Thrashing: Day 5: Let others find their way

i am afraid to let others have a different path. (because i haven't given us all permission to be as free as we are)

i fear that it means the way my heart experiences life and God is less valid, when i am met by blank stares or "biblical" arguments against what i have known as truth. (because i haven't given us all permission to be as free as we are)

the way i have dealt with this previously has generally been to villify those who would discount my experience, to have hope that "maybe someday they'll get it", but until then, they are stuck. (because i haven't given us all permission to be as free as we are)

my husband cringes when i talk about certain people who have been important to him (us) along the spiritual journey. i caricature them and how judgmental they are, how illegitimate their ideas. i guess this all comes from being trained that there is one "absolute truth", one "right way" and we have to find it. (because i haven't given us all permission to be as free as we are)

"Do I really want the cookie-cutter approach? Do I really believe that if Jesus is the way, then our roads to get to Him must all look exactly the same? Our lives must all contain the same elements? There must be God's one way to live a good life, and the details all play out the same? If I do this, then God rewards me, and if He doesn't reward me, then I haven't performed to His liking? Is this my life to the full? Penciled-in stars? 

What's inside me either matters or it doesn't. Either it is worth listening to or it isn't. Either it is worth exploring or it is worth ignoring. But the decision I make about my worth is a decision that will affect my entire life. If my story doesn't matter internally, my story won't matter to anyone else." - Mandy Steward, Thrashing about with God

no one else can decide who i am. people may have their opinions, and they may have differing views about what is important, even what is crucial.

but right now, for me, and for humankind, i can declare:

i am free

you are free

my story matters

your story matters

we have permission to be who we are, where we are, right now.

dreamspace

I dream of a space where women are free to be.

Just be.

Rest. Stop putting on all the shows we always do around other people, assuming our actions and words will be judged on orthodoxy, our appearances on their presentability.

A space where we can be creative.

Where we can share a poem we’ve written – I see it all spoken word in my living room and on the streets. Where we can paint together, tell our most secret visions, or just sit quietly, resting in the presence of Love.

Where we are free not to be defensive because we know deep down for reals that our hearts are for each other, and that we are the beloved. A space where we can learn from our collective mistakes and strengths and offer our bleeding hearts to be cared for.

Where the wind blows through, welcome.

Where the firelight flickers and beckons and casts into darkness.

Where we can sing, where we can improv, draw, love.

Where the smells are of baking and chai spices.

A place to touch - take in texture and form - and be touched.

A place to be brave, face fears, leap.

A space where my offering –and yours- is accepted, cherished.

Where we lean on his chest and into each others’ lives at the same time. 

A place where “should” is not allowed, and our hearts are required.

And we take our baby steps right out across the water, just to be with him.

fought for. rescued.

 

we still don't know what happened.

two teenagers realized they were lost in the Cleveland National Forest sunday, and made the 911 call that probably saved their lives. their phone died right after calling to describe as best they could where they believed they had lost their way. because they called, people immediately began to search for Nicholas and Kyndall.

days, a thousand prayers, and dozens of searchers - many of them volunteers - later, they were found.

Nicholas was found wednesday, a mile from his car, exactly as he'd described in his emergency call. it took another day to find Kyndall a little ways away on a ridge, disoriented and dehydrated, both of them. but both of them alive. rescued.

i only knew about this because a very new online friend posted on her instagram feed that they would be praying that night at her church for these two teenagers to be found. i joined their prayers, though not in person, and continued to expect the worst.

then, tonight, i walked into starbucks to see the huge title of the OC register scream at me "weak, but alive". relief flooded, and in that moment, more than one of my prayers was answered.

they were safe.

that was one.

the other one had been spoken on the drive to starbucks. i have been feeling so disconnected, lost, and was just longing for God to speak into me. jesus, speak.

***

ever since i watched my first episode of parenthood last week, my heart has been longing, asking a question without ever verbalizing it. both episodes i've seen of that show now have ended with a scene where Max and his heart are fought for.

Max, maybe eight years old, has just been diagnosed with asperger's, and they're all reeling. in the first episode, when they realize he unexpectedly wants to join his team to play baseball that day, his entire extended family drops everything and rushes to get ready for the game. they had just sat down to a lovely backyard lunch, but they leave all that, calling out "you get his uniform?" "i'm snack mom this week! help!" and they are all delighted to fight for this young boy.

the second episode ends with Max's dad putting on a pirate costume to enter his world, try to understand him, to reach his heart. as they run around the yard with red handkerchief-heads and tennis racket-swords, my tears fell for the second time in two episodes. over a dumb television show. but i knew where the emotion was rooted.

i want to feel fought for. i want to believe that i am worth fighting for. worth whatever it takes to rescue this heart of mine. 

there have been moments i believed this, little glimpses into the father-heart of God, into his love, his delight for me. and yes, i have been rescued. but i need to be rescued every day. from the lies, the self-deception, the accusing voices. i need to know: are you on my side? will you fight for me, rescue me? am i even worth it?

and tonight? he answered yes.

in the stories of the many rescuers that went out to fight for the lives of these kids. the ones that got lost themselves in the process, the ones that were injured. one even had to be hospitalized; he was lucky to be alive, the sheriff's department said. people prayed, people searched, people risked their lives to fight for these two teenagers.

and my God fights for me. he doesn't let me stay in my same old ways of self-loathing, believing defeated-enemy lies. he risked GAVE his life because my alive-heart is worth it to him.

and so is yours.

a light spirit

 

in some ways, this is a misnomer.

my friends will tell you i am one of the most heavyhearted people they know.

i have struggled my way through mild depression, even before it could be called post-partum. never enough to be diagnosed, just enough to weigh on me. dysthymia, one psychologist-friend said. i've been to therapy, but never on medication. (yet. when i'm done breastfeeding, i am definitely considering it.)

but i wonder to myself if this is just the condition of those who choose to go deeper.

destined to the depths. with kelp wrapping, shark-fears circling... ever clawing our way to the surface for air. so then, why go deep at all? why dive down below the sparkling surface? why make new discoveries of beauty in the darkness?

because we must.

we must because we are no longer content with words that sail us happily along a glassy-flat experience of a one-sided life.

we must because we know he meets us there, more than anywhere, because we need him most there, where our ships have sunk. where our treasure can be regained.

and we must because of all the souls sinking around us. we are rescuers, those of us willing to plunge beneath lovely exteriors. bringing our diver's headlamp and what oxygen we have to the ones fighting for life. it's not enough for all of us sometimes, especially when the victim thrashes, disconnecting our breathing apparatus, headlocking us in their confusion, and we have to come up for air. but then we're right back in the frothy fray, stealing wriggling ones straight out of hungry jaws.

so this blog's title is maybe more of a twofold prayer, than a descriptor at this point.

a prayer for a light spirit - a spirit full of light, buoyed with purpose.

and a prayer that says, "alight, spirit. speak your light-words through me in this space."

jesus, make it so.