be most suited. We always work in the kitchen for Emmaus weekends and I usually seem to end up in the food room for Kairos weekends, so we figure it's where we are called to be.
Being on a team for a retreat like this asks for a commitment of several weeks of team building meetings. The requirements differ from one ministry to the next, but the function is the same ~ to build a relationship between team members in order to more fully present Christ to the participants. We were not too terribly far into the team meetings when the darkness started to creep in.
The events of the early summer seemed to have left a door open a crack for a spiteful spirit to sneak in and hook its claws in me. All through this team building experience I struggled with spite and envy to degrees which do not ordinary rise up in me. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't shake it. During our last team meeting, as I continued to struggle with my demon, the disciples prayed over the rest of the team. As I moved from one pair to the next, feeling the laying of hands on my shoulders, I could also feel the conflict within, as if I were being pulled apart on the inside. When I finally reached the last pair to pray over me, one of them looked at me as if they could peer into my soul and see the evil that had taken up residence there. And it scared me.
One of the problems non-believers have with believers is the prevalence of "counterfeit Christians". Since accepting Christ for the second time I have tried to walk the talk. Now, here I was trying to hide my demons, embarrassed that I was less than perfect to serve. Not only was I battling spite and envy, but now I was burdened with the guilt of hiding it.
The few days immediately before the retreat weekend were the hardest for me. Circumstances at work were less then wonderful, events at home had me upset and resentful, and the hour long drive to the retreat was spent is anger, stewing and brooding. In hindsight, I can almost hear Satan laughing.
We got the the camp and set up our sleep arrangements, then headed toward the kitchen. There was a potluck dinner provided for the team and the hour(ish) before the official start of the weekend was spent in last minute prep and prayer. Once again the disciples prayed over each of the other crews within the larger team. One put anointing oil on each of our foreheads and prayer was offered up for endurance and protection. While they prayed over the other crews, I started to get a headache. When they finally made their way to the kitchen crew, anointing oil was placed on my head ~ and I thought it might explode from the pain. I chalked it up to sinus pressure and took some meds. The kitchen crew then proceeded to spend the rest of the evening in prep for the weekend.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Gimme That Ol' Time Religion
My husband is in the beginning stages of church planting. As part of this process, we have meetings every 2 weeks with the ragtag band of misfits (don't take that as an insult, they fit right in with us) who have committed to support this effort.
One of my husbands strongest attributes is his ability to network literally anywhere and everywhere he goes. The kitchen he works in was recently renovated, and new equipment was part of the make-over. Having received and installed the new pizza oven, the old model was sold to a local small business owner. Mikey's Late Night Slice is a whole in the wall pizzeria in the Short North of Columbus that caters to the night owls of OSU campus and the Brewery District. And they have rockin' pizza.
Due to its eclectic atmosphere ~ and awesome pizza ~ we decided to have our last meeting at Mikey's. Considering the target clientele, our posse arrived early in the night, so we were able to snag the large table in the indoor eating area ~ which backs up to Studio 83, a gallery of local artists. At 8:30 on a Friday, the Short North is just waking up, but there was plenty of activity to be seen through the front glass windows.
We sat eating for a short while, just catching up on the happenings of the past 2 weeks. Then we progressed to the study and talk of church, with almost an entire pizza still sitting in the box on the table in front of us. At some point, a man had come into the dining area and was simply standing at the end of our table. Being the man he his, my husband said hello and asked what we could do for the gentleman. The man replied, "I was just wondering, if y'all were finished eating, if you would be willing to give the leftovers to help out a homeless man?" Without hesitation, my husband handed the man, who did look very much in need, the box of pizza that was missing only a single slice.
Confession time. I was more than just a little uncomfortable with the situation. Having been mugged by a man pretending to need directions, my first reaction in this type of scenario is to withdraw ~ tuck in anything that might possibly be latched onto and back away. Had the decision been left to me, I'm not so sure the guy would have gotten to box of pizza. Thank God the decision was not mine to make.
While on the topic of confessions...
To add to the already odd dynamic of having a church meeting in the hopping section of the Short North and being solicited my a homeless man, one of our misfit supporters felt the need to make a confession. At a more conventional church meeting in a more traditional setting, this confession would have been met by wide-eyed silence and judgement. Here we talked through what was going on, reassured our misfit that they were loved none-the-less for feeling the need to be real and transparent.
Hands down, this was the strangest church meeting I personally have ever attended. God moved that night in ways I never would have seen coming. And just when I think I have seen it all, I know he's going to do it again.
One of my husbands strongest attributes is his ability to network literally anywhere and everywhere he goes. The kitchen he works in was recently renovated, and new equipment was part of the make-over. Having received and installed the new pizza oven, the old model was sold to a local small business owner. Mikey's Late Night Slice is a whole in the wall pizzeria in the Short North of Columbus that caters to the night owls of OSU campus and the Brewery District. And they have rockin' pizza.
Due to its eclectic atmosphere ~ and awesome pizza ~ we decided to have our last meeting at Mikey's. Considering the target clientele, our posse arrived early in the night, so we were able to snag the large table in the indoor eating area ~ which backs up to Studio 83, a gallery of local artists. At 8:30 on a Friday, the Short North is just waking up, but there was plenty of activity to be seen through the front glass windows.
We sat eating for a short while, just catching up on the happenings of the past 2 weeks. Then we progressed to the study and talk of church, with almost an entire pizza still sitting in the box on the table in front of us. At some point, a man had come into the dining area and was simply standing at the end of our table. Being the man he his, my husband said hello and asked what we could do for the gentleman. The man replied, "I was just wondering, if y'all were finished eating, if you would be willing to give the leftovers to help out a homeless man?" Without hesitation, my husband handed the man, who did look very much in need, the box of pizza that was missing only a single slice.
Confession time. I was more than just a little uncomfortable with the situation. Having been mugged by a man pretending to need directions, my first reaction in this type of scenario is to withdraw ~ tuck in anything that might possibly be latched onto and back away. Had the decision been left to me, I'm not so sure the guy would have gotten to box of pizza. Thank God the decision was not mine to make.
While on the topic of confessions...
To add to the already odd dynamic of having a church meeting in the hopping section of the Short North and being solicited my a homeless man, one of our misfit supporters felt the need to make a confession. At a more conventional church meeting in a more traditional setting, this confession would have been met by wide-eyed silence and judgement. Here we talked through what was going on, reassured our misfit that they were loved none-the-less for feeling the need to be real and transparent.
Hands down, this was the strangest church meeting I personally have ever attended. God moved that night in ways I never would have seen coming. And just when I think I have seen it all, I know he's going to do it again.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Feast & Famine
Working as a massage therapist for the last 9 years I have noticed a definite pattern to the general flow of the busyness of my work. From mid-June to about mid-October is famine season. The days are long and the weather is beautiful, and people spend longer hours enjoying the gifts of Mother Nature. It is also high season for vacations, and people spend their expendable income in other places. August is probably the most barren since people are squeezing in last minute rendezvous and parents are shopping for back to school and paying school fees through the nose. October is the begining of the feast season as the days get shorter and colder and the fall lawn maintenance causes muscle strains, all of which encourage people to meander back to the massage table. January rocks with holiday gift certificate redemptions, and February follows suite with Valentine's Day. March and April fade a little, unless there is some big snow storm that causes a flurry of auto accidents, but May sees a spike with Mother's Day.
Feast and famine ~ it's the nature of the beast.
It is also the nature of my spiritual life.
The first 6 years of my life were a spiritual feast. I was raised in faith until my parents split. After the divorce, there were 4 years of famine. When I turned 10 my mother wanted me to be baptized and reintroduced me to faith. In the years that followed, she and my siblings slipped away, but I stayed ~ until I turned 17. In my junior year of high school, I began to question certain beliefs of the faith in which I was raised, which was apparently frowned upon. "There are just some things we are to take on faith." I was black-marked, the rumor-mill ran at full tilt, and I left the church of my youth. And entered into the most extended period of spiritual famine I have experienced to date. A famine of 9 years.
Since recommitting myself to Christ, my life has been a sequence of spiritual highs and lows. I have had my share of mountain top experiences, only to have them followed-up by overwhelming spiritual attacks which cast me into the deepest, darkest pit of the soul.
Right now, I am in famine mode.
The last few month have brought with them great change in the spiritual life of our family. We have left the church that has been our family for the last 7 year in order to follow God's call in our lives. Yet, I checked out months before the official send-off. And since the send-off, we have been somewhat nomadic, having commitments here and there and everywhere that have kept us from consistently worshiping in one place. Our small group has been disbanded in the interest of focusing our energies toward a church plant, and life in general has been so stupid busy that I have put my own study on the back burner. We have been so focused on planting a church and ministering to others that I have completely neglected ministering to ME. I have spent several months in a spiritual famine.
So, now what? How can I find my way back to the feast?
History has shown me that when I finally recognize that I have been starving spiritually, I dive in and drink deep again, immersing myself in personal study and private worship. I need to attend worship services, even if not at my home church. I surround myself with people from whom I feed off of spiritually.
But this time is different. This time I don't yet have a true church home and family that I can call my Tera. I don't have keys to a building that I can lock myself into and literally, physically lay myself at the foot of the cross. This time I am not only in famine, but I am in transition. Not only am I starving, I am homeless. I thank God that I have never experienced this physically, because spiritually is rough enough.
Those of us who have been on this journey of the spirit for any length of time know that it is not a steady ascent, that it has it's peaks and valleys. I am currently in the valley, and the steep walls seem to block out the Light. But I will keep pressing onward, each step slightly higher as I climb out of the barren valley and strive toward the feast awaiting me at the next peak, knowing that it will be sufficient to sustain me through the famine in the valley that follows.
Feast and famine ~ it's the nature of the beast.
It is also the nature of my spiritual life.
The first 6 years of my life were a spiritual feast. I was raised in faith until my parents split. After the divorce, there were 4 years of famine. When I turned 10 my mother wanted me to be baptized and reintroduced me to faith. In the years that followed, she and my siblings slipped away, but I stayed ~ until I turned 17. In my junior year of high school, I began to question certain beliefs of the faith in which I was raised, which was apparently frowned upon. "There are just some things we are to take on faith." I was black-marked, the rumor-mill ran at full tilt, and I left the church of my youth. And entered into the most extended period of spiritual famine I have experienced to date. A famine of 9 years.
Since recommitting myself to Christ, my life has been a sequence of spiritual highs and lows. I have had my share of mountain top experiences, only to have them followed-up by overwhelming spiritual attacks which cast me into the deepest, darkest pit of the soul.
Right now, I am in famine mode.
The last few month have brought with them great change in the spiritual life of our family. We have left the church that has been our family for the last 7 year in order to follow God's call in our lives. Yet, I checked out months before the official send-off. And since the send-off, we have been somewhat nomadic, having commitments here and there and everywhere that have kept us from consistently worshiping in one place. Our small group has been disbanded in the interest of focusing our energies toward a church plant, and life in general has been so stupid busy that I have put my own study on the back burner. We have been so focused on planting a church and ministering to others that I have completely neglected ministering to ME. I have spent several months in a spiritual famine.
So, now what? How can I find my way back to the feast?
History has shown me that when I finally recognize that I have been starving spiritually, I dive in and drink deep again, immersing myself in personal study and private worship. I need to attend worship services, even if not at my home church. I surround myself with people from whom I feed off of spiritually.
But this time is different. This time I don't yet have a true church home and family that I can call my Tera. I don't have keys to a building that I can lock myself into and literally, physically lay myself at the foot of the cross. This time I am not only in famine, but I am in transition. Not only am I starving, I am homeless. I thank God that I have never experienced this physically, because spiritually is rough enough.
Those of us who have been on this journey of the spirit for any length of time know that it is not a steady ascent, that it has it's peaks and valleys. I am currently in the valley, and the steep walls seem to block out the Light. But I will keep pressing onward, each step slightly higher as I climb out of the barren valley and strive toward the feast awaiting me at the next peak, knowing that it will be sufficient to sustain me through the famine in the valley that follows.
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