Grief’s Surprise Visits

 It is funny the things that can stir up grief.  This time it is a puppy; my sister’s puppy to be precise.  You see this puppy will only be a puppy for so long and as it turns out I’m not sure that I’ll be able to visit my family home before the puppy has quit being a puppy.  Now, in the scheme of life that’s not a big thing.  I’ve had many pets over my life and know that eventually I will get to meet this one too but the self soothing remark of “it’s not that big a thing” is a poison of sorts.  You see, if you use it too often you start to believe that not that many things in life are “big things”. And maybe in a privileged life that is true, but then all you’re really left with is the necessity of the urgent; the obligations, the responsibilities, or simply the loudest parts of life.

  I think for a great many years I’ve had to lop off important parts of myself and tell myself that it’s not that big a loss- it must not be or God wouldn’t be walking me through it.  Or it must not be, because when I talk about it, it seems to make people uncomfortable.  How do you lament the loss and acknowledge that it does matter, and still call it good?  How do you carry the pain and sorrow with no one to share it with?  How do you live in lament and not get categorized “ungrateful” or “negative” or be told to do more gratitude journaling to get over it?  

  I am sad that I live so far from my home (each of them that I’ve had).  I miss my mother and sister (the ones given to me by birth and the ones I’ve adopted along the way).  I am sad that I’m not the mother I thought I’d be: enchanted by the mystery unfolding in each unique soul in my care, patient with their shortcomings, and hopeful for their trajectory.  I’m sad that marriage isn’t what I thought it would be: a mystic union of two becoming one heart, one mind, growing into each other, discovering more each day and enjoying both the process and result of discovery.  I’m sad that I’m not the friend I thought I would be: able to keep in touch with those who matter to me, regular in communication and care, fervent in sincere prayer.  I lament that I am equal parts lonely and too over-extended and selfish to risk the investment of carving out scraps of time to get to know someone and risk having them leave or discover an incompatibility. I lament the brokenness of relationship! 

  I would love to say that this lament has brought me closer to Christ, and maybe in windows and snatches it has…. I know that He came to unite all things in Himself.  I know that He chose to leave Heaven and the perfect agreeable union with the Father and Spirit to bring this reconciliation about and that speaks volumes about how He feels about it.  And I know that He will never leave or forsake me, no matter how discordant my home is, no matter how much I fail as a wife or mother, no matter how far from “home” I am or how many precious life mile-stones I miss. That is a comfort and a balm.  But still, I want to acknowledge this sorrow because if I sweep too many things away with the excuse of “it’s not that big a deal” I’m afraid I will sweep away so many little shining parts of life, that soon none of it will be “that big a deal” or matter that much.  And I want it to matter.  Tonight I’d rather feel the sadness and remember that it all does matter very much; life is valuable and precious and Christ came to redeem it.  He is trust worthy with it.  I can trust Him to repay what the locust has destroyed.

Full circle

  So much of life ends up coming full circle, doesn’t it?  We start our lives curved in on ourselves, dependent on the nurture and care of others, and most of us if we’re allowed to live long enough end up in the same condition before the end.  We start unable to eat solid foods and often before the end are back where we started. I had a moment this weekend where I realized I had come full circle in my experience with dance and I was thankful for it.

  My journey with dance started in our family living room, my father at the piano my mother close by, and it wasn’t something I decided to do or planned, it just came out of me. What other response could there be to music that was so clearly moving? My mother saw it- the imprint of God’s gift to be nurtured and directed- and signed me up for ballet classes at the local recreation center. Not too many years later that journey continued and refined itself as my family gave me the (costly) gift of dance training at a semi-local pre-professional studio.  Hours of drive time, schedule adaptation, so much money were all sacrificed by my family (even grandparents helped at times and my siblings were affected by the costs).  I learned technique and tools of artistry.  I gained repertoire and performance experience.  I didn’t dance in the living room so much anymore, but definitely spent hours there practicing turns and cross training with Pilates and other exercise regimens.  

  In this season one or twice a Pastor asked about performing at church; Liturgical dance conjured images of large oversized costumes designed to cover the immodesty of a body with lines to create. I thought of liturgical dance as simple, maybe akin to folk art, certainly not the high technical art I was deep in training for- what had I to do with that? I was wanting to glorify God with my art but couldn’t see it as a part of worship.

  At this point you may be thinking me a snob- and you probably aren’t wrong…but I think truly I was just young.  You know when babies first learn to walk it’s all they want to do?  Or that phase of toddlerhood where boys don’t ever walk, only run or trot everywhere?   That was where I was with dance- immature.  

  And like most things which we set out to do our perceived goal isn’t often where we end up- at least it wasn’t for me.  I never got as far with ballet as I wanted to go.  I was aiming for a large ballet company with a long history.  I was hoping for the experience I saw in dance magazines and had tasted onstage and at summer intensives.  But it turns out the road is hard and over populated and you have to get yourself around a decent distance just to hope to get a job, and what felt like a decent facility was really just so average in the large pool of those of us desperate for that chance.

  So after years away from dancing professionally, after 4 babies and so much distance from the training I was once able to offer to the art, I find my facility no longer able to uphold much of the movement that used to inspire me in that season.  But truly, while I still love it and respect it, it is no longer the style that moves me or flows out of me. Now when I get the chance to move it is far closer to what happened in my childhood living room than what happened in any ballet class I took growing up, but it’s all been ripened by that experience; the way an elder’s curled frame is so vastly different than a babies.  

  It’s harder now in a way. Little Heather had no preconceived ideas of what made good or poor art, good or weak technique. But it’s richer in a way too, it’s built on a foundation of so much work and sacrifice and struggle. I never liked any improvisation classes- I still don’t! The expectation for originality or fluidity feels too heavy, or else the product feels like saying so much nothing.  But when I get chances to move in private, with contemplation and prayer, there is something that can happen that is so healing for me now. It takes longer to move to the center of big Heather -past the criticism and even the fear of opening the big feelings that are worth being vulnerable expressing… but when God meets me in the work I am so thankful for all of it.  Thankful to come full circle.

https://youtu.be/RNEmwnl3wr0?si=9LQ1-Pe_BGt0rD22

Love to Keep me Warm

   I sat in my parka in the rain, hands shoved into my pocket with a ripped corner, watching my eldest son’s soccer game today and the thought hit me not for the first time that I should probably get a new jacket.  This one is patched and (as the pocket corner would suggest) needs more patching, but it is such a perfect jacket in so many ways. Let me explain….

  January 2005- I was living in Portland, OR dancing with OBT school.  We were just about to conclude our 26 some Nutcracker performances with much exhaustion and blistering of feet. I had just handed over the family heirloom Coast Guard jacket that had been sent to Oregon with me, along with the cell phone my parents had paid for, and the keys to the car my family had let me take up to Portland… All of that is a tip of the iceberg of a bigger story that I’d love to share but I don’t want to distract from the jacket story, merely set it up well…. Suffice it to say I was in this diminished position due to my own foolishness and rebellion.  Winter in P-town is a wet and rather chilly time.  There is usually at least one ice storm (I remember the one from that year as I slid down the hill from my apartment street toward the direction of the studio).  There can be a snow dusting or two.  I was living hand-to-mouth off of my Starbuck’s salary and the thought of buying a winter coat felt out of reach but I had received a GAP gift card from a grandmother for Christmas, so to the mall I went.  And there it was! On the sale rack, in my size, and not far beyond the $50 gift card I had in hand.  (I marveled at this as I browsed the internet today looking for a replacement- comparable jackets I’m finding are at least $200). Now here’s the thing that hits me about the story today, especially as I consider the cigarette burn hole I patched later that year and think of all of the other rebellions both mild and extreme this coat kept me warm through… God knew about the person he was clothing and providing for.  He was not ignorant of the condition of my heart.  He wasn’t unaware of the doubts and anger and depression and rebellion that were all a terrifying upheaval of confusion in my mind and heart.  And do you know what?  That jacket has been worn by me every winter since then.  In many ways I look back and see how much I’ve changed since that winter.  Back to CA, back to OR again, quit dancing, reconciled to my family, back to teaching dance, back to dancing, pregnant with my first, back to CA, married, another baby, out to WV, another baby, out to WA, another baby and still in that same jacket.  I’ve buttoned it around babies inside of me and babies strapped to the front of me.  It has kept me warm in sorrow, joy, adventure, and beyond.  It has shopped for the perfect Christmas tree with me; has watched soccer games and practices; has kept me warm as I put chains on my tires; as I watched my children play snowball fights and build snow forts.  Warmed me as I walked to clear my mind, and as I begrudgingly walked the dog in the rain, and again as I happily walked in the rain with a faithful friend or two… and all along this jacket has declared to me, weather I heard it or not, the steadfast love of God toward me; love dependent on His character and heart health, not mine.  And this is such good news because just as much as I can see change in me since that 2005 winter, I can also look back and see how I am still the same Heather.  “The sins of our days will be the sins of our lives”.  I desire to continue to conform more closely to the image of Christ each day, but suspect that closeness of approach is very different than closeness of view (C.S. Lewis described it as loosing sight of a distant mountain as you descend your peak to pursue the mountain.  If you stay where you can see the goal you will never actually get any nearer to it.  You must set your course and trust that it will remain there even when you loose sight).  Some days I don’t feel quite as certain of my course as others.  On those days it is so sweet to have things like that roughed up jacket to remind me of His love and care for me regardless of my smallness and confusion.  I can rest in His care.

  Israelites had a whole calendar full of rich reminders with stories and visuals and manual ways to enter into a reminding of God’s faithfulness.  I think by comparison a ripped up parka seems pretty absurd.  Still, for this tactile and visual learner who is one with a shepherd of a rather un-tactile, un-visual church tradition, I am thankful for the reminder I get to wear.  May it never cease to amaze me that our God pursues the rebel and traitor like me.

Long-suffering I am not.

   As I wait for Lucas to arrive I look for meaning in the waiting.  So often if I can find a “why” it helps me get behind what I’m being asked to do- right now what I’m asked to do is wait in semi-constant discomfort for a transition into extreme discomfort and pain to bring about final resolution of the anticipated joy which is the moment they lay a new baby in your arms for the first time and it is suddenly all worth it.  As I wait, my daily Bible readings include many references by Jeremiah the prophet about the cries of a woman in labor....agony.  I am very well aware of what he speaks.  I’ve had three unmediated births so far (not something I recommend for everyone but something that I’ve found very personally enriching) and I am anticipating this one being every bit as brutal.  I am reminded too of Romans 18 which speaks of all of creation groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now.  That’s where I realized that the last 9 months spent growing this person, the better part of a year, the majority of a global pandemic, the concerns and excitements and anxieties that have felt so long sometimes, are such a tiny shining reflection of what God has been doing since our exile from Eden.  The seed of promise was planted at that time (“he [her offspring] shall bruise your head”), and has been growing and swelling and making its presence and reality known and seen (just like Lucas kicks and squirms and stretches from within) in every covenant and commandment and story that points to our need of a savior ever lived out or recorded since.  And even since Christ has thrown us into the realm of “now but not yet” we still wait for the final revelation.  It’s like we’ve gone from pregnancy (pre-Christ) to labor (now but not yet).  And there I’ve found my “why”.  I have been given the privilege of living out a picture (really very abbreviated if you think about it) of God’s patience and long-suffering towards us.  And even now as I wait for labor and wonder if every contraction is a Braxton Hicks or the real thing it makes me realize the eagerness I ought to have as I watch for the return of Christ- the time of knowing fully even as we are fully known.  

  Ultimately it is the same reason or “why” behind why I’ve chosen unmediated births.  While in our current medical development enduring that kind of pain is usually unnecessary and for most women unwanted, I have found it to be one of the few times in life I must fully enter into the reality of creations’ longing.  There’s something to the fact that Jesus refused the spiced wine as he hung on the cross to fully bear my burden of pain and suffering merited by my treason, and while the pain of labor is not a punishment for sin, it is a consequence of it.  I guess for me there is a richness of entering into the blessing of a covered discipline- the pain that Love assigned as discipline to His children to draw them in need towards him.  And truly this year as I’ve watched adult women in my life who are decades removed from the physical pain of labor and child bearing I see that labor pains are but a foretaste of what is to come as the children you’ve born and raised and sacrificed for can stretch your heart in pains you didn’t know were possible to send you reeling again to Love’s arms to enable you to bear down in your groaning, praying that it will bring forth the hope of new life.  

  Ah, such things are too marvelous for me.  I am thankful for the glimpses we get into the real; moments in life where the curtain is parted for a minute and you get to see the bigger picture you’re allowed to enter into living out.  Lord,  may even the duller more common and comfortable moments in life be pointers to the big picture of your vast long-suffering love towards us.  My I never forget the real truth that we are welcomed to enter into as we live out these days groaning with creation for the revealing of the sons of glory.  Come Lord Jesus, Come!

Looking at things Upside Down

This is going to be unpopular.  This is going to feel backwards.  In a world where everything is mixed up and such a mess, maybe it's time to look at things from a different angle though.  It struck me today as I was pondering all of the anger and protests and sliding scales of "righteousness" that move the standard of "right" depending on the cause.  This world is in constant flux- one day condemning those who don't practice social isolation as being selfish and unloving, and the next day lauding those who cram together sweaty shoulder to sweaty shoulder shouting their infected droplets of virus and (understandable) anger and (rightful) hurt into the lungs, hearts, and souls of their neighbors.  The issues of love, of valued life, of respect, have been highlighted for our nation over the last few months, but I'm not sure that we've got the "wherefore" right.  And that matters I think.
  So the thought that struck me this morning was this:  the truth is not that "all men should be free" but rather that I am a slave.  1 Corinthians 6:19b-20 kept running through my mind, "You are not your own, for you were bought with a price.  So glorify God in your body."  Those are unpopular words today, even among many Christians.  Especially among Americans.  You are not your own- you have been bought with a price.  But it gains a richer meaning than the world of human trafficking and barbarous slaver labor when we look at Romans 6: 16-23.
  "Do you not know that if you present yourselves to anyone as obedient slaves, you are slaves of the one whom you obey, either of sin, which leads to death, or of obedience, which leads to righteousness?  But thanks be to God, that you who were once slaves of sin have become obedient from the heart to the standard of teaching to which you were committed, and, having been set free from sin, have become slaves of righteousness. I am speaking in human terms, because of your natural limitations.  For just as you once presented your members as slaves to impurity and to lawlessness leading to more lawlessness, so now present your members as slaves to righteousness leading to sanctification.
  For when you were slaves of sin, you were free in regard to righteousness.  But what fruit were you getting at that time from the things of which you are now ashamed?  For the end of those things is death.  But now that you have been set free from sin and have become slaves of God, the fruit you get leads to sanctification and its end, eternal life.  For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord."

See, the question is not "slave or free" "oppressed or privileged", the question is, "slave to sin or slave to righteousness".  And today, as we live in the reality of the Now But Not Yet tension (Romans 6:5 for example or Romans 7:25)  the gauge for how we ought to treat one another-not looking at job title or skin color, uniform or family lineage- should be that I AM NOT MY OWN, but

Why do you pass judgment on your brother? Or you, why do you despise your brother? 
"we will all stand before the judgment seat of God; for it is written,
'As I live, says the Lord, every knee shall bow to me,
and every tongue shall confess to God.'
So then each of us will give an account of himself to God."  Romans 14:10-12

So then, the greatest reason that I have to treat others with respect, with love, with mercy, is not that all men are made free, but that I am a slave who will give an account.  I who was once a slave of sin, who bears in my person-hood the scars of that old "master" ought only to be a slave now of righteousness, to lead others to the good master who would set us free from sin.
 
I recognize that this doesn't specifically address racism.  It doesn't address the horrific occurrences of and opportunity for violence afforded to positions of authority wearing a badge.  But, if all who have been bought by the blood of Christ began to live as those who will give an account, who are to have the mind of Christ, who indeed are not free themselves, I wonder how it would change the way we treat one another.  How would it change the way we deal with the fallout of real sin in a world where many of us are slaves to sin still (even many that have been bought by Christ are still wrestling with the slavery of sin in their bodies)?  Oh, the immeasurable value that Christ gave to life the moment he became incarnate!  How much higher that estimation rose each day he lived in perfectly righteous obedience on our behalf.  How incalculable the value life acquired that day he gave his life to pay the ransom price to buy us back from slavery to sin! How could we not value life likewise?
 

The Better You Get the Harder it is.

  I was talking with a student the other day in our zoom classroom (these are strange times) about how much harder dance gets the farther you advance in it.  She had been telling her friend how many classes she took each week and her friend postulated that it was easy for her because she had been training for so long.  Immediately I saw a picture of sanctification -what my children's catechism book describes as "the process by which God makes sinners Holy in heart and conduct." 
  I look at my children struggle with such obvious sins daily: failing to love one another as themselves when required to share toys or play pretend to the other's specifications for example.  It makes me think of the baby students in pre-ballet who's hands inadvertently rotate out when they try to turn out their toe; who struggle to conquer the basics of bending their knees in a turned out plie without their bottom sticking out behind them.  This is the beginning stages.  It all seems so hard, so impossible.  How could that little person develop the coordination and self-possession required to master the movements of even a  supporting dancer in the corps de ballet?  And yet, time after time, it happens.  Over years, through sweat, blood, tears, and a huge amount of brain development that only time can allow, a tiny dreamer becomes a full fledged ballerina.  And truly, there is very little doubt in my mind as I look at those tiny dancers that some day, if they are willing to make the sacrifice and commitment, they will become a ballerina.  I wish I had that same confidence when I consider sanctification, yet, that's exactly how it works!
  Years ago when I was caught in some glaring besetting sins I thought, "if only I could work free of this I'd be doing just fine," I think I even had the audacity to make a similar comment to a friend of mine.  But the thing about walking alongside Jesus is the "farther" you go, the more your realize the depths of your brokenness and helplessness; you might say the "better" you get (“you are made” is a truer statement) the harder it gets.  I wonder sometimes as I observe the lives of a rare shining example in the faith how it can be so easy for them to exude the love and joy of a life lived in Christ.  How effortless it looks!  How natural!  So much like the effortless grace displayed by a ballerina as she executes even the most challenging steps.
   I consider too the idea of the temptation of Christ (bear with me, this is a less developed thought).  I have been struggling with the reality that Christ was "tempted in every way as we are, yet was without sin".  How could very God be tempted by sin?  Doesn't God hate sin?  If I hate something (like black jelly beans) are they actually a temptation to me? But I have heard it said that Christ was tempted far beyond any temptation we could ever experience simply by the nature of the truth that at no point did He give in, so it continued to mount against Him.  He was completely sanctified (though for Him it was never a process of becoming but one of proving) and so His road was the hardest possible.  This is a comfort.  Wherever I am in my process of being made holy in heart and conduct, however stilted my soul movement quality (like a dancer in the pre-ballet class of life) when God the Father looks at me, He has full confidence that some day, through blood (primarily that of Christ's), sweat, and tears, because He will make me willing to make the sacrifice and commitment required (Phil 2:13), I will be made like Christ (if only, finally at the day of His appearing Phil 1:6) just as that pre-ballet dancer may turn into a ballerina.  And amazingly, in the meantime, as my heart still struggles to become fluent in this language of obedience, when the Father looks at me, He sees superimposed over my failures the perfect obedience of Christ who was tempted far beyond anything I can ever expect to encounter in life yet without sin (Rom 5:21).
  Now my task is self-forgetfulness as I fix my eyes on the author and perfecter of my faith and strain toward the goal trusting that He will enable me to lay aside every sin that clings so closely and would hinder my growth. Be encouraged with me, if we are in Christ, then in the end, perfection is guaranteed. Keep digging in.  It won't get easier, but it will get better!

Training to Succeed

 I've had my fair share of physical training in the past. mThere were months of training for Nutcracker or various Spring Show bills- the diets, cross-training, technique classes, rehearsals. Or there were the months of training for birth- prenatal yoga, careful diets, sufficient sleep, books to read, relaxation techniques to practice.  I know how focusing on a goal of something you love can empower you to deny yourself, altering your life in a transforming way.  This is an area of life I feel pretty confident that I understand. But, as I was reading an article today talking about the analogy of sports training used in the Bible I was struck (no pun intended) by a new angle: "I do not box as one hitting the air" (1 Corinthians 9:26).  It was like a treasure box was unlocked and I was excited by this new thought.
  I remember the exhaustion at the end of certain performance pieces; Concierto Barocco, or Dew Drop come to mind.  I remember there were always one or two rehearsals where it felt like you would die at the end- oxygen refused to make it past your shoulders to your fingertips and you just knew there was no way this was ever going to be pretty because you could barely stand upright  by the end. Then, magically, your body would adapt and meet your need and the next rehearsal it would feel easy.  You could run it back to back before you felt that same exhaustion.  But its those struggling grasping rehearsals that I think of when I read that 1 Corinthians passage- not one wasted movement because you're truly not sure if you have stamina for a single extra gesture.  And I feel like much of my life is lived in this space emotionally and spiritually.
  Now, I know that's not entirely true.  There are seasons of coasting where everything is smooth and peaceful, but I wonder how much of my life's energies are wasted by "beating the air"?
  It's summer here which means swim suit season (groan!). How much of my emotional energy is spent on body-image woes and self-consciousness and even covetousness or idolatry as I try to survive water park trips and ventures to the lake? (Don't even talk to me about beach trips to the California coast!)  "As one hitting the air."  When I read that I suddenly realize that rarely am I as motivated to action by the sad state of my spiritual life the way I'm motivated to exercise or diet by swim-suit season, and I realize that I've been spending my limited energy beating the air!  My genetics are an area that I can't touch and in reality are neither here nor there when it's all said and done.  No one says at the end of their life, "I sure looked good in a swim suit though!"  No, I need to save my punches for when it counts.
  Then there's parenting.  This one has no season; once you're in you're in it for life.  Granted there are changes in your babies needs for your degree of  involvement and what your care looks like, but this race is ongoing.  I wonder as hundreds of opportunities of conflict present themselves to me throughout the day how often I am choosing the wrong times to throw a punch.  How much energy do I waste conforming them to my preferences or molding them to avoid my annoyance as opposed to introducing them to the image of Christ?  If I'm at that fatigue point where my gestures are limited it's tempting to sort of flail wildly hoping something "makes contact", but what a waste of precious resources.  My time in this season of specific need with them and my energy to engage meaningfully are frailly limited. God give me grace to not be "as one hitting the air".
  I think a big part of it all is not losing sight of the goal.  Training is intentional, and it works best if that goal is something you love.  Even as you cross-train there is a singular vision, and that's what I need to maintain in my heart and life. That takes me  to Philippians 3:13b-14- "forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus."  I need to fix my eyes on Christ and learn how to train accordingly.