This won't be a very long blog, as I have another essay I want to begin today and frankly what I'm about to post is by a far more wonderful writer.
Last week's New Yorker featured a selection of excerpts from Flannery O'Connor's journal titled "My Dear God", and it's a group of prayers that she wrote out to God, begging His mercy and blessing on her work, her ambitions, her desires. It is a good liturgy for any writer, artist, or seeker, or anyone who gets easily distracted by cookies (you'll have to read it to get that last part).
It was good medicine to read, frankly because of how honest she was--wretchedly confessing her desires for greatness, her her desire to be a fine writer, and yet acknowledging that she KNOWS that none of it will matter if she forges ahead without God's blessing, without His guidance.
(It's nice to know that other writers experience the same sort of angst, I thought)
She writes freely about not being able to write. She writes about feeling some despair about this, but because she trusts in God, she does not have to despair. And so she writes to God and for God; in Him and through Him.
"My dear God," is an address and appeal of both knowns and unknowns and ultimately a submission of all things to Him. But such a submission isn't from God's tyrannical domination, she acknowledges, it is the result of being engaged with the Divine Love, in and through which reality exists.
In reading this, I was so humbled. Like Chesterton's prayer of common grace over everything, so O'Connor pleads for God's direction over her every word. I pray it is my prayer too.
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Monday, September 23, 2013
Returning to Eternity
So.
It's been a while.
Two weeks, but who's counting? Not this girl. *Cough*
What a full season. School-- and the ensuing preparations, communications, and oh yeah, delivery, of lessons-- pooled over my head. Throw in a few writing assignments and, well, you get two weeks of no writing.
I feel very unholy when I don't write, as if I've caved into the Philistine practices of irreverence, ill-discipline, and butt-laziness. I also think about all the really great copy I've let slip through my fingers on my way to accomplishing something else. Probably something that pays.
But sometimes there just must be times for something else, other than what we planned.
Man, this is something I've been struggling with. Hm, struggling, maybe that's a strong word. Have I wrestled an angel and bruised a rib? Mostly I've been impatient and skinned a knee and sliced a finger, as evidenced by this weekend. Maybe "haunted" is a better word. I've been haunted by the sense of something to be accomplished, like writing, but having other things that require attention.
Take for example, this blog. It's a symptom of a writing disease-- the condition where one believes firmly that things must be written. MUST. And when they are not, they either didn't happen or weren't important. So imagine what happens when one such person doesn't write-- it means nothing has happened to them lately and whatever did wasn't important. Talk about depressing.
So maybe I feel a little depressed.
I have been kneeling to the obligations of school preparation as well as the demands of paying writing projects, um, and a little bit to my own sanity--taking time in the morning for coffee and quiet. Not bad things in of themselves, by no means. But soon the absence of writing drove me a little crazy. I wasn't processing well, I was picking fights with my husband and generally felt lost, unmoored.
Why is that sometimes we leave the things that mean the most to us? It definitely makes the homecoming sweeter, but what about all that other time? Was it lost time? Or was something else going on?
Okay, okay, I'm getting a little existential. My life didn't end, my marriage is wonderful, I didn't stop writing completely, and I can still put two words together. But I always do feel deeply, um, sorry, when I don't write. It's a funny way of thinking, of living, to think that something can mean that much to you and make such a difference when it's NOT there. Culturally we're taught that the tyranny of the urgent is well, urgent, and anything not attached to just getting through the day doesn't really matter.
I think this is what I'm haunted by, and passive-aggressively wrestling with. Trying to live in the present--do what needs to be done--but to take time for eternity, to write, to create, and just be, with no money or expedience necessarily attached.
It's why I'm sorry when I don't write. I feel sorry because I wonder if I was simply caving into expedience rather than eternity.
Writing, like this blog, is an act of faith. I see no immediate rewards or returns. It's anyone's wonder if it will ever really turn into anything. Rather, it's a exercise, a process, of living in God's economy where human striving and effort aren't what make the world go 'round; He does. So I try to worship Him with my art, my words, like little prayers, confessing myself to Him; confessing myself to a reader. It is a journey of bringing myself back, repentant in a thousand little ways that I've tried to live according to the world's expedience, and taking time, once again, for eternity.
It's been a while.
Two weeks, but who's counting? Not this girl. *Cough*
What a full season. School-- and the ensuing preparations, communications, and oh yeah, delivery, of lessons-- pooled over my head. Throw in a few writing assignments and, well, you get two weeks of no writing.
I feel very unholy when I don't write, as if I've caved into the Philistine practices of irreverence, ill-discipline, and butt-laziness. I also think about all the really great copy I've let slip through my fingers on my way to accomplishing something else. Probably something that pays.
But sometimes there just must be times for something else, other than what we planned.
Man, this is something I've been struggling with. Hm, struggling, maybe that's a strong word. Have I wrestled an angel and bruised a rib? Mostly I've been impatient and skinned a knee and sliced a finger, as evidenced by this weekend. Maybe "haunted" is a better word. I've been haunted by the sense of something to be accomplished, like writing, but having other things that require attention.
Take for example, this blog. It's a symptom of a writing disease-- the condition where one believes firmly that things must be written. MUST. And when they are not, they either didn't happen or weren't important. So imagine what happens when one such person doesn't write-- it means nothing has happened to them lately and whatever did wasn't important. Talk about depressing.
So maybe I feel a little depressed.
I have been kneeling to the obligations of school preparation as well as the demands of paying writing projects, um, and a little bit to my own sanity--taking time in the morning for coffee and quiet. Not bad things in of themselves, by no means. But soon the absence of writing drove me a little crazy. I wasn't processing well, I was picking fights with my husband and generally felt lost, unmoored.
Why is that sometimes we leave the things that mean the most to us? It definitely makes the homecoming sweeter, but what about all that other time? Was it lost time? Or was something else going on?
Okay, okay, I'm getting a little existential. My life didn't end, my marriage is wonderful, I didn't stop writing completely, and I can still put two words together. But I always do feel deeply, um, sorry, when I don't write. It's a funny way of thinking, of living, to think that something can mean that much to you and make such a difference when it's NOT there. Culturally we're taught that the tyranny of the urgent is well, urgent, and anything not attached to just getting through the day doesn't really matter.
I think this is what I'm haunted by, and passive-aggressively wrestling with. Trying to live in the present--do what needs to be done--but to take time for eternity, to write, to create, and just be, with no money or expedience necessarily attached.
It's why I'm sorry when I don't write. I feel sorry because I wonder if I was simply caving into expedience rather than eternity.
Writing, like this blog, is an act of faith. I see no immediate rewards or returns. It's anyone's wonder if it will ever really turn into anything. Rather, it's a exercise, a process, of living in God's economy where human striving and effort aren't what make the world go 'round; He does. So I try to worship Him with my art, my words, like little prayers, confessing myself to Him; confessing myself to a reader. It is a journey of bringing myself back, repentant in a thousand little ways that I've tried to live according to the world's expedience, and taking time, once again, for eternity.
Thursday, September 5, 2013
Traffic Controllers
Over the last week, Psalm 46: 10 has come up over and over again. Whether at church, talking to friends, or um, yes, even random mail, the verse has been showing up.
"Be still, and know that I am God: I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth."
You have to love the punctuation of that sentence. "Be still [pause] and know that I am God."
It's a call to quiet trust; a rest in God's sovereignty over, ahem, our own. It's a letting go of control.
The Message translation is poignant in highlighting this swap of control. It reads: "Step out of the traffic! Take a long, loving look at me, your High God. above politics, above everything."
Traffic and politics: two of the most restless terms in English; the stuff that's responsible for more high blood pressure than almost anything else in our culture. But besides stroke and cardiac arrest, they have something else in common-- short-lived importance. Whether it's the 5 minutes (or more) on our drive home from work, or the four years (or more) our country spends trying to select, er, elect, a new president, in comparison with eternity they are of miniscule importance.
God says, step out of it, get perspective, look at me.See things from where I sit. I AM in control, not, in fact, you.
Nathan and I were talking yesterday about how angry we get over traffic, and how hard days--not BAD days,but just simply difficult days-- are enough to throw us off all night, maybe even all week, resulting in sleeplessness, irritability, distraction. Suddenly our focus isn't on what God's doing, but on our immediate anxieties, anger, and frustrations.
God says we don't have to stay there, it doesn't have to be like that.
He calls us to step out of the raucous traffic of petty politics, tractor trailers, busy-ness, drama, and short-lived frustrations. He says we don't have to control it, fight it, or let our lives get caught up in it as if that's all there is.
He says He is in the one over it all--not only "over" it, as in bigger-than, but also over it as in, controlling it, responsible for it. And in trusting Him, then we don't have let our lives in turn be controlled by the other stuff.
You don't have to control today; you don't have to let the traffic run over you. You can get some perspective-- turn a long and loving look to the God who is over all--and you can safely place your traffic controllers in His very capable hands.
"Be still, and know that I am God: I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth."
You have to love the punctuation of that sentence. "Be still [pause] and know that I am God."
It's a call to quiet trust; a rest in God's sovereignty over, ahem, our own. It's a letting go of control.
The Message translation is poignant in highlighting this swap of control. It reads: "Step out of the traffic! Take a long, loving look at me, your High God. above politics, above everything."
Traffic and politics: two of the most restless terms in English; the stuff that's responsible for more high blood pressure than almost anything else in our culture. But besides stroke and cardiac arrest, they have something else in common-- short-lived importance. Whether it's the 5 minutes (or more) on our drive home from work, or the four years (or more) our country spends trying to select, er, elect, a new president, in comparison with eternity they are of miniscule importance.
God says, step out of it, get perspective, look at me.See things from where I sit. I AM in control, not, in fact, you.
Nathan and I were talking yesterday about how angry we get over traffic, and how hard days--not BAD days,but just simply difficult days-- are enough to throw us off all night, maybe even all week, resulting in sleeplessness, irritability, distraction. Suddenly our focus isn't on what God's doing, but on our immediate anxieties, anger, and frustrations.
God says we don't have to stay there, it doesn't have to be like that.
He calls us to step out of the raucous traffic of petty politics, tractor trailers, busy-ness, drama, and short-lived frustrations. He says we don't have to control it, fight it, or let our lives get caught up in it as if that's all there is.
He says He is in the one over it all--not only "over" it, as in bigger-than, but also over it as in, controlling it, responsible for it. And in trusting Him, then we don't have let our lives in turn be controlled by the other stuff.
You don't have to control today; you don't have to let the traffic run over you. You can get some perspective-- turn a long and loving look to the God who is over all--and you can safely place your traffic controllers in His very capable hands.
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
Teachers Get Embarrassed, Too
I should be used to embarrassment by now. I'm a teacher, I'm a blonde, and I have weak ankles and when I drink too much caffeine, my hands shake and I drop things. Once I was proudly showing a class my new phone, only to have it slip out of my hands and nearly shatter on the floor. Only a wildly Baryshnikov-esque leap on my part saved it from becoming obsolete before its time. In another class, I taught an entire course with still-new tags hanging on my spanking new cardigan. A female student calmly walked up to me after my hour lecture and carefully peeled the tag off.
Embarrassment-- it comes with the territory. At least with mine.
And I'm not sure what to say about that, except it happens often, even on mornings when I've showered, shaved, put on adequate deodorant, fixed my hair AND eaten breakfast. It happens on mornings when I've forgotten everything. Despite my best care or carelessness, embarrassment happens, and, well, I figure the biggest favor I can pay myself is embrace it.
This morning, I was mortified to discover that I had misspelled nearly half of the students' names on a tutoring sign-up. The overseeing teacher raised an eye brow at me. "Were you writing this while drinking, Laura Beth?" I make a point to never drink and write. Well, okay, this time it had been coffee.
I took my seat with a flaming hot face, my neck beginning to crick.
But I looked around. Everyone else had moved on.
This must be the secret of great teachers, of great people--they move on more quickly than the rest of us. A quick hug, a quick acknowledgment to the awkwardness, and, well, moving on.
So I am, but not before I blogged about it, mulled it over, and interpreted it from every single possible aspect...sigh, okay, I'll stop now. Moving on.
But wait, better tear these tags off first.
Embarrassment-- it comes with the territory. At least with mine.
And I'm not sure what to say about that, except it happens often, even on mornings when I've showered, shaved, put on adequate deodorant, fixed my hair AND eaten breakfast. It happens on mornings when I've forgotten everything. Despite my best care or carelessness, embarrassment happens, and, well, I figure the biggest favor I can pay myself is embrace it.
This morning, I was mortified to discover that I had misspelled nearly half of the students' names on a tutoring sign-up. The overseeing teacher raised an eye brow at me. "Were you writing this while drinking, Laura Beth?" I make a point to never drink and write. Well, okay, this time it had been coffee.
I took my seat with a flaming hot face, my neck beginning to crick.
But I looked around. Everyone else had moved on.
This must be the secret of great teachers, of great people--they move on more quickly than the rest of us. A quick hug, a quick acknowledgment to the awkwardness, and, well, moving on.
So I am, but not before I blogged about it, mulled it over, and interpreted it from every single possible aspect...sigh, okay, I'll stop now. Moving on.
But wait, better tear these tags off first.
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
The Morning After
Holidays are awesome. They shake us out of our routine, rustle our complacency, and make our schedules step a little higher, a little differently, than usual. And that's a good thing.
But the morning after can be hard.
I woke up this morning to a popping back and aching shoulders, a testimony to the high waves the lake rolled out on us yesterday while we skied. A headache peeped around left shoulder blade, and mentally I was the equivalent of a freshly-emptied rain barrel: refreshed, but empty.
Thank goodness for caffeine that got us going, and a few minutes of quiet to let the day collect. Then, breakfast, through which much of my inspiration comes.
As I stalwartly strode to my desk to work, I immediately noticed that the internet had conked out, and yet my phone was receiving messages, telling me I had urgent business from my editor to tend to. Nice.
Ah, the morning after.
But it's okay- the relaxation, the time with family, all the celebrating of good stuff- was totally worth it. If I'm tired, sore, and a bit out of it, it was for an awesome reason, and well, onward and upward from here.
It's a good morning after.
But the morning after can be hard.
I woke up this morning to a popping back and aching shoulders, a testimony to the high waves the lake rolled out on us yesterday while we skied. A headache peeped around left shoulder blade, and mentally I was the equivalent of a freshly-emptied rain barrel: refreshed, but empty.
Thank goodness for caffeine that got us going, and a few minutes of quiet to let the day collect. Then, breakfast, through which much of my inspiration comes.
As I stalwartly strode to my desk to work, I immediately noticed that the internet had conked out, and yet my phone was receiving messages, telling me I had urgent business from my editor to tend to. Nice.
Ah, the morning after.
But it's okay- the relaxation, the time with family, all the celebrating of good stuff- was totally worth it. If I'm tired, sore, and a bit out of it, it was for an awesome reason, and well, onward and upward from here.
It's a good morning after.
Monday, September 2, 2013
Labor Days
It's Labor Day, meaning that most of us have the day off, snatching some fun (or a nap) before the week begins on Tuesday. If all goes as it should, Nathan and I'll be hitting the Lake with family in just a little over an hour, for some Last-Drops-of-Summer skiing.
Regardless of activity (or inactivity) though, today is supposed to be a day of rest, and that got me thinking...
On Saturday, I audaciously decided to join a group of women from my church on a mini-retreat, starting around 8:30am. Most Saturdays, I'm still unconscious until about 9, so that's what I use the word audacious. Anyway, the reason I decided to do it was because allll summer I thought about having a day, or at least a morning, where I took time out to simply listen to and focus on God.
It never happened.
Something always kept coming up--a doctor appointment, an article due, or...or.. something.
This Saturday I could have come up with an excuse, but I was feeling particularly needy (school has just started, after all) so I went.
It was wonderful, and I especially liked hearing from the other women, what they were experiencing, how they felt, and how they processed it spiritually.
From our conversations, and my own reading that morning, the word that stood out to me from the day, though, was "trust"--as in, how much I trust the Lord. I realized not much.
I've written about my control tendencies many times, but that morning I finally understood what it meant in terms of my relationship with God, how I see God. Because I think I have to hold the universe together, I worry, I have anxiety, I stress, and get mean and snappy. It means my relationships really aren't as good as I'd like them to be, it means I often lose sight of what's important.
It often means I miss out on listening to God. Like this summer.
It occurred to me, then, that it takes trust to rest--trust that God's holding the universe's atoms together and that we don't have to; trust that we CAN take time to do God's will, to listen to Him, to follow Him, because HE is in control, not us.
In other words, we can rest, because He is working.
As we head into Labor Day, a day of rest, a day when most of us can take a load off, I'm also thinking of it as a day of trust--a day when I rest from my all-too frantic attempts to control and remember that it is Someone else's responsibility, not mine.
Regardless of activity (or inactivity) though, today is supposed to be a day of rest, and that got me thinking...
On Saturday, I audaciously decided to join a group of women from my church on a mini-retreat, starting around 8:30am. Most Saturdays, I'm still unconscious until about 9, so that's what I use the word audacious. Anyway, the reason I decided to do it was because allll summer I thought about having a day, or at least a morning, where I took time out to simply listen to and focus on God.
It never happened.
Something always kept coming up--a doctor appointment, an article due, or...or.. something.
This Saturday I could have come up with an excuse, but I was feeling particularly needy (school has just started, after all) so I went.
It was wonderful, and I especially liked hearing from the other women, what they were experiencing, how they felt, and how they processed it spiritually.
From our conversations, and my own reading that morning, the word that stood out to me from the day, though, was "trust"--as in, how much I trust the Lord. I realized not much.
I've written about my control tendencies many times, but that morning I finally understood what it meant in terms of my relationship with God, how I see God. Because I think I have to hold the universe together, I worry, I have anxiety, I stress, and get mean and snappy. It means my relationships really aren't as good as I'd like them to be, it means I often lose sight of what's important.
It often means I miss out on listening to God. Like this summer.
It occurred to me, then, that it takes trust to rest--trust that God's holding the universe's atoms together and that we don't have to; trust that we CAN take time to do God's will, to listen to Him, to follow Him, because HE is in control, not us.
In other words, we can rest, because He is working.
As we head into Labor Day, a day of rest, a day when most of us can take a load off, I'm also thinking of it as a day of trust--a day when I rest from my all-too frantic attempts to control and remember that it is Someone else's responsibility, not mine.
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