Fear And Anxiety 19
Praying Open Handed. {Deeply Rooted and Transformed Series}.
I am honored to have my voice included in the release of Everbloom {Available TODAY from Paraclete Press}. Together we are journeying through the book's sections: Roots, Trunk, Branches, Blossoms. The beautiful thing about this book is that it is not meant to just be read. Become part of the story. Journey with me. Read along as I share a piece from each section, respond, and ask you to respond with me....
{Read} A FINE DAY for you to be God BY RONNE ROCK (click the title to read the excerpt)
{My response} praying open handed
Nothing turned out like I expected it would but everything turned out exactly as it should have. I went into our first international move with dreams and plans, a heart full of hopes for a life planted deep into the ancient soil of that bustling city. I thought we would stay there for years but we left after six months. I dreamed of speaking fluent Arabic and six years later when my Palestinian bus driver learned I had lived in the Middle East and started trying to converse with me I just shrugged and said "shawaya arabi," meaning "I speak only a little Arabic."
Now in the throws of our second international move, two children in tow this time, I keep reminding them and myself to hold onto our dreams loosely. We write our prayers and wants on a big piece of paper taped to the living room wall because we know God cares about our hopes and dreams. He wants to hear what is in our hearts and it is a beautiful practice to lay them out honestly and see how He answers our prayers. It's also a beautiful practice in surrender when we see how He answers them by saying "no" or in a way that is not what we expected. I want to expect the unexpected this time, to see God show me how His plans are better than what I could ask for in my limited view.
I pray with open hands these days, surrendering all I want to God, asking Him to give me His will instead. Palms up. Trying to let go. Asking Him to make me ready to receive. When my daughter asks why I tell her a story about our move ten years ago.
I had pictures in my head of what our flat would look like when we moved to Egypt. I had heard not to expect to find a place quickly, to be open to looking at lots of flats. I didn't have high hopes but had two things that were non-negotiable. I wanted an elevator and a balcony. The elevator was for the days when the temperatures reached 120 degrFahrenheitheit and climbing flights of stairs seemed an impossible task. The balcony I dreamed of was a window into the beautiful city and it's people. I had these images in my mind of hanging the clothes to dry amidst children playing next door, of sitting out on the balcony, the noise of the city rising all around me while I wrote and studied.
The first place we looked at had both of those things but something just didn't feel right. I stood on that big balcony and just didn't believe this was the one. We kept it in mind but looked at other flats. We braced ourselves for weeks of searching. The next day we climbed four flights inside the sweltering concrete stairwell. No elevator. The heavy wooden door opened into the cool flat, the air conditioner straining against the heat. The landlady introduced herself as Samiha and accompanied us around the little flat, proudly showing us how it had everything we would need. It was fully furnished and she promised a second air conditioner in the bedroom, a new washing machine in the kitchen. Internet could easily be installed (though as we soon learned easily means something a little different in Egyptian terms). The close line was stretched outside the kitchen window where you had to precariously hang out to reach the clothes. The wide bedroom windows looked out over a busy street but there was no balcony.
It didn't have the things I had hoped for but we just knew this was the one. The next few hours were a blur or finding an ATM to get the deposit and signing a lease in a language we didn't yet understand. A friend's realtor negotiated for us and Samiha smiled widely as she handed us the keys. We had a new home in just a few days and after the whirlwind was over and we trudged up those stairs we wondered if we'd done the right thing.
It wasn't until months later we could look back and see how that flat was handpicked for us, how it was exactly where we were supposed to be. Samiha became a dear friend, which our local friends said was quite odd. "You don't get to know your landlady, that's a business relationship," they said. But she became family to us in a foreign land. Countless hours were spent at her little basement apartment nearby, practicing our Arabic poorly and watching Egyptian soap operas as she told us stories about her acting days. We broke the fast during Ramadan at that dining room table, learned to cook bechemel sauce in that kitchen. We were close enough to her to talk about faith and pray for each other, to ask the deep questions and bare our souls.
And as we climbed that hot stairwell back home, dodging the stray cats and bags of trash left to be picked up by the doorman, we met the neighbors that invited us into their homes, too. Some days we smiled and kept going but most often if their doors were open, we were going to be stopping in for tea, at least. We would finally make it home after hours spent in conversation with new friends, our minds tired from trying to navigate two languages. The click of the air conditioner was a welcome sound as we collapsed onto the couches and finally rested.
I didn't get the flat I hoped for; my dreams of a balcony to overlook the city weren't fulfilled. We got something so much more important. We had asked God to let us find a home, not just a flat. We wanted to become a real part of the community, to find a family there. As we walked up the stairs, we got to know the people. As we spent time with Samiha, we were known. God didn't want me sitting there on a balcony looking out over the beautiful city. He wanted me out there living in it. And that's what I really wanted all along, too.
I still wear the brightly colored bangles Samiha gave me as a gift when she found out we were returning to America. They are a reminder of my friend but also of the way God's will is so much better than our own plans, how eternity broke into our world in the community we built in Egypt that will remain a part of us all our lives.
So, I keep my hands open these days. I ask God to help me see past this fleeting, temporary world and all the things I think I have figured out. I ask Him to let eternity break into my little world, break open my heart, and exceed my expectations.
{Now share your story} How could you commune with and serve the desperate in your community? Describe where you have seen Eternity break into your world.
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To the One Who Wants to Do It All
why i am writing letters this month...
I have become accustomed to doing my writing on the computer but there is still a power that a pen and paper hold over me. I have journaled since I was young, written countless notes to be passed in class, and doodle and jot notes that end up all over my house. After graduating from college continents separated my best friend from me and as she traveled through Europe she sent postcards from every stop.
I remember the joy of seeing those little snatches of words showing up in my mailbox. They were barely a few sentences but it connected me to someone I loved far away and those words were like water to a parched soul. We mostly exchange emails now but every now and then a hand-written note from her will find it's way to my mailbox.
Since I became a mom I have kept journals for and written letters at the end of each year to my kids. I want to remember big and little moments in their lives, things I might forget if I didn't write them down. I want them to know one day what their childhood was like through my eyes, things they'd otherwise only know through photographs or stories forgotten down the years.
As my writing for others online has increased, my time to write for them has decreased. It was the third week of January before I got around to penning my year-end letters for them. I am woefully behind in updating photos I usually commit to a book to have printed for them each year.
Life gets busy with so many things and these important words get pushed aside. The words to the most important people in my life go unsaid.
So, for this month I will be sharing four letters I am writing to some of the most important people in my life. I will be taking some time to remember what I write for to begin with, what is at the core of what I want to say and who I want to say it to. I hope you will see nuggets of truth in these words. Though they are written for special people in my life, I hope they speak into yours.
I start with a letter to the person who needs to hear some hard words and believe them....myself.
To the One Who Wants to Do It All,
There is a knot that has taken up permanent residence in your back, an ache in your arm. Sometimes a tightness comes across your chest and you realize you haven't taken time to breathe deep all day long. There are a thousand thoughts running through your mind. You try to categorize them into manageable to-do lists. You have a place for family, home, work, writing, ministry, that upcoming trip.
Something inevitably falls through the cracks and you feel the weight of guilt fall around you. There is that mom guilt you feel every day. Do you give them enough time? You have to work but you want to be with them more. You are called to write but does it take you away from them too much? You second guess your decisions even after you make them and care so deeply what other people think of you.
You can't keep juggling all these thoughts but still you try. Somehow the people you love get categorized, too. When you have so much going on they fall in with the lists and become nothing more than tasks.
A friend looks at you and says, "You put too much on yourself." You smile and nod but inside you think, "If I don't do it all, who will?" You know she is right but you don't know how to put it all down, all these things you carry in your hands, on your shoulders.
Honey, you can't do it all. You aren't meant to.
Listen to the words of the One Who Sees You, who knows all your neurotic control issues and loves you anyway.
Now as they went on their way, Jesus entered a village. And a woman named Martha welcomed him into her house. And she had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord's feet and listened to his teaching. But Martha was distracted with much serving. And she went up to him and said, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to serve alone? Tell her then to help me.” But the Lord answered her, “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things, but one thing is necessary. Mary has chosen the good portion, which will not be taken away from her.” - Luke 10. 38-42, ESV
You can get so distracted, even by good things. Beautiful things. Things for God. God has a good portion for you though, a light burden He wants you to bear. You know it but can't accept it.
Lots of things need to be done. Absolutely, there is no denying that. But do you have to be the one to do them? Do they have to be done right now?
Please take a step back and open your eyes. There are people all around you that have hands, too. They can carry some of the burden if you will give it to them. They can hold you up when you are weak if you will allow them to. They can rub that knot out of your shoulder when it gets too painful.
There is a reason Jesus left behind a body to be united, to carry the burden together. You can't be the hands, feet, and hands. You can't do it all.
But you know the one who can. So, let Him.
Love,
When It Feels Like You Are Stranded At Sea. Fighting the Lie That You Are a Failure.
When the Lie takes Root
There is a moment when a lie takes root in our hearts and begins to grow. We often don’t know it at the time; can only look back on the other side and see the evidence of the beginnings of our shame.
That dirty word that we believe about ourselves, that F word that we let define us – You are a failure - it always starts somewhere.
I have come to picture this progression as if I were on a boat, set out to sea.
At first I was headed to a beautiful destination but got stranded somewhere. I felt lost and alone.
Then, I felt like the boat was going under, me with it – until I was drowning.
Finally, I found a lifeline that I cling to whenever I am drifting.
Maybe your story is very different from mine. But perhaps you have felt this same way. Have you found your lifeline or are you still searching?
Some days I have to search to find it all over again. Just like it takes time for the lie to begin to grow, it takes a long time to uproot it.
Setting Out to Sea
I had spent six years dreaming of this. Ever since the moment I sat in that Arabic class, felt God calling me out of my safe, homogonous life – I had dreamed of moving overseas.
God finally opened the doors for my husband and I to move to Egypt and years of a nebulous dream were becoming a reality.
We were newly married so it wasn’t difficult to pack up our two-bedroom basement apartment into boxes we would store until we retuned. Leaving family and friends, the roots that went deep in our lifelong hometown, was altogether another story. Our church and family rallied around us with support, yard sales, prayers, and love.
We found our new home to be the fulfillment of dreams we imagined it would be. That isn’t to say it wasn’t difficult. Culture shock and homesickness were real. Arabic was a language difficult to acquire. Normal life was more of a chore in a land we didn’t know.
But we loved every minute of our time there…until the news came.
My father had been sitting in church when he had a massive heart attack. They called it a widow maker because most do not survive it. He actually died sitting in the church that day.
Several doctors and nurses rushed to his side and were able to resusitate him, getting him to the hospital where my mom learned he needed a quadruple bypass.
That is when a crushing weight settled in on my soul.
I wanted to run home to be with my family but had a life in Egypt, responsibilities. We had worked so hard to get there and so many people had struggled along with us, were counting on us.
I couldn’t breathe anymore in this place I loved but also couldn’t imagine giving up and going home. What would everyone think? We had only been there six months and leaving then felt like a failure.
Two months after my dad’s heart attack we unpacked those boxes back into our apartment and did what we believed was right. We felt God saying our family was the most important assignment at that moment.
But life did not go back to normal. I felt like I was floating through a shadow of the life I knew before.
It was then that I began to feel like I was stranded at sea. I was between two worlds and that crushing weight I felt back in Egypt had followed me home.
I couldn’t name it then, couldn’t understand it for years. Looking back I realize that was the moment I started believing the lie that I am a failure.
The enemy who comes to kill, steal, and destroy pounced on the confusion in my spirit and whispered to me about my failure to finish what I had started, about all the people I had let down.
I started to question my choices and God’s faithfulness. I imagined people looking at me with disapproval. Every question about why we left was an indictment. I feared their judgement. I feared I had let them down, had let God down.
I found myself drifting away from Him, distancing myself really. I was so afraid I would learn the worst about myself when I spent time with Him – that I really had failed Him.
Rooted in a Fear of Man
The beginnings of my feelings of failure started seven years ago and I am still wading through this. When I felt like I should write about this, every other story I read or message I listened to spoke into this subject.
Everywhere I turn, God is still speaking to me and helping to dislodge this age-old feeling that found it’s way into a new heart.
When An Affliction Becomes an Opportunity
"To keep me from becoming conceited because of these surpassingly great revelations, there was given me a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me.."
The first time I ever felt my chest tighten like it could cut off all airflow to my body was 8 years ago. I was less than a year into a job I loved but then my boss left and I took over the entire department. I was only 26, younger than everyone else in my department, and I felt like I was in over my head. Who said I had the authority to lead this?
I returned from a month overseas and my husband and I were praying about moving to the Middle East while doing this job. To top it off my grandmother, more like a second mom to me, ended up in hospice after a fall. I would run from work to the hospice, grabbing fast food on the way, trying to juggle a million things in my head and heart.
The physicians assistant told me it was my childhood asthma that was rearing it's ugly head again and making me unable to feel like I could catch my breath. The medicine didn't help and I found myself again sitting in the doctor's office.
This time my doctor and friend didn't even have to touch me to diagnose in a moment the anxiety that was wreaking havoc on my body. Part of me felt relieved that I wasn't also dying in the midst of all of the chaos in my life at that moment, but then there were all the doubts.
Why? What am I doing wrong? Is it a spiritual problem? Can I handle this on my own or do I need to be put on medication?
I found ways to deal with the anxiety. Yoga would help my chest to not feel so tight. Running, praying, hot baths, journaling. There were things I could do, so I felt in control again. But throw in a new country within the year, another family illness when I was a world away and couldn't even be there to help, and the rug was pulled out from under me again.
This time I pleaded with God to take the anxiety away. I knew I wasn't in control of what was happening to my body any more than I was in control of the circumstances that brought me to this place. In time, it passed again...
Years later there was an incidence of anxiety brought on by two impending international trips on top of a full-time job and two kids, to-do lists that had me drowning. Take it away, Lord! Please! I am slow at math but I finally reasoned: stress + me = meltdown.
So, I slowed down and began to say "no" to extra events. I was writing again, working out regularly, had a firm grasp on life. But the world started to spin anyway - again.
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