Numb

I was sick for the last two weeks of February. The most bothersome symptom that I encountered was a stopped-up, fluid-filled ear. From dizziness to dissonant sounds – I had it all. And I couldn't figure out what to do to make it better. But here is something random that I learned from it. The entire left side of my face felt a bit numb when my ear wouldn't turn on.

I was in New York about a year ago. During that trip, a friend of mine and I participated in an exhibition called Dialog in the Dark. It’s a contained experiment in navigating the city of New York, blind. As I moved with a walking cane from a simulated subway to a replica of Times Square in complete darkness, I felt a similar sensation. My eyes felt numb when they couldn't see.

I find it odd that twice now, when parts of my physical body weren't able to do the thing for which they were created, they felt numb. So it caused me to wonder – does that phenomenon transcend to the physical? Are there parts of who we are that are numb because they are not being used?

I'd venture to say that whether we admit it or not - the answer is yes. We all have blockages somewhere that keep us from reaching our full potential. That allow us to move through life in a protective, numbed form. And we aren't even aware of the wonderful sensations we are missing.

Which then raises the question – what causes numbness? Physically, it can be illness...injury...choice, in the case of my blindness experiment. Idleness – like when my foot falls asleep. Is it that different in matters of the heart? Illness and injury certainly exist on an emotional and spiritual level. We can choose to numb ourselves. And I won’t even start on the dangers of idleness.

Whatever the cause...here we are. Numbed people interacting with numbed people. And we gather in solidarity with those whose numbness justifies or compliments our own. Until, hopefully, someday someone draws us out into the world of sensation. The world of feeling. The world of life.

And the thing is – it is rarely comfortable. When the light gradually came on after 30 minutes in total darkness, it hurt my eyes. When that blood rushes back into my sleeping foot; the prickles are unbearable. Even the progression of getting my hearing back was fraught with frustration in the “two steps forward, one step back” process.

Isn't it funny, though…however the feeling returns – slowly adjusting to sight again, quickly returning to my foot or intermittently as with my hearing – it’s never the “right” way because it’s always uncomfortable. The processes of growth - development - change - all things that require us to let go of the numbness...they are always uncomfortable. So, I hope that I have the grace to believe the process is always worth it.

Calling Bluff

I think that everyone lives their life waiting for their bluff to be called. Waiting for that one person to say “yes – I see this shiny exterior that you portray…but I see beyond it. I’m calling your bluff.” And I think that equally as scary as that is…it’s something that we all want deep down. To not feel like we have to have that shiny exterior. To know that someone sees through it…and stays around.

It’s really a paradox – the desire to be known and the fear of being known. And when someone calls your bluff…its just painful on some level. I don't care who you are.

I’m actually pretty good at pushing people beyond their boundaries. At seeing something in them and gently pulling it out. Giving them room to try and fail. And it's something I hide behind. Do as I say…not as I do. So, recently, I feel like my bluff is being called in this area. I'm being challenged, prodded, nudged toward giving myself the freedom to try and fail. Toward giving myself freedom, period. I’ve asked for it. I want it. But – oh how hard it is.

Hide your scars, hide your fears, hide your insecurities…but to be your healthiest, you have to bring them into the light. Name them. Face them. Live in them. You need someone to call your bluff.

What if...

"God can do anything, you know—far more than you could ever imagine or guess or request in your wildest dreams! He does it not by pushing us around but by working within us, his Spirit deeply and gently within us."

Ephesians 3:20

This verse has always been pretty self-explanatory to me. I believed it, even as a child. I can remember not wanting to imagine what I would get for Christmas…or trying not to guess if my mom would let me stay an extra night at Beth's house. I didn’t want to think of what I wanted, and get my heart set on it, because that would mean that God would do something different. (I guess that’s a little backwards, actually, because the verse said that God would do something more. But that’s for another blog…) 

But the question that God has been asking me recently is:

What if there is more?

My 38 years have been good, great, even – not without sadness and wandering – but good, nonetheless. I am blessed. I could easily call my life above average. I have a solid family, great friends and the ability to be involved in some things that are bigger than me. I've always been provided for, and, I am so grateful. But, lately, God keeps beckoning me on with that burning question:

What if there is more?
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What if there is more than everything you have always thought was “best”?

What if there was more than what you have settled for in your life?

What if there was more to the things you haven’t pursued because of what your experience has shown you?

What if that tug, that sadness, that longing in your heart is there because there is MORE?
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What hope there is in the beginning of the knowledge that…there could be more than you ever even knew existed in the first place! What hope! What joy! What if? And, what faith... Do I dare to hope? To believe?


Which brings me to this prayer:  “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief...” (Mark 9:24)

Insecurity

Insecurity is a curious thing. 

Insecurity accepts whatever it is offered – whether or not it should. It takes it…owns it…and then asks for more.

Insecurity has no boundaries. It lets anyone into its yard, regardless of the “No Trespassing” sign.

Insecurity does not protect those with which it dwells. In fact – it throws wide the door to danger and says, “Are you looking for her? Let me take you.”

It bows to all...but those who are closest.

It takes harmless scraps and pieces them into something unintended.

Insecurity evicts possibility. 

It has no hope, no joy, no love.

It hides everything good and true in the cellar, removed from the light of day.

It resides in regret…bound by fear. As do those it holds dear.

Safe Places

Does anyone remember this sign? It's always what I think of when I hear the phrase "safe place." In Madison, it could be found at your local Wendy's. If you were in trouble, you could go there for help.

"Safe Place." That phrase has been said to me more than once and by more than one person in the past two days. I know that the people who have said that to me mean it and I believe them, so I’m wondering what my hang-up is.

If I believe them…that really only leaves one option – I’m the one who is keeping that “safety” at bay. It’s not that I don’t believe that “safe places” exist…I do. (I’m actually pretty good at creating them for others.) And I really do believe the individuals who have offered them to me. But, apparently, it isn’t just about believing. I guess believing and accepting are two different things.

It’s a strange thing really – the ability to accept or not accept. Something miraculous happened when I accepted the gift of eternal life. I had heard the story since infancy. I believed it. But, even as a little girl, once I accepted it, it was true. Doubts have wafted in and out over the years…but in my heart of hearts, once I accepted that gift – that truth – the deal was sealed.

I don’t believe that the miracle of faith is relegated to that one decision in that one moment in time. So, I wonder if a little miracle happens every time you accept something that you have trouble receiving. Is acceptance of Truth – any Truth – always as powerful? Is that part of working out our salvation with fear and trembling?

There’s some essence of choice in accepting. I've known people who believe Jesus – but just can’t bring themselves to accept what He did for them. Acceptance is a choice… It’s opening your hands. Posturing, palms up. Saying “yes, and” rather than “no, but.” It’s trusting. It’s faith.

I think acceptance is where the rubber meets the road. It’s where the miraculous meets the mundane. It’s the culmination of the head intertwining with the heart. It’s found in the moment when we take one step and God jumps the chasm.

I have been granted me the ability to accept the ultimate gift…oh that I might also be granted the ability to accept all good and perfect gifts offered to me.

God Likes Needy

It's a recent character trait, I think, but I don't do well when people are "needy." If you ask some long-time friends or family members, they would be surprised by that confession because I'm well known for taking people under my wing...but at least for the time being, it is true. In the same vein, I don't like appearing needy myself. And isn't that how it usually works? The traits that you are irritated by in others, are the ones you hate about yourself? But, truthfully, we're all needy in some way...and I just don't like other people to see it.

The other day I was asking God to do something that was fairly trivial with definite threads of neediness patterned through it. I told God: "I know this sounds needy, but..." And immediately the words appeared in my heart: "I like needy."

I took such comfort in realizing that God likes needy. Can you imagine how greatly the number of "needy" people would be reduced if we only chose to take the needs, big, small and silly, to Jesus? How much more free we would all be with a safe place to admit our neediness - with no apprehension in exposing insecurities or fears? There is so much acceptance in that single phrase. God likes needy. 

He not only likes it - He desires it. It brings Him joy when we admit our need to Him. And you know what? Two things had happened after I uttered those words. First, I didn't feel "needy" anymore. I felt understood and I felt loved. And secondly, within 24 hours, He gave me a little wink (that only I would recognize) acknowledging and affirming that silly little need.

Cast your cares upon Him, for He cares for you. - 1 Peter 5:7

Even our silly, needy cares. 

Unpacking

I’ve been out of town every weekend but two since mid-March. This is my first week home since Memorial Day. The week before that I was at the beach. Needless to say, I haven’t unpacked my bags yet. Just enough for a quick wash and reload for the next trip. And now that I have a little time, I don’t know where to start. I know that it’s just unpacking a few bags…but I really don’t know where to start.

It’s been a long week, too. I had a couple of friends share some pretty weighty issues that they are dealing with, that now are weighing a bit heavily on my heart. A few other things in life haven’t gone as well as I would have liked this week. I feel like there is some emotional and spiritual unpacking that needs to happen, too, but – alas – I don’t know where to start with that either.

What I am hoping is that what I do in the physical will transcend to the spiritual. Sort of like when you go through the motions of showing love to someone, you often begin to feel love towards them. Or – whether or not my heart is in it when I start to exercise, and I’m (almost) always glad that I did it when I finish. And maybe, as some of the clutter around my house begins to clear, the clutter in my head will, too.

Unpacking…it’s essential to so many things in life. Putting down roots. Having the ability to focus. Taking inventory of what you have – or what you may have lost along the way. Getting things back in their place. Keeping things in order.

God is not a God of disorder but of peace – so as I begin to unpack from my weeks of travel and settle in to life at home for the foreseeable future, my prayer is to begin to see what intangible things I need to unpack as well. Amen.