More thoughts on Fasting

Well this has been a most interesting almost three weeks! Watch out, you who may be subscribed to this blog, hopefully you won't be overwhelmed by all that may come spilling out of me! :) Ah well, it's God anyway.



This whole experience of fasting has been really eye opening. I came across this verse, and it describes so well the purpose and plan of God in fasting. Here's how it kind of breaks down:

2 Corinthians 7:1
Therefore, since we have these promises, dear friends, let us purify ourselves from everything that contaminates body and spirit, perfecting holiness out of reverence for God.
2 Corinthians 7:1-3 (in Context) 2 Corinthians 7 (Whole Chapter)




"Therefore, since we have these promises..." 
Fasting, for me, had to come out of a spirit of gratefulness. It's not about striving to earn God's approval or acting pitiful before God so that He'll answer my prayers. Fasting (and all spiritual disciplines, for that matter) should spring out of a heart so overwhelmed by the extravagant love of God, that we can't help but respond in every way that is honoring to Him. It should be as natural as the goofy grin we get on our faces when a friend drops off a surprise Starbucks. Fasting is my goofy grin to God. 


"let us purify ourselves from everything that contaminates body..." 
Fasts that eliminate certain foods actually set your body into a detoxification mode. Our bodies need a rest from constantly having to process out the mess we put into it. There's a whole physiology that I don't claim to know anything about, but I do know that 2-3 Diet Cokes per day probably weren't helping my little cells do their thing.


"and spirit..." 
One of the weirdest side-effects (I guess you can call it that) of this fast, is that I haven't had a desire to watch certain things or engage in certain forms of entertainment. There's a video game that my husband and I regularly play together as a way to have a cheap date of sorts. Since we started the fast, I've had no desire to play. Not an aversion, really, but it just hasn't crossed my mind as something I'd like to do! I've been sleeping a whole lot more, which is good for the body and the spirit, I think. Because I've made too much a habit of staying up way too late watching some stupid show or another. 
Instead, I've been really trying to make a point to meet with God every day and to feed into the gaps left by cutting out certain entertainments. 


"perfecting holiness out of reverence for God."
The word "perfect" has always tripped me up when it shows up in scripture. I associate "perfect" with way too many failures in my life. I've learned, though, that it is acceptable/biblical/scholarly accurate to substitute the word "perfect" in scripture for "mature". So this Paul is writing about "maturing in holiness..." This makes so much sense to me. When we mature, things that used to interest us no longer interest us. Things that didn't used to make sense start to click into place. Impatience gives way to a longer-term vision. Maturing is an awesome result of fasting. And we want to be mature, because reverence for God requires maturity. God deserves to be honored for the place He holds in this universe. Yes, He is intimate and good and ever-present, but He is also the Creator, the giver of life, the One who is wiser than any man could ever dream. As much as I want to cultivate my knowledge of His immediacy, I also want to devote time toward cultivating my awe of His transcendence. 


So that's the Bible-student version of what's been going on during this fast. 
How has that played out in real life? I've been woken up to dreams I had forgotten about, challenged in my faith, blessed in ways I may have missed before, been exposed to parts of my soul that are downright nasty, and come into a new appreciation for God's sovereignty. I hear Him more easily, obey Him a little more readily, and worship Him more passionately. 
None of this is because I am awesome, it is because HE is. There are things God is showing me about myself that Satan would love to magnify until I'm so swallowed up shame that I can't move. But God's not about condemnation, He is about restoration.


Oh I have so much to share. :)
Look out blogger world. She's on Fiiiiaaaa!

this year

I have drafts for about three different posts in the queue, but I can't seem to bring myself to finish them right now. Timing, I guess, because I've been avoiding writing about what's truly on my heart.

I didn't want to write it because it's not really all in the "spirit of the holidays". In fact, some days I'm having trouble seeing the silver lining at all. I know it's there, though. That presence of the Lord that radiates through the darkest personal moments. Sometimes it takes faith to see it.

My whole life, the beauty of this season has been tainted by a dark hand of fear - a threat or realized pain from a person in my past still refusing to let go. Our birthdays are a day apart, which he always said made me some kind of special. He had a habit of ascribing great meaning to the meaningless. So in the joy and anticipation of parties and friends and presents, I always had to deal with what would be taken from me instead of given. Any more, he is a menace - quickly losing his power and throwing a tantrum because of it. God has given me back my voice and choice to resist. God has given me friends who understand my situation and rally in the tough times. It's no longer a war I fight alone, but with an army by my side, so the enemy looks smaller and smaller every year.

Still, there is the act of faith. "Faith without works is dead" (James 2:26) speaks to letting our hands do the talking when we talk about faith in God. I think, though, that part of those "works" can be the daily walking out of what we cannot see or touch. As one who faced debilitating depression, I know it can be as simple as getting out of bed, showering, and getting dressed. Faith that the day holds more than the pain inside. Faith that God has a purpose for these moments, even the seemingly insignificant, and that His sovereign power is working out a masterpiece with all of the shattered pieces.

I still wake up heavy with the memories of this time. I still struggle with fear as the sun sets in the evening. I still take practical precautions to ensure that my family's safety is secure. Until this person has a "Road to Damascus" experience or dies, I will most likely always have to be proactive during this time.

It's unfair and infuriating and I can finally feel that. This is a precious time of celebration and giving and beauty in the simple things. This is a season of unity and the recognition of that common bond that spans color and creed and gender and social standing. And I'm incredibly grateful for what the Lord has restored to me. This is my first year home, whole, and happy in five years. I celebrated three birthdays in one treatment center or another, because of that pitiful manipulator.
This year, however, I got to enjoy my daughter's beautiful anticipation and my son's amazement that his friends from school would honor his birthday. This year, I get to live in the victory of the freedom and choices that God has given me as I celebrate the fact that I'm GLAD to be alive. I'm grateful for it.

It's another lesson in the bittersweet - in reclaiming that which the enemy stole from me, one calendar date at a time. But I don't have to do it alone, and that makes all the difference. As my counselor at Mercy used to say, "It's not the absence of struggle, but the presence of God in the midst." 

...but God wears eternity

I couldn't sleep tonight. I had so much on my mind, I felt like I was lying on the track at the Indy 500 attempting a nap. Finally, I got up, texted a friend, made tea, and sat down with my journal. (by her advice)

I started writing a list. "I have to do this... I need to figure out this... I need to plan this..." And finally my words turned into a prayer. God, I can't do this. I don't even want to! It's time to trim the tree, and I want to run for cover. Visions of hot chocolate, Christmas music, and laughing children are stomped out by a wave of nausea. Lord, please, sort this out for me. Figure this out - tell ME what to do.

And then I prayed, "Let me be your personal assistant for my life." 

I laughed at myself. What a weird and random prayer. But honestly, it helped everything make sense in my head. Apparently the Holy Spirit is up on corporate culture.

Just this past week, I watched "The Devil Wears Prada" for the first time in a long time. I'm sure most have seen it, but for those who haven't: It's about a young lady that moves to New York to be a journalist, only to find herself looking for just about any job that will pay the rent. She interviews for the position of the Personal Assistant (#2) to a notoriously difficult woman - the Editor in Chief of a major fashion magazine. The movie is about the young woman's struggle to maintain her identity and relationships while half killing herself to keep up with the insane demands of her boss.
It's cute, it's witty, and it has a happy ending. I won't spoil it just in case. (As if it weren't entirely predictable)

God is not the fictional Miranda Priestly. But I see how the metaphor loosely fits. 
God is neither impossibly demanding nor a slave-driver of a boss. However, our lives do start to look differently as we surrender our wills to His.

The boss knows whom to meet with and why. The boss knows what he needs and where to get it. The boss is the one in charge of organizing his complex life, while his personal assistant does the footwork and smaller tasks.
Similarly, God knows who I need to make time for and why. God knows my needs and how to provide them. God can make the most complex set of circumstances come together, because He's got the bigger picture in mind at all times. My job is to do what He asks me to do, so that we can work together to make the day to day things happen. 
Sometimes He asks me to do things that seem mundane or irrational. But it's my job to obey, trusting that He knows what He is doing. See, when I step aside, shut my mouth, and receive direction, God is free to make my life work. And because He is always good and has eternity in mind, I can trust His decisions as I go about doing what He has asked me to do. 

Let it be clear that God and I do not have a boss/employee relationship. I have chosen to serve the Lord with my life because of my love for Him. And because of the sacrifice Jesus made, I am not considered a servant but a child of God. We have a parent/child relationship. We have a best friend relationship. (John 15:15, Romans 8:15)

Free will says that I can rip the God's planner right out of his hands and try to sort out the schedule on my own. Free will says that I can walk away at any time. But I don't want that - I can't live like that. Every time I start to drift in that direction the burden becomes too heavy to bear.

I want to be God's personal assistant for my life. Tell me what to do, Lord, and I will facilitate your will in my life and in this world. 

"Why don't you choose to be led by the Spirit and so escape the erratic compulsions of a law-dominated existence?" (Galatians 5:18, The Message)
"Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom." (2 Corinthians 3:17)

hope in the asking

 It's indicative of my past, but I become distant and quiet when things get intense. I was telling a friend just tonight that I have turtle-like characteristics. Have you seen how fast a turtle can move? Not those giant ones, but regular old box turtles. 

When things are going pretty smoothly, I'm cruising along with my neck way out - interacting, committing, experiencing, and leading. 

But when things get crazy, it's like, "POP". The head goes in and the mobility comes to a screeching halt. 

Yeah, it's kind of like that.

Grief is hard. It's hard because it's one of those times when the healthy thing to do is feel all of those nasty negative emotions I try so hard to ignore. I've mentioned this need to get away from pain for fear that it will linger on forever. Learning that it won't makes the process no less uncomfortable - just perhaps less hopeless.

I've thought a lot about whether or not to share what I'm about to share. But this blog has been so much about my heart and journey and God in it, that to keep it to myself seems... dishonest. (This is a personal conviction and not a projection.) I write from the depths of my heart, and right now, this is pretty much what's in the deep of it. 

My husband and I have just recently gone through a miscarriage. Most people didn't even know that I was pregnant, because we kind of like to wait until the first trimester is through before we share. The news was a shock to us. We weren't planning on having any more kids at this point, because we're just so delighted (and busy) with what we have. But, as reality set in, a space was made in my heart for this new little one. 

At our first appointment, the ultrasound showed no heartbeat. The blood work came back with not-so-great results, and we were kept waiting for two weeks until a second ultrasound confirmed what we feared in the first. Little pea grew to about 7 weeks and then stopped. At what would have been about 12 weeks, we decided to let the doctor do a procedure to ensure that I wouldn't end up with further complications. All in all, it has been a heartbreaking and fairly traumatic experience. And I'm not going to lie, it's been faith-shaking. 

During the two weeks of waiting, I was in a fog of shock. To be completely honest, I didn't know what to pray for. I didn't know what I wanted. It sounds so strange, but I could envision my future with a new baby and without. And truthfully, I was terrified to ask for the life of my child and then be let down. I shielded myself from the hope that things could turn out alright. At the same time, this flicker of positive expectation would not die in me. 

I remember standing during the opening praise set at my Bible Study, my hands out in front of me and palms up toward heaven as though I were holding something. I couldn't sing, I could only stand in God's presence and be. I felt God nudge me to ask what I was afraid to ask. The Holy Spirit stirred in me to pray what I was afraid to pray. Hopelessness washed over me as I tried to steel myself for the pain of disappointment. More than anything, I did not want to be hurt again. 

God is gentle and good and persistent. I can't describe it, but in my spirit I heard Him say, "Just ask me". It wasn't accompanied by a promise, like "Just ask me and it'll be Ok". In fact, I had no peace either way about the outcome. But God was challenging me on my fear. He just wanted me to trust Him enough to ask. So in that moment, I prayed, "Lord, please let this baby live."

That's when the tears came. For the first time in all of the confusion and chaos, I collapsed before my God and let myself be vulnerable to Him. It was the first time I had really surrendered the situation to Him - and it came in the form of a request. 

See, as long as I was playing my cards close to my chest, I still had control of the game. Feigning indifference allowed me to say, "Ok God, whatever you think is best" in a very flippant and detached manner. It looks like faith. But it's not honest. It's the surrender of a conquered soul, not a soul won by love. It speaks to defeat, not faith.

In asking for what my heart truly wanted, I set myself up for hope. I chose to place a dream in the hands of my Father and fully trust Him with the outcome. I also set myself up for disappointment and heartbreak and loss. And it was really, really hard. 

Ultimately, I did not get what I asked for. I have no idea why. But honestly, seriously, I love my Lord as much now as ever. I trust Him, because I know that He heard me and He holds our future. We lost our baby, but I did not lose HOPE. And maybe that's the beauty for these ashes. Maybe my defeatist surrender would have yielded a cold distance between me and God. As it is, I can pound on His chest and scream my questions at Him, but I'm close enough that I can feel His warmth and He can wrap His arms around my soul and minister healing. 

Grief is hard. And healing from this loss will be a process. And God is right here with me.

Psalm 34:18

"The Lord is close to the brokenhearted

and saves those who are crushed in spirit.

Audrey Assad

With so much victory behind me, sometimes I feel like I have to put on a brave face, when in reality, things just really hurt. I trust my Lord, my heart is full of faith, and He knows that. But today, He just let me cry. And I feel better. :)

waiting it out

I guess I've drifted into "survival mode". It's the moment-to-moment careful distribution of time and energy to my top 10 priorities in life while everything else gets put on pause. Our family is going through some pretty major shifts right now. There are a lot of unknowns about Kurt's job (he's got one, just thinking about a change), where to live, where the kids will go to school, financial stuff, health stuff, kids stuff - the whole nine. Most of these changes are positive and exciting, but still unknown. I know that God has some pretty major things lined up for us in the next year, and I'm finding myself anxious to see how the end reads.

Last weekend, I went camping with my son, Alex, for Scouts. He's a Weebelo, which is the transition between the Cub Scouts and the Boy Scouts. All of the Weebelos in the district went down to Camp Wakonda to spend time with a "brother" Boy Scout troop and learn the ropes from the older kids. It's like a mini college recruitment. Kurt had camped the weekend before and had some obligations on Saturday, so I decided to go with Alex. We packed up the bare essentials - sleeping bag, change of clothes, tent, flashlight, lantern, bug spray, and water and took off. We honestly didn't bring much else. The Scouts are all about doing it au naturale.

Alex and I set up camp just fine, and he played night tag with the kids while I sat with some of the other parents and talked. We had a cracker barrel and laid ground rules and it was TAPS at 10:30. As diva as I can be, I really like sleeping outdoors. The tent walls were thin enough that I could see the full moon like a far away glow inching across the tent ceiling. It was about 65 degrees on a perfect late summer night. The cicadas and crickets were a racket, but somehow it all lulled me to sleep.

About 1:30 am, I woke up to what sounded like a car wash. A storm had blown in and rain was pelting the tent. I flicked on our lantern and took a look around the tent, fully expecting to see a half inch of standing water. Thankfully, we were mostly dry. I inspected the gear and made sure nothing was touching the sides of the tent that could leech water in. Finally, I laid back down and listened to the pouring rain. The wind started to pick up and blow our roof-flap around. The sides of the tent started to shake, and thunder crashed overhead. My heart pounded. I felt as vulnerable as if I'd been standing under a hand-held umbrella.

Around 3:00 am, I gave up on sleeping and started thinking about a strategy. The storm showed no sign of letting up, and I couldn't get a signal on my phone to check the weather. Our camp site was a good 200 yard walk from the car. There was no way I was going to be able to salvage myself, Alex, and our gear in the downpour. Ultimately, I decided that the best thing we could do - the only thing we could do - was stay in the tent and wait it out.

I found myself lying there waiting for the tent to collapse in on us. I played out a dozen scenarios of what it would be like to find myself under a mess of sopping wet tent material. Would we even be able to breathe or find our way out? I hadn't brought a knife. I only had a couple of emergency ponchos that were like plastic bags with holes in them. My heart pounded away and my eyes strained against the dark, searching for any sign of tent failure.
Although I had been praying the whole time, in those dark hours before dawn, I prayed in earnest. My prayers weren't elaborate or inspired. They were more like a bunch of random pleas and some mild irritation at our misfortune.

Finally, God got through to me. I thought about all of the unknowns in life right now. I thought about the scary changes and the unforeseeable future. And I thought about how, although I was depending on God to keep me safe and dry, I was mostly just lying awake waiting for everything to collapse in on me. I had to smile at how often I do that. How often do I relegate God's protective, divine, and sovereign power to the protection of a tent in a thunderstorm?

God never promised there wouldn't be rain, but He did promise to be our shelter in the storm. And God's shelter is no flimsy tent. It is, comparatively, a five-star penthouse suite in an above-ground fall out shelter in a castle. Even in my own home, I don't fear a thunderstorm.
We lend our faith to things every day. I trust a plywood, glass, tar paper, and shingled house to protect my family during a storm. Why can I not trust God, creator of the universe, with my uncertain future?

We made it through the night dry for the most part. The rain lifted the next morning and quit completely by the afternoon. Of course, the Boy Scouts have a "Be Prepared" mindset and didn't cancel any of the planned activities. We did them in the mud and rain. I didn't mind the weather, though. Sure I was a little chilly and uncomfortable, but I was not afraid. I find that almost anything is endurable when fear is removed from the equation, because in the absence of fear is God's perfect, inexplicable peace. Learning to walk in that peace is one of the great lessons of my life.

Psalm 27:4-5 (NIV)


One thing I ask of the LORD,
this is what I seek:
that I may dwell in the house of the LORD
all the days of my life,
to gaze upon the beauty of the LORD
and to seek him in his temple.


For in the day of trouble
he will keep me safe in his dwelling;
he will hide me in the shelter of his tabernacle
and set me high upon a rock.