I've moved sites, folks. I'm now available for reading, commenting and in general, some rollicking good frivolity at

http://www.thewhisperedlife.com

I've loved posterous, but please bookmark my new site and visit often!

http://www.thewhisperedlife.com

Here's a snippet from my most recent post:

#amwriting

I simply love this hashtag.
It conveys so much, don’t you think? I’m pursuing something, I’m committing to something, I’m doing something towards something I love.

About a year ago, I sat in a coffee shop with a dear friend who has since become a roommate and sister. We had been talking about her dreams and I was pushing her to pursue them. Then she turned the tables. “Katie, what do you want to do more than anything?” I answered without hesitating, “Write. I want to write.”

We talked a bit more, and she began to encourage me to just start writing the stuff I wanted to. Having lived as a student and writing for other people for over two-thirds of my life, this seemed an impossible task. I knew that my writing style was similar to my conversational style, a bit Joss Whedon (more BtVS than Firefly), a bit Rob Bell, and a lot just plain me. And it’s not necessarily Chicago-style correct.`

...to read more, go to the new website!

 

I'm shortly going to be moving.

Both in the physical world and in cyberspace.

While the move from Dublin to the USA isn't happening until November... the cyberspace move should be happening within a week or so.

If you subscribe, please make sure to follow me on over there!

Blessings...

Sometimes the world closes in. There’s darkness and despair. A spark of life only seems like a painful burn in the silence. There is so little light and sometimes that light is more like the tracers you see behind your eyelids on a bright day. There one moment, drifting away the next. And you’re left to choose between two horrible things. You can’t see a way of escape.

You want to choose life – but you don’t feel as if you have any life to choose.

And you might not want to right now. Maybe where you are feels safe, it’s known. In your mind, in your heart, you believe that you are precisely where you deserve to be. It’s your very own fault that you stand in the midst of this sea of discontent and unquiet.

Maybe you made bad decisions in the past. You lashed out when you wanted to draw yourself in. Maybe you chased after joy in the small immediate moments, regardless of the cost, because you didn’t believe that the deeper joy was yours to grasp or run to. Maybe you believe deep down that this is the very best that you could hope for.

And it’s not really that bad, after all.

There are moments when you hear your name whispered and it’s like light filtering through the dust and darkness of the closet of your soul. And then there are the fleeting moments of contentment or pleasure that send signals of life through you. And you remember for just a moment what life could be like or have just a moment where everything goes precisely right.

Until it doesn’t.

And the tempest breaks in.

So you begin to convince yourself that you are responsible for all of it. It is your own burden to carry because of the choices that you made. If you were so capable of managing the good moments, perhaps you can manage the bad. And your perverted, twisted sense of justice that has locked you away for your previous crimes demands that the existence that defines you is precisely the sentence you are entitled to. If only you had worked harder, made wiser choices, done more, said better… then maybe the good moments would karmically outweigh the bad.

And your karma seems so very dark and painful. If this is what you reap, you must have sown some horrific and terrifyingly evil seeds.

Today you looked in the mirror. You saw the choices before you.

Today you looked in the mirror and you wondered who was staring back at you. There were traces just around the eyes of the young lady you once were. The young girl who stood so proudly with Bible in hand on her confirmation day.

Today you looked in the mirror and you forced yourself to smile. The twist of the lips barely resembles the grin of life that came from a younger you…the you from pictures that laughed with her Daddy or found herself full of life, dreams, and hope.

All around you, you feel the nightmare closing in. As you look at yourself, unrecognizable, undesirable, and generally untrustworthy, you feel the nightmare closing in. Darkness, thick like a cloak, wraps around you, drowning the light that tries in vain to leak out of the cracks of your broken heart. Fear, like a cloying fog, makes it difficult to breathe. Frozen in paralysis of the soul, you know that movement in any direction at this point means death.

And then, sadly, you realize that death will come to you. Whether by your own hand or his. It might be simply death to your spirit as you make the final choice. Or it will mean the death of everything that you currently live for. Something, someone, will kill the life inside and surrounding you.

So you choose the lesser death.

You kill the part of you that hopes, that longs, that dreams.

You see it as a sacrifice. It is the lesser, but more honourable death. It gives you more time to fix things. To make right all the things that you have broken or held poorly. One more chance to make everything right again. To make things perfect. After all, it wasn’t like you quenched a living flame. You were just burying the embers of a fire that had been banked. Life as you knew it – in all its darkness and deep mystery and longing – it would go on. You believe that maybe all will become still and silent as you make peace with impossibility and impossible choices.

You might do it again and again. You might make the same decision more than once.

And you never see that freedom is for you. Joy is for you. Life is for you – and it’s meant for so much more than this.

Then the Breath of God will blow.

And that wind will begin to revive the embers and push them floating through the air until they find a place to settle…and burn. And then, those things that you had believed put to an honourable death will find the living power of the resurrection living in them. And they will come back to life – restored, renewed, reconciled.

You will begin to learn that it was never intended for you to be handed that choice.

It is not a burden that you should bear anymore. Not alone.

You do not deserve this shame and guilt and pain that you carry.

You are entitled to precious things – living things.

You *ARE* precious to Him.

You are given permission to be angry. To be hurt. Rage against the world and those choices and circumstances that brought you to impossibility. Feel it course through your veins and renew your spirit and passion. Set yourself on fire with desire for justice.

Life is and will be pain. But choose your pain and don’t forsake it.

Pain is our greatest teacher as it leads us to our greatest Healer.

Choose life for yourself. Choose to allow the light to shine through the cracks of your broken heart.

Even though the darkness closes in, morning is coming.

For everything that you put to death will be brought to living restoration. The sparks and embers that you buried will come to life again. You can tend to them and allow them to bring warmth and life, or they can continue to burn your spirit.

You are not owned by impossibility. You were bought at an impossible price so that you could live into impossibility with promise and life and freedom. That is the greater resurrection. When you conquer death in every sense by refusing to let it have the final word. When you embrace the worth that He has given you.

Fling your emancipation papers at the Reaper, and cry out, “No More!”

When you walk in that valley, remember that the darkness is only Death’s shadow. The shadow is only cast longer as the light approaches to bring it to ruin. The light of life is coming to your rescue. He longs to take your hand and hold you tenderly against the darkness – the one of your own creation, as well as the one of the choices you never should have had to face alone.

And He will hold you.

Even in the impossible.

Because of the tender mercy of our God, 
   by which the rising sun will come to us from heaven 
to shine on those living in darkness 
   and in the shadow of death, 
to guide our feet into the path of peace.

 

From Mike Yaconelli's Messy Spirituality

Rest is the ultimate humiliation, because in order to rest we must admit we are not necessary, that the world can get along without us, that God's work does not depend on us. Once we understand how unnecessary we are, only then might we find the right reasons to say yes. Only then might we find the right reasons to decide to be with Jesus instead of working for him.

I like to work. I like to *do* things. But sometimes I forget that the most important thing I can do is absolutely nothing. Sometimes I need to remind myself that I am not a machine.

I love this quote, because it reminds me that I don’t keep the world spinning. If I’m honest with myself, I realize that the splash I make in the pond of life isn’t really even that huge. It’s always the ripple effects that create the most impact. But have you ever noticed that it’s not necessarily the strength or the speed of the throw that creates the ripples? It’s a million different factors, including the angle, the gravitational pull, the stillness of the water.

If the water is raging and tossing, the ripple effect is negligible. It’s just one tiny bump in a sea of frothy madness. But if the water is still, a pebble can create an effect that goes on for ages.

Too often, I act as though the force of my throw will increase the ripple more than the stillness of the water. I allow my soul, my heart, my spirit to rage and toss – and when God tosses anything good into that water, it goes wild, not really making any impact at all.

But when I rest…when I quiet myself down, and really pause in the midst of life to remember that it is the state of my heart that matters as much as the actions that create motion…those are the moments when the smallest stone will cause effects I could never dream of.

The last few days have been restful, restorative, rejuvenating. And I’m remembering again why God created me to rest. The Sabbath is a gift to me, not a burden.

I’m not responsible for the world. I’m responsible for me.

And when I’ve been busy, when I’ve been running crazy, these are the times when Jesus calls to me. He celebrates my work, but he also invites me back into his presence and his rest. So, I think I’ll enter into it for a while, and allow myself to find peace, restoration, and fresh life.

Mark 6:30-31

The apostles returned to Jesus from their ministry tour and told him all they had done and what they had taught. Then Jesus said, 'Let's get away from the crowds for a while and rest.'

Hebrews 4:9-11a

There remains, then, a Sabbath-rest for the people of God; for anyone who enters God’s rest also rests from his own work, just as God did from his. Let us, therefore, make every effort to enter that rest.

Endings are always sad. There’s the saying goodbye, the packing, the moving, the shuffling, the longing, the heartbreak. Then there’s the grieving: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and finally the moment of acceptance. And the page turns, and you’ve reached the half-page of emptiness.

It’s a moment that you know is coming, but you’re not sure what it means. If you’re like me, and read when you go to bed, the chapter is either the place where you put the bookmark in, shut the book and go to sleep…or it’s the place where you turn the page one last time, eager to get just a bit more in.

I think we’ve been on that half-page here in Ireland since about April. We knew that something new was coming, that everything was going to change. I had left my PhD, Aaron had gotten notice about his job disappearing. It seemed that the empty space on the page just kept growing. There was room to dream, places where we could imagine writing our own story. I don’t think it ever occurred to us that we would have to leave Ireland.

But then we turned the page, and the new chapter revealed itself. It’s one of those annoying transition chapters, where the author is letting you know that something big is about to happen, but they won’t tell you what it is. And that’s the chapter we’ve entered. We know that our time in Ireland is drawing to a close. And it’s incredibly sad. We’ve built a life for ourselves here. We’ve created family and community in ways we didn’t even believe was possible. And we’ve seen more and more transformation in our lives as we pushed deeper into God’s will and heart for us. Leaving for us is like jumping off a cliff without a parachute, and hoping and praying that someone will catch us.

We are planning to leave before the end of the year. If you are outside of Ireland and wanted to visit us, now would be the time. And if you are in Ireland and want to have one last hurrah with the Sturms, now would be the time.

We don’t know much right now, but we know that our experience in Ireland has been enriched by each person we’ve met. And we’ll miss each one of you deeply. And we plan to return as soon as we can.

Our plans for now are to return to the USA. We’d like to spend some time with our families – Aaron’s in St. Louis, and mine in Southern California. We will eventually end up in Southern Oregon for a stretch. Our friends in Williams have offered us a home for a steal in a picture-perfect setting. We’ll take some “Sabbath” time – time to rest, restore, and reflect on where we are going. We’d like to think about family and I’d like to go back to work. As we know more, we’ll keep you posted. We’ll probably wind up in Oregon or Washington – where our nest egg can last us almost 9 months without any other income.

Please know that Ireland has changed us for the better – it’s made us more alive – and our stories are forever shaped by the heart and soul of this amazing island. We don’t make this decision lightly, and we hope that we have your support and prayers as we go through this incredibly scary and wonderful change.

Love,

K&A

There was a cool breeze blowing bits of my hair into my face. Normally, I wouldn’t have minded, but at this moment, the last thing I wanted was the irritation of spitting fine strands out of my mouth. My fingers curled tightly around the hand clasped in mine. His hand was warm and calloused, every time I held it, I was reminded of the alarm clock that rang at 4:30am. He worked with his hands, building and renovating old houses. I could feel his strength seeping into me through his grasp. We were lying on the grass, staring up at the campanile. The clock seemed to be moving painfully slow, as we waited for it to toll midnight. Each blade of grass seemed to press into my flesh like a thorough acupuncture session. Even through my shorts and tank top, I could feel the strange little pricks to my skin. I had contemplated slightly more sturdy wear, but it was summer in California, and anything more than shorts and a tank top would have left me gasping and sweat streaming down my spine. I turned my head to face him. His long hair spread out around him like a halo.

“I’m scared.”

He turned to look back at me with an impish grin. “There’s no need.”

But how do you explain to your best friend that the thought of other worlds was a bit much, even though you’d been living with it for your entire life?

But I didn’t have time to formulate my thoughts any more clearly. The clock began to sound. First the ringing song, then the chimes for the hour.

One…

I laughed a little to myself, thinking that now would be a great time to recite some childish nursery rhyme, but by the time that one flew through my mind, we were already at

Four…

And I began to hyperventilate just a little bit. The fog started to swirl up around our feet, covering the base of the campanile, blocking our view until it rang

Seven…

And I began to see lights at the top of the tower – steady, streaming, coloured lights. But wait, there had never been coloured lights before. And was that something perched at the top?

Ten…

Right, that was something at the top, and I could see that the fog that billowed around us was actually smoke from the nostrils of this beast. No. Freaking. Way. I was looking at a dragon. I was utterly gobsmacked. And then as the clock chimed twelve, I saw the gates behind the dragon opening wide, as gravity shifted, the grass disappeared beneath us, and our feet shot downwards to the base of the tower – or should I say drawbridge?

For that is where we now were. The world in which we had lain down had simply shifted. Down was now backwards, and the tower became the ground. I stomped on the surface once, twice to make sure that my feet wouldn’t fly backwards. Derek pulled on my hand from a few steps ahead of me. His skin was already taking on an unearthly glow, and his grin had spread even wider.

“Emmeline, come on! We’re going to be late for the party!”

I sighed, looking down at what I had thought was the campanile, and forward at the quite friendly-looking dragon, shrugged my shoulders , and with a grin we were off.

 

I’m taking a deep breath today.

Inhaling, exhaling.

I didn’t go anywhere special to have ashes painted on my forehead, though I respect and admire those who do. But I did have a remarkably spiritual morning.

It was sweetness and light and mystery and joy. From a place of tenderness I’ve never really known. And it drew me once again into the place of peace. The place of knowing. The place where things are reflecting ever-increasing glory.

I read a different translation yesterday of Isaiah 40:3-5

 ³ Listen! It’s the voice of someone shouting,
   “In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord
  Make a straight highway through the wasteland
      for our God!
 ⁴ Fill in the valleys,
      and level the mountains and hills.
   Straighten the curves,
      and smooth out the rough places.
 ⁵ Then the glory of the Lord will be revealed,
      and all people will see it together.
      The Lord has spoken!”

In the past, I would have always seen: “A voice cries out in the wilderness, ‘Prepare the way’”. I’m sure that there’s some interpretation going on there, as well, thinking of the New Testament prophet John the Baptist. This particular translation, however, struck me deeply.

This is what Lent feels like to me. There are so many interpretations of what Lent is about. Fasting, praying, giving things up. But it’s about being in the wilderness. And that’s where I have been dwelling recently. A speaker that I listen to says that the wilderness is the place that Jesus brings you when He’s most pleased with you. It’s His secret place, His treasured place. It’s the place where you become even more the glorious person that He has destined you to be.

In Isaiah 45, it goes on to say: “I will give you treasures hidden in the darkness – secret riches.”

And so, in thinking about Lent this year, I’m thinking about preparing a way for the Lord in my own wilderness. Normally when I’m lost, scared or alone here in the darkness, I’d much rather beg for God to show me a way out. I want to LEAVE the wilderness. Yet, here, I’m called to dwell in the wilderness and make a way for God to come into my presence. A way to glorify Him in the midst of the darkness and troubles.

So, this year for Lent, I’m thinking about how I can best invite God into my wilderness. My doubts, pain, frustration and anger about all the many things that seem to be sapping life away. How do I prepare the way for God to meet me in the midst of these things? How do I open highways for His kingdom to come to earth?

And I invite you into this journey with me. For forty days, we celebrate the wilderness. The place where God refines us and turns us even more into His own likeness. And we wait for Holy Week. We anticipate His coming. First with suffering, then with glory.

Our own lives are so often like that. But we forget the glory of treasures in the darkness – secret riches. We want the glories and treasures of the everyday.

Many of my friends are approaching simplicity and gratitude as spiritual disciplines for Lent. I think this is brilliant. In a world where we are continually encouraged to glory in the things that fade and pass away, it’s wonderful to think more presently about what matters, what is significant, what brings joy.

I’m not sure that any spiritual discipline will manifest during this Lenten season for me. I’m not sure I’ll succeed in giving anything up. But I do know that I want this to be a season of preparing for the Lord to invade my world.

I want to wake up on Easter Sunday to the glory of the resurrection and know that there is more of God’s Kingdom on earth than there was today.

I want to fill in the valleys of doubt and fear and shame. I want to fill them with faith, courage and love.

I want to level the mountains of insecurity and self-abasement. I want to demolish them with encouragement and authenticity.

I want to straighten the curves of deception and despair with the smooth lines of truth and hope.

I want the rough places of pain and suffering to be healed.

Then, I know the Glory of my Lord will be revealed. And all people will see it together.

So I wish you a happy wilderness this Lent. I wish you all the glories of the desert.

I wish you the treasures hidden in the darkness – secret riches.

As I seek them out, I promise to bring them into the light to share.

When I posted this on Facebook, it was simply because I couldn’t fit my frustration and sadness about the discussion to the 140 Twitter characters or even the 450 that Facebook allows. And when some of the responses seemed to say “Thank You for giving us a voice…” I figured that there were probably more people who needed to hear it. And it’s scary to be bold, to be vocal about such a contentious topic, but I believe it’s important, too.

I wanted a different voice to be heard. The voice of pain and experience. A voice that values the humanity, struggle, lives and hurt of the women who need an organization like Planned Parenthood. Those disenfranchised and left to fend for themselves.

Planned Parenthood seems to be the ugly kid that gets kicked around after school when it comes to political discussions. I understand that a lot of people object and think of Planned Parenthood as an abortion mill. I get that. I do.

But that’s not nearly the entire story. We hear harrowing tales of the young women who are scared and arrive at Planned Parenthood only to be convinced that they need to murder their children by these evil doctors who have this deeply twisted plan to do as many abortions as possible. We see protesters standing outside the clinics with traumatizing posters of aborted, bloody fetuses. We hear of doctors who are sick and disturbed fulfilling their sociopathic urges at the clinics. But we don’t hear about the others. The women who depend on Planned Parenthood for survival.

The women like me.

When I was 18-25, I was living the very cliché ‘at-risk’ lifestyle everyone talks about. I'm not proud of that, but there you go. Drugs, sex and alcohol were all part of the package. I wanted to escape. I needed to be wanted. I swam in a blissful bath of self-devastation, believing that if I could just be beautiful enough, funny enough, charming enough and providing the party enough, somehow I would find something to fill the emptiness that was my life. I wasn’t paying attention to taking care of myself, really. I just wanted to feel something. Anything. And the only way I could do that was to live as far on the edge as I could possibly stand.

I somehow in the midst of this found a strange discipline. Every six months, I went into Planned Parenthood. And while there, I received a full exam, bloodwork, screenings for every possible imaginable problem, and contraception. They were compassionate and helpful, and seemed keen to help me make wise choices. Most of the time they continued to encourage me to stop living that lifestyle. They encouraged me to stop doing drugs, to stop sleeping around. And the counselor really wanted me to see myself as having value and worth without that behaviour. But they never penalized me for my choices. They continued to provide care in combination with counseling. Hoping that I would eventually make wise choices.

They didn’t see me as the whoring, boozy junkie that I was.

At a time when some in my church had used those words to cast me out and send me further into my behaviour, they treated me like the hurting, broken, wounded young woman that I was.

I can remember the day I stopped going to my regular appointments. It was the day I knew that I was pregnant. I wanted an easy solution, not a lengthy diatribe about choices and ethical decisions and cleaning up my life or the responsibility of a family and taking care of it wisely. So I went elsewhere. And surprisingly, the healthcare provider I had - although they refused to cover the cost of the pill (cost covered by PP) - they paid the entire bill for the other procedure without blinking. After all, IT WAS CHEAPER. It was cheaper and a better 'business' decision to pay a few hundred bucks if a young woman got in trouble than to pay the long term care of prevention.

I know it sounds incredulous. I know it doesn’t make logical sense.

Imagine being a young woman. Encouraged by all industries that she is a sex object. That she is not attractive or desirable unless she’s sleeping with or leading on various men. Then compound that with the knowledge that 9 times out of 10, men won’t provide a condom. They can’t be bothered. It doesn’t feel good. “You’re on the pill, right?” Add to all of that the knowledge that men don’t have the same nine-month consequence that women do. The expectation is all on the woman. But the blame, the shame, the dehumanization is also on the woman.

A badge of pride to notch a bedpost, but a mark of shame to be on the pill.

And all of the financial repercussions fall to the woman. If the man steps up – which thankfully, often happens – then the burden is shared. But the man does not lose wages due to morning sickness. The father doesn’t have to worry about unpaid maternity leave. The costs of prenatal care, setting up the nursery. These all add up. And the overall cost of self-esteem and dreams lost as she is ridiculed and often exiled because she did what the world told her to do – but got caught with the consequences.

If you don't want to believe me, I can tell you that it happened a second time. Years later, when my insurance refused to cover the contraception, they jumped at the chance to pay for an abortion - this time at a highly priced, specialized expert office. Planned Parenthood had been once again paying for my contraception, although I had forgotten to take it. My responsibility, my mistake, but they were the ones attempting to care for me.

When I had no money, they took none.

When I had little money, they never took  more than insurance would cover.

People brand them the abortion mill, because they support choice and offer legal and safe options for those women who make the 'wrong' or 'sinful' choice (like I did).

As I said earlier, I’m not proud of the decisions that I made. But to be fair, I’ve had to make that decision to end a pregnancy, and never once been counseled by Planned Parenthood to do so.

The only counsel I’ve received from them has been to stop living a reckless life. To slow down and pursue things in life that mattered and brought life. Something that the church couldn’t find in itself at the time to do. They could only see me for the drug-addicted promiscuous lifestyle I was leading, while the counselors at Planned Parenthood tried to see me as part of a bigger, more important story. They treated me as a human being – valuable and worthy of respect and help.

For those who think that I should have received my punishment for my actions… Maybe I should have contracted AIDS or been forced to have a child. Perhaps I could have been enslaved to other people’s value systems in order to prove a point.

But that doesn’t speak ‘kingdom’ to me. That doesn’t speak ‘grace’ to me. That doesn’t tell me that I am valued and that for some reason the Creator of the Universe desires for me to live and thrive in His presence.

I have a chance to live and have children and be a part of this amazing grace-filled, kingdom-oriented story that I am a part of. Because of Planned Parenthood. 

I understand that people have issues with tax dollars going to abortion.

I have significant issues with my tax dollars going to the military-industrial complex. I have a feeling that more people have died because of those tax dollars than ever will be through abortion – and not just unborn children, but grown children. Women, pregnant and otherwise, men, people with full lives both behind and in front of them.

But I still pay my taxes. I recognize that my values are different than others.

But I also contribute time, energy, and money to interfaith and reconciliatory non-violent organizations that are working to promote peace in the world through peaceful, non-military means. Groups that bring together people from war-torn and violent areas and teach them peace.

How many of those objecting to their tax dollars being spent on this organization contribute time, money, and energy to providing prenatal care and counseling for young mothers? Or how many of them adopt young women into their homes and care for them during their pregnancies and afterwards, with no expectation of reward?

I’ve done so. And it was a brilliant experience. Looking at precious Babbins gets me every time, because I know that her mom was able to look the future in the eye knowing that she would not be abandoned by society or others because her decision did not fit some values mold. I know that I gave out of myself to bring life into the situation. I gave the mother a REAL choice.

If we are pro-life, we need to also recognize that the life of the mother has value. That the life of the child has value after it is born. And we need to be committed to providing that if we want to take away from the organizations that do so.

Planned Parenthood is caring for a generation (or 2 or 3) AND their children while encouraging them to live more responsible lifestyles in which the choice to have an abortion doesn't need to be made.

In all of my encounters with them, prevention of unwanted pregnancy and disease, wellness and health, responsible choices and maturity - these were their goals.

Perhaps others have had other experiences. If someone walks into a Planned Parenthood office with the idea that they need an abortion and they state it as it is, perhaps they will see the organization as 'mill'. 

But for the poor, the broken, those living in such an at-risk lifestyle, I cannot help but have compassion. I remember that I, too, lived like that, but came out of it into a place of health and maturity.

By removing their funding, we penalize young women and children and show them that love and grace actually CANNOT triumph over judgment. That they are not worthy of care. That we have dehumanized them to worthless wastes of life and space.

And I simply won't be a part of that.

If you want to remove funding from Planned Parenthood, and you claim to be doing so on Christian grounds, I would strongly encourage you to make sure that there is an alternative for prenatal care and preventative family planning in your neighborhood and you start giving financially in support of them. One of the strange statistical truths is that when stigma is removed and care is provided for young women without judgment or condemnation, abortion rates decline.

When we offer a young woman support and the ability to raise a child without fear, we have fought the better fight against death, on the side of life.

I am pro-life, I grieve abortion (on a VERY personal level) and I support Planned Parenthood.

 

The first sin had to do with food.  The Serpent said, “chow time” and humans lost it all.  Innocence, good times in the Garden, and relationship with God.  Gluttony took over and humankind … wait. Gluttony?  What is gluttony anyway?  Dictionary.com has a rather vague definition, something along the lines of “eating or drinking in excess.”  But really, why is that a “deadly sin?”  God seems intimately concerned with our food.  His first commandment regarded food in the Garden.  Under Law, kashrut (keeping kosher) governed many aspects of daily life.  Under grace, freedom in diet became a prominent issue.  God is involved with our diets.  He cares that no one go hungry, that we ask him for our “daily bread.”  And yet, so few of us surrender our diets to him.  How often do we “drive thru” because we’re running late?  Or grab junk food because it’s easy?

Eating disorders are rampant.  And, I’m not simply discussing those who are refusing to ingest calories.  I’m also talking about those people like me…the ones who get stressed out over finals and drive 20 minutes to 7-11 to get the pack of peanut butter M’n’Ms and the Yoohoo.  The stress-eaters, compulsive-eaters, fidgety-eaters, boozers, winos, munchers, and gourmets.  Anyone who surrenders their self-control to food or beverage rather than Christ.  This, my friends, is gluttony.  And the consequences of this sin are both vast and manifold.  Obesity, heart problems, diabetes, self-esteem issues, depression, cavities, high cholesterol, and liver problems to name a few.  Yet, we eat what we want, when we want.  We are defiant and “in control” of this area, leaving God to deal with the “spiritual” stuff.  Gluttony takes over when we allow our own desires and wants to fill our bodies in the same way that pride takes over when we allow our own desires and wants to fill our souls. I believe that our bodies are just as important to God as our souls.  Food has left the realm of fuel or art and entered the realm of instant gratification and hedonism.  “If it tastes good, eat it!”  Portion sizes are out of control, and people are needing to staple their stomachs in order to learn how not to eat.  And yet, the church rarely confronts this as sin.  As we in the US have more food in our trash each month than a microstate sees in a year, are we really being faithful with *all* that God has given us?

Our gluttony no longer affects just us and our bodies, or our relationship with God, but also the world.  Jesus reinstates Peter by asking him to feed his sheep.  He is constantly concerned with feeding the hungry.  Jesus’ view of super-sizing a meal is multiplying bread and fish to feed 5000 people, not so that the boy can make himself sick to his stomach. His prophets reveal wrath unto Israel for allowing his people to go without food.  Is it really necessary to “super-size” it in our way?  There is a huge discrepancy between the amount of food we consume and the labor we produce or the effort we expend feeding the hungry.  Our assumption that all food is ours for the taking and consuming and throwing away blatantly goes against God’s desire for those who are hungry to be fed.  We’ve been blessed with wealth for God’s goodness and pleasure, not our own.

I’m not perfect.  I’ll admit.  I struggle with stress-eating.  I’m having to radically transform my life in order to submit my food and diet to God.  But it’s worth it.  Just because we can afford to eat whatever we’d like doesn’t mean that we ought to.  “Everything is permissible” but not everything is beneficial (1 Cor 10:23). With Lent just around the corner, I encourage you to fast from some food that you hold precious.  Four years ago, my first fast was potatoes – do you have any idea how many things are based on potatoes?  But it was worth it.  Now, I don’t have to have the fries at In-N-Out, but I choose to.  And the blessing before the meal really means something.  As I’ve been surrendering food back to God, it’s amazing how my “Dear Jesus, yay for food” really becomes meaningful to me.  I can delight in my food, be present to my meals, and remember who provides it.  And by allowing myself to say no to myself sometimes, it allows me to often say yes to other people – like giving the guy holding out the cup my banana and power bar for breakfast because he needs it more than I do.

 

We live in the idle world of the everyday, praying for something more, something meaningful for which to live.  And when those things don’t come, we always hold onto the hope that someday they will appear.  But do they?

There is always hope, but sometimes that hope seems so distant and so unlikely.

We find something, someone to cling to.  They give us hope in this dark, dreary world, where war is always just around the corner and fear is a part of our daily lives.  We listen to announcements about curfews and curses.  We spend half our lives in pursuit of a goal that will never satisfy.  Until we, like the precious money we so covet, are completely spent.  We lose our emotions, our willingness, our courage.

And I still want to get hurt. 

Because I was willing to be vulnerable and to trust my hope. 

Because I was willing to open the floodgates and invite someone else in. 

Because I wanted something more.

I knew deep down inside that the pain and anguish that I would inevitably feel would dissipate to be replaced with strength.  Nothing loved is ever lost or perished.  I will not allow myself to live in fear of pain.  I will not allow myself the luxury of regret. 

Because I follow my heart and have nothing to lose and everything to gain.

I give my life away, in the eternal hope that I will gain it back again.  But I wait.  I always wait.  And my life is an endless game of hope and waiting that I sometimes would rather not play.  I would rather know what consequences my actions bring in the immediacy of my fear.

To be a hope-bearer is often to be alone.  It is a narrow way, the road less traveled, fraught with peril and uncertainty.  It is the way that brings people into the light and into your life only fleetingly and with the knowledge that they, too, will pass.  My cross is my own to bear, and at times when the pain overtakes me, and a Simeon arrives to shoulder my load, I look in the darkness and wonder where is the God that promised to walk beside me.

When the darkness seems like it will win, the light is always so far away.  And yet, I cannot ever lose my hope.  Like a sickness or a parasite, it clings to me. I cannot shake it. It is the still small voice that continues to plague me when I would rather close my eyes and let the world slip away.  When I want to go home, it can only whisper. 

Not yet, my love.  Just a bit longer. 

But the waiting is interminable and unfathomable. 

Not yet, my love. Just a bit longer.

I wish so deeply for some good, something higher, something more than I have seen.  Some sort of valor and honor and integrity that this world does not recognize. The Kingdom I have been promised. We place our value in despicable men and acts and wonder why we lack the courage of our convictions.  And we wish for the white knight to rescue us from our dungeons and towers of narcissism, ego, and arrogance.  Because we are so enslaved to ourselves that we lack the recognition of the pure and the true.

We no longer represent the good things of the world, but the easy, the convenient, and the instantaneously gratifying.

Oh, Lord, how I long for those like the Great Stories of old.  The ones who will stand and fight when there seems to be nothing left to fight for.  Who will stand against the darkness and defy the evil that stalks this world like a predator in the night.  And I watch my friends drift away, like whispers in the mist.  And when I stand alone at the chasm of Mount Doom, holding evil in my hands like a twisted remnant of souls lost to the darkness, and cast my lot to the heavens which protect me, and beg for release…

Not yet, my love. Just a bit longer.

And as I stand against the hordes of faceless foes, brandishing the only weapon left to me—my heart.  It is broken and cracked, but like a stained glass window formed of shards of splintered glass, the light is all the more beautiful for its brokenness. Because my heart is filled with the love of Christ, I am able to cover a multitude of sins and heal the expanse of brokenness.

I long to be lost.  To be taken away to a place where I can raise my hand and smote the darkness with a vigor and a passion.  To give my life to defend what I hold true.  To wield steel and sweat and blood against the nameless enemy and die for the cause.

Because my heart is breaking.  Little by little pieces fall away, carved out one bit at a time.  I am left to defend what little I have left in surrender to my Savior.   To bind it in thrall to the Lord I love. 

Every day I face the battle of love against those I long to loathe.  Those I desire to watch fall into the fires of their own consequences.  And I give them my love and care, in the hopes that they will find within themselves the ability to change, to grow, and to turn to the better life.  But it seems so hopeless.

Not yet, my love. Just a bit longer.

Sadly outnumbered, and sorely wounded, all I can pray for is strength to face one more day, and the courage to stand.

Given the opportunity, would I fight tooth and nail for the light?  Would I give my place in the heavenly realms to those who do not deserve it?  Would I run and hide myself in the safety of a life unlived or would I dare to make a difference?

I don’t know where my life leads, but I know now where it does not. I refuse to be bound to anything not worthy of my heart. 

Do I give my heart to those that I barely know out of the fear of being alone? Or out of the need to feel companions beside me in the midst of my darkness?  Perhaps I too easily give my heart away to someone not deserving. But then again, maybe none of us truly is, which levels us all…

I have done this before, and always with the despair of watching it slip away.  I count friends and foes across the globe, all within reach of my love, and yet never within reach of my hand.

All of my old self-esteem demons creep out to play havoc with my brain, reminding me that this has always happened, and if it has happened before, of course it will always happen in the future.  Because someone out there wants me to believe it deep down.  But HIS grace is sufficient.  I am worthy to Him.  For whatever reason, the Lord will keep me and preserve me.

I’m afraid to wonder what good I am.  Because every now and then I catch glimpses of it.  Because the value system has changed and I am left standing for something that no one wants to defend anymore.  True love, light in the darkness, and honesty at all costs.  These are things that don’t matter to everyone.

I no longer know the answers, but I can certainly ask the questions.

Not yet, my love. Just a bit longer.