did somebody say it was spring?

Because I'm not convinced.

I suppose there are many areas of the country where it's normal to have snow this late in the year. Bellingham, Washington is not one of those places.

I suppose that strictly speaking, this is not about following Yahweh through the wilds of faith. But believe me, I was praying as I attempted to navigate my way home through the wild and wooly streets of Bellingham while simultaenously suppressing the urge to shake my fist and curse wildly at the heavens because I had to forgo my post-gym latte this morning. You just don't take chances with the snow around here, especially when you live at the top of a very large hill. And if you know me at all, I have all kinds of ire toward anything that would stand between me and my latte.

I was like a very cute, female version of Captain Ahab obsessed with his pursuit of the white whale: "Towards thee I roll, thou all-destroying but unconquering whale; to the last I grapple with thee; from hell's heart I stab at thee; for hate's sake I spit my last breath at thee."

Yeah, it was something like that. So in some sense, it is a very spiritual matter indeed.

Enjoy the change of pace!! :o)

seasonal confusion photo by kirsten.michelle

walking on water

Remember my dream -- that one in which I was getting bounced off the walls of my bedroom? It should hardly be surprising that I haven't forgotten it; it hovers very near the surface of my consciousness, especially as I'm going to bed.

Even in the midst of that dream, and especially in the day or two that followed, the word buffeted stuck out to me. I knew it was important that it was buffeted and not another word, and I wasn't immediately sure why. It's not a word that comprises a regular part of my vocabulary, nor is it one I normally think to use. So I did a search for it in Scripture; it is used just once in the Bible and only in one translation:

Matthew 14: 22-33 (NIV)

Immediately Jesus made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead of him to the other side, while he dismissed the crowd. After he had dismissed them, he went up on a mountainside by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there alone, but the boat was already a considerable distance from land, buffeted by the waves because the wind was against it.

During the fourth watch of the night Jesus went out to them, walking on the lake. When the disciples saw him walking on the lake, they were terrified. "It's a ghost," they said, and cried out in fear.

But Jesus immediately said to them: "Take courage! It is I. Don't be afraid."

"Lord, if it's you," Peter replied, "tell me to come to you on the water."

"Come," he said.

Then Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus. But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, "Lord, save me!"

Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him. "You of little faith," he said, "why did you doubt?"

And when they climbed into the boat, the wind died down. Then those who were in the boat worshiped him, saying, "Truly you are the Son of God."

Whoa.

Having had some time to reflect on any number of possible implications, a few things stand out to me about this story:

Walking on water is impossible.
Peter walked out to Jesus from the boat on the water. Um yeah ... we can't do that. Have you ever tried? Peter got out of the boat in the middle of the frickin' lake! It strikes me that on the same night I had this dream, I voiced some concerns of mine to a friend about what I understood the Lord was asking of me; I confessed to her that I was overwhelmed and wondered aloud how any of it could be done. It seems impossible.

When Jesus shows up, the disciples are afraid.
The disciples' first response it is fear ("it's a ghost!") when they see Jesus out for a stroll on the choppy lake. He tells them, "Take courage! It is I. Don't be afraid." Doing impossible things is scary and overwhelming and yet sometimes, that is precisely what obedience entails: to trust that the impossible is possible when Christ commands it and when our eyes are on Him. I know what Christ is asking of me; I asked Him to show up and He did. And it freaked me out; it continues to freak me out.

It is the boat that is buffeted.
If you've got to be out on a choppy lake and the wind is against you, my bet is that you'd prefer the boat to bobbing around the lake alone without a boat, a life preserver, or water wings. Between the two, the boat is safer and more certain. When you've told the Lord you will and then He says, "Come", you cannot unhear that word. You step out from scary to scarier in order to get closer to where He is.

I suppose I could shrink back into the distance and pretend none of this ever happened, pretend that I didn't know precisely what He's called me toward. Pretend that that howling wind and the slapping water against the boat drowned out His words, like He never said that word at all.

But I did ask and He did say it. So it's time to get out of the boat.

Peter sinks when he pays attention to those things that aren't Jesus.
This is the point I often hear when this particular passage is exegeted. When Peter pays attention to the wind and the waves, he starts to sink and cries out for rescue. And Jesus rescues Him, asking Peter why he ever doubted. Perhaps it sounds pithy and trite to say keep your eyes on Jesus, but that's what it boils down to at the end of the day, doesn't it? Don't pay attention to the distractions, the things that oppose you, or even the work itself; pay attention to Jesus: lock His gaze and keep walking toward Him.

I cannot let myself focus on the work or those things that would pull me away from it. He asked and He's waiting, not moving, a point of stillness and silence amidst the cacophony (what will you say? how will you say it? what gives you authority to speak to this? how will you ever get published?). It is I who must move toward Him. His eyes lock with mine and I walk toward the gaze I am beginning to know and trust while the wind blows against me and the waves crash around me; knowing that I can only walk this impossible ground because He said Come.

What truth do you see in this passage, friends? Anything in particular stand out to you?

meeting him here

surrender

mount hermon cross photo by kirsten.michelle

buffeted

I tend to have a rich and colorful dream life. Once the lights are out and I'm warm under the covers, a new life begins after I surrender to that deep and restful state of unconsciousness. I only occasionally remember what happens when I wake up. But I can't shake last night's dream. It was too real, still covering me like an invisible cloak.

Yesterday, I left work about halfway through my day because I was profoundly and deeply tired. My limbs were heavy and my head felt as though it was a bowling ball balancing precariously on a broomstick. I slumped in my chair, unable to concentrate. I was supposed to conduct a training session, but couldn't even contemplate how I was going to make it through the day feeling like this. I had consumed a latte already and was on my second cup of black tea. So deigning to practice what I preach, I decided to take myself home and rest.

I lay in bed for two hours, but didn't really sleep. It was restful though; I felt well as long as I was hidden from the shafts light penetrating my bedroom blinds, wrapped in the darkness and warmth of the bed coverings.

After about two hours, I went downstairs and did some work on my book project; the words are coming naturally and easily; even I am surprised with how much there is to tell. Later on, I had a healthy dinner and made my way to bed early.

I slipped into unconsciousness easily. And then came the dream.

In my dream I was in my bed, but unable to sleep. I was being tossed about, gusts of air pushing me, moving me from where I lay, enveloping me; they were lifting me inches off the bed, spinning me about in the air, tossing me back over and over again. I cried out for Jesus, over and over again. I screamed His name. I screamed until my throat was raw with it. The room was filled with a taunting and demonic laughter. Before long I felt a hand was clasped tightly over my mouth. Suddenly I was unable to breathe or scream. I continued to cry out in my spirit for Jesus.

In the name of Jesus!! I shouted in my spirit. In the name of Jesus!!

Inside this dream, I remembered another dream from several months ago. I was secretly pregnant, having managed to keep it hidden from everyone around me. For months, I carried the growing child with me secretly. I had taken myself to the hospital when the labor pains came on. As I lay in the hospital bed breathing, pushing, giving birth, a familiar face was beside me, holding my hand. The face was my mom's, but I knew in my soul it was Jesus. I looked away after the child was out of me, a squealing little girl who was the embodiment of my shame, something I had kept hidden and secret, now squealing and alive and outside of me. Not hidden anymore. I clenched my eyes and kept my face turned. I knew she was safe as she was carried away, though I did not know where she was taken.

In my dream, I couldn't remember if this had actually happened to me, or if I was remembering another dream inside this dream. I felt the shame as fresh as if it were yesterday, as real as if had actually happened, as if I had actually given birth to an infant, looking away from her, not giving her a name. I was unable to distinguish between the dream and my waking life.

As this dream came to the front of my memory, I was still tossed and thrown about as if I were no more than a leaf on the wind, being bounced off the four walls, the ceiling, and the floor. My muffled screaming was swallowed in the escalating and cackling laughter around me. Like a pinball, my body continued to bounce off the walls and back again as they pushed and threw me. I felt bruised and battered, I could feel myself going limp. I was suffocating, feeling the winds rush tightly around my body, closing in on me, unrelenting. My arms and legs were bound, I was frozen. A heavy weight rested on my chest like a boulder, pinning me to the bed.

I could not move, nor could I cry out.

Then in my dream, the door opened and light spilled in. The hand disappeared from my mouth and the cackling laughter was silenced. I lay still and the rushing around me slowed until all was still. In the guise of a face both intensely familiar and deeply comforting, Jesus came and sat beside me on my bed. He looked just like my mom again. My hand reached out for him, grabbing at his calf, the most reachable piece of him from where I lay.

What's wrong? he asked softly, his gentle gaze holding my own.

I am buffeted, I choked. I could barely speak, still gasping for air.

Let me help you breathe, he said.

And slowly I woke up, taking in slow, deep lungfulls of air. I looked at my clock, reasoning that it must be close to morning. I was surprised to learn it had not yet been an hour since I first went to bed.

I looked about the same dark room, seeing the faint outlines of the walls against which I had been tossed, as though to check for damage. The room was intact. No visible evidence existed of what I had experienced so vividly in my dream.

And I was breathing. In and out, in and out, deeply. With relief. Safe. Rescued. Breathing.

I returned to sleep easily, sleeping deeply and soundly the remainder of the night. In my body today, I am still deeply tired; I am keenly aware I will need to be deliberate about getting enough sleep over the next few days. But inside that fatigue, deep inside my body rests a bone-deep knowledge that this pervading tiredness comes from having fought hard, from being rescued from an enemy; my body was battered and tossed, but I am alive and well and breathing, having been carried to the right side of victory by Jehovah, the God who rescues.

a heart more his

Here I am, God; I sit before you again with open hands. Sometimes they are all I have to offer you when the words just don't come, when they bubble out of my heart and get stuck in my throat. I've been choking on them again. I know you know these words even when my mouth is unable to put a shape around them, to put air behind them and let them out. So here I sit, cross-legged on the bedroom floor, Indian style. Open hands resting on my knees. Tears come freely.

This is all I have sometimes.

Just a few weeks ago, I brought you my heart and held it in these same open hands, feeling as though it was something tattered and dripping, not a little bit shredded. I wondered aloud what you might have for this place that has been empty so long, this place I have prayed so many times to be filled. You always told me no, not now and I confess I felt punished at times, wondered if you were playing a joke. I had grown weary of your no, at the stratum of your no's over the years and I found myself unable to pretend with you. I wondered if you always intended it to feel this dry and empty, if you intended for my heart to collapse in upon itself. And then for the first time, I asked you: what might you have instead?

You wasted no time in answering.

And poetry happened, and then the writer's conference; every day was something new. I won't forget when I woke up with your words in me and I let them come, feeling possessed by you, being overcome in mind and in body; you infused yourself in my fingers and the confession poured out. You are inviting me to step out into the open air daily: nothing around me or under me, just your voice whispering: go. And so I go, stepping out into the air. I can't comprehend the adventure before me.

And then something flitted before my eyes that I thought I wanted; I extended my hand and let it rest on my finger. I turned my hand and contemplated it from different angles. And then the most amazing thing happened: I said no. And I was able to say it with clarity and conviction as your yes takes root in me, but not without some tears. I am new at this. Unexpected. That word is on my lips frequently these days.

So I let it go and let the wind carry it away, my heart too entirely full of you for regret, unfolding and letting you in. Old things are dying and new things sprouting to life, blooming and fluorishing, deeply rooted in a freshly churned soil. Vibrant, alive; unexpected. Doubt is edged out, water is flowing through the desert.

Open hands, resting on my knees. The tears still come. But there is joy too, effervescent and bubbling up uncontainable. There is some death in this becoming: things familiar and comfortable are lifted from these open hands, things deeply molded to the shape of my grip. I turn over this new thing you've placed in my palms, wondering. Marvelling, receiving myself from you.

This heart is more yours.

tulip photo by kirsten.michelle