A Learning Experience

It's hard for me to believe that it's been two months since I wrote in this Blog.  In my mind, I am writing all the time - making notes, tracking insights, penning confessions.  What is different this morning?  Don't know - it may be that it's my last morning for enjoying my favorite morning ritual - getting up, making a cup of coffee and bringing it back to bed while I read for a few minutes.  It's my way of pretending that I have some kind of control over my day and can create the kind of day that I want - relaxed, focused, thoughtful.  The ruse rarely lasts beyond finishing that cup of coffee, but I enjoy my 15 minutes of peaceful self-delusion nonetheless.

Later today, we will be taking apart our bed and moving it into a storage unit.  We have 9 days left in this house before we have to move, and it's quite a pressure-cooker.  Over the past two months, we have sold or given away nearly all of our furniture and much of our other worldly possessions.  We are down to beds, dressers and boxes filled with memories - photo albums, children's artwork, baby clothes for the next generation, etc.  We will be moving into my mother's house which, ironically, will be going on the market within days of our arrival.  So, we've had to rent a storage unit for the few things we've kept so that we don't clutter up her house as she's trying to impress potential buyers with its spaciousness.  

I could write for a long time this morning - as I said, it's my last morning of comfort, albeit illusional comfort - the house is quiet and it's tempting to keep it that way while I ponder our present and future.  But, the reality is that there remains a LOT of work to do and not much time in which to do it.  So, I'm going to force myself instead, to rather baldly commit my latest learnings to this page for my own future referencing, and hope that it makes sense to the two or three other people who might ever read this.

We are just about out of money and God has yet to point us toward any obvious landmark.  We have been living off of a loan from my retirement account and as of this morning, we have about $750 left to our name.  Of course, the Navy owes my husband $700 for a show he performed nearly a month ago, but we've yet to see it.  I realize that we may not be their priority, but a check from them would nearly double our assets.  Anyway, I have found myself getting increasingly anxious - not sleeping, dwelling on certain bitter thoughts about others who I felt either bore some responsibility for our situation or who failed to understand our choices.  I am overstating the case to some extent - mainly I have just trudged forward, doing what had to be done each day, and crossing things off of the endlessly self-generating to-do list.  As an introvert, my pattern is to internalize and, in this case, to repress my negative feelings in ways which have made me increasingly less available to those around me.  I may have thought that I was presenting the same self each day, but my husband and daughter had both begun to react in their own ways to my withdrawal.  

Then, as I was reading my daily Bible reading (a habit I have thankfully kept up), I had a revelation.  It dawned on me (literally - it was like the sun breaking over the horizon) that I was reenacting the very reason that I had left the church back in September.  I had been frustrated by both their lack of courage and their lack of joy.  When they had spoken the words, "... once our money is gone, we will cease to exist," I had been appalled.  Where was the faith?  Where was the recognition of a life based solely in God?  What kind of a church truly believed that its identity revolved around its bank account and not around its relationship with the Holy One?  And now, here I was.  

When I had made the decision to resign from the church, to become unemployed, to lose our home and health insurance and to be forced into a radical recreation of our lives, I had believed what I had been preaching - that in putting ourselves completely into the hands of God, we were embarking on an adventure toward joy - the kind of joy which comes only after the full commitment.  I had tried to tell the church that in letting go of their resources to seed ministries in the county, they were allowing God to teach them about radical discipleship, about trust, and about the abundance of God's resources available to those who walk humbly with their God.  I had preached on holy curiosity, about moving past the certainties of human reality to enter into the miraculous new certainties of God's reality.  But, they didn't bite.  And, even then, I might still have stayed if they had expressed any joy in their choices.  But, there was no joy there.  

So, I had left to live the sermon.  And, now, I realized that I had finally come to the place of reckoning.  Now we were, in fact, coming to the place where our money would be gone - truly gone.  And finally, after dragging my feet trying to slow the process of evaporation, after second-guessing myself and everyone around me, after becoming increasingly quiet and, yes, grim - finally God tapped me on the shoulder and whispered, "Good news!  You're almost there."  And I looked again and saw - "Good news - the money is almost gone.  Good news - you're almost homeless.  Good news - you're almost free of anything that might lure you away from complete and total trust in Me.  You're almost there."

Suddenly, I realized the simple truth that we were just in the hard part of the journey, but that we were, in fact, still on the path.  And I recognized that if I were going to become grim, I might just as well have stayed where I was.  And so, as I leave the comfort of my bed for the last time in this house here in Maryland, I am once again choosing joy.  I am rejoicing in the dawn and preparing for a new day in God's loving and creative presence.    

p.s. later that day:  I just discovered the remarkable fact that the Navy must be monitoring my blog - our check arrived this afternoon.

Who knew that being an unemployed minister could be so exhausting?  I don't know how I ever had time to hold down a real job.  Between working with my husband on the music career effort, homeschooling my daughter, and trying to keep life moving forward while preparing to move, it's just kind of relentless.  I spoke with a woman today who has been assigned to us as a homeschool resource person.  We've never met and as I gave her a brief overview of our current situation, she said it sounded like our lives were "fraught" with possibilities.  It was a perfect description.  "Fraught":  full of or accompanied by problems, dangers or difficulties; full of or expressing nervous tension and anxiety.  Possibilities and peril, potential and pitfalls.  It's all there.  

     We continue in leap mode.  The church kindly extended our stay in the parsonage until the end of March giving Mick time to continue rehearsing and recording with his band.  We hope to be able to solidify that musical relationship so that it can better withstand a move.  I've also found a small income source in typing manuscripts of congressional hearings, etc. for a company in DC - it's something I can do from home on a flexible schedule.  And, I'm meeting with a small group of folks who are picking up pieces of dreams/visions that God had been planting in Calvert County to open a Fair Trade gift/coffeeshop/bakery that would also serve as a training opportunity for people with special challenges in their lives - i.e. disabilities, single parenting, etc.  After only 3 meetings, we've knocked together a mission statement, found a space to rent, and initiated the process of becoming a nonprofit organization.  I don't know if I will still be in the area when it opens, but I am following my usual pattern of going with the "yes" until God says "no."  Whether or not I am able to deal with our housing question in order to stay and continue working with this group, it is unbelievably enlivening to sit around a table with people who are simply, sensibly, humorously, enjoyably, determinedly, faithfully committed to making something happen.  Very refreshing.  

   As I continue to do my nightly Bible readings, I discover Jacob cheating Esau out of his birthright and blessing, Laban cheating Jacob out of a wife and years of labor, Rachel stealing Laban's household gods, Joseph driving everyone crazy with his ego, his brothers selling him off to become a slave in Egypt, then Joseph getting back at them by framing them for theft.  Not exactly "Touched by an Angel."  Yet, in the midst of this human messiness, somehow God continues to be made known.  Each person's story is "fraught" with the possibility of grace, of forgiveness, of becoming, of love.  

   My life is a mess.  But it is a mess fraught with holy possibilities.

It's 2:30 a.m. - a few days into the new year.  I'm not sleeping, but it's not due to stress for a change.  This time, I think it's more a sense of wonder.  A comment from a reader leaves me wondering why I feel the way that I do, while at the same time filling me with gratitude that I do. I responded to him personally, but felt that others might have a similar reaction to these writings of mine, so I might as well address them in a more public way.  I think I have perhaps experienced something of what the commenter felt years ago when I attended some clergy workshop on caring for yourself, or beating stress, or finding your spiritual center, or something like that.  I remember leaving in an angry mood, certain that the person speaking knew nothing about my life, and clearly didn't have the issues and responsibilities that I had, or they would know that their path to wholeness and wellbeing was a luxury I couldn't afford.  Rather than giving me hope, I felt burdened by their belief that somehow I had it in me to create the space needed for this spiritual enhancement.  So, I went home feeling less cared for, more stressed, and further from my spiritual center.

The commenter wrote: "We look to our religious leaders for something more than theories, biblical regurgitations... and cosmic "If...Then" statements..."  I agree, which is why I decided to quit my job, give up our home, and live my hope in the here and now.  I've not been all that impressed with how the world is progressing, so I thought I'd actually try it Jesus' way for a while.  The commenter asked for details regarding the promised abundance.  I have to admit that Jesus is rather famously vague on details - I don't think he considered them important.  In fact, I don't think he considered them at all.  When one is seeking to live within the intimate presence of the Creator of the universe, the source of life and love, somehow the details lose their relevance.  There was no cost-benefit analysis in my decision to take this path.  I may end up in a more financially disastrous place than I already am, and my children may have to pay for their own college education (my older one already is working fulltime while attending school - and doing a damn fine job of it - we are enormously proud of her.)  Life could very definitely become much much harder than it is right now, but I am banking on the fact that growing closer to God and attuning my spirit more closely with the Spirit, will make my life much much more meaningful and joy-filled.  I am also trusting that God loves the rest of my family even more than I do and will continue to be present with them as well.

This is not to suggest that every person out there needs to leave their jobs, or family, or even their annuity funds (whatever those are) to become one with God.  (And, one final note to the commenter: losing one's job or wife or savings account through life circumstances is not the same as choosing to make changes for the betterment of the soul and service to God.  I don't believe that God yanks people or resources out of people's lives in order to get their attention.  Who wants mopey, resentful followers?)  This is just my story.  If it is helpful to anyone else - as we used to say in my youth group - Yippee Yippee Yahweh!  If not, I pray that you too will find a path, a story, a faith that makes sense to you and that compels you to explore.  Happy New Year. 

p.s. It's been a long time since I read the Bible for any reason other than sermon prep, so I'm using "The Daily Message: Through the Bible in One Year" by Eugene Peterson.  It's a paraphrase, not a strict translation, but nicely arranged, and has a pretty ribbon to mark my page.  It's the little things....

Take two.  What's the point in this blog?  I've been preaching for twenty-two years, so maybe it's just habit - this need to process life within a larger, deeper, more questioning context.  Each week for all these years, I've had to work to connect my story with an older story - one that connects us to each other and to the sacred, wherever that is found.  In fact, it was that work of examination that led me to leave my last position.  As I sought the vision of God for our tiny church group, and as I dug ever more deeply into the Bible for its challenge and its promise, I felt increasingly compelled by the foolishness of Jesus who truly seemed to believe that to give up everything was the simplest path to discovering the only thing of importance.  It whet my imagination and fired up my spirit.  Christians have been trying to enter the alternative reality proclaimed by Christ for thousands of years, but the world looks much the same.  Why?  Because for the most part, they try to be safe Christians which is pretty much of a oxymoron - how safe can it possibly be to follow the teachings of a man who died on a cross?  Nonetheless, his followers seem more inspired to build church buildings and endowments than they do to live the adventure he invites us to share.  I left my job because of a story in Luke about a rich ruler who asks Jesus what he needs to do to experience the kingdom of God and Jesus tells him - give away everything you own and come follow me.  The story tells us that the man went away sad because he had many possessions.  He left, disheartened, before hearing the promise: "there is no one who has left house or wife or brothers or parents or children, for the sake of the kingdom of God, who will not get back very much more in this age, and in the age to come."  By letting go of all those things that we believe give our lives meaning and security and love, we enter into God's kingdom where we discover deeper meaning, eternal security and an endless abundance of love.  For my little church group, I believed we were being called to release the nearly 2 million dollars they hold in trust, to seed ministries in the community where they felt called to be.  I believed that in emptying our bank account into service projects, we would not only better serve the neighborhood, but better serve our souls.  We would cease to depend on a bank account for our future, and be forced to rely only on God.  This sounds more sacrificial than it is for me - it is more a matter of wanting to clear the plate of leftovers so we can indulge in the promised buffet.  I was literally dying of curiosity to know how the promise of abundance would unfold if we just trusted God enough to let go of that which owned us.  The church didn't share my curiosity.  Nor, perhaps, my interpretation of Scripture.  For them it seemed that giving away their money would be giving away their identity - without it, they would cease to exist.  And there was truth to that.  Just as there is truth that death must precede resurrection.  But, what an encore!  

   So, after failing to inflame my "flock" toward joy (though I did a fabulous job of inflaming some of them in the other direction...), I couldn't stay.  I couldn't put my curiosity back in a box until we figured out some safe and reasonable form of ministry to pursue.  I couldn't un-detect my hearing of Jesus' sorrow as the rich ruler walked away, instead of trusting in the ability of God to transform loss into abundant gain.   I couldn't settle for less than a full commitment to foolishness.  

   Thus, the leap of faith.  The darkness of just a few days ago has cleared somewhat as my husband and I find ourselves back on the same page.  We've taken turns freaking out, and our spirits are better for it.  As Christmas approaches, I see the story begin again, and my curiosity lures me on.

Leaping...

I knew that someday I wanted to write about my experience of leaping in faith - to share with others the joy of faithful living, of following one's call no matter the cost.  It made sense to wait until I had landed and could share the good news of a successful leap.  My plan was to take the risk, to trust in God and to then offer my story as one of encouragement to others looking for support in making their own leaps.

But, instead, I'm launching this blog on perhaps the darkest day of my life to date.  I have taken the leap, my landing pad is nowhere in sight, my parachute won't open and it's starting to rain.  I am scared out of my mind.  To bring you quickly up to date - I resigned my position with a church group a few months ago (I won't go into the details of that decision except to say that my soul was withering away and I had played my last card - I saw no other choice but to leave in order to live my faith as I believe I am called to do.)  We live in a parsonage, so this decision meant giving up our family's only paycheck, our health insurance, and our home.  Not an easy choice, but, as I said, I felt compelled by the Spirit to shake the dust off my feet and move on. We are currently living on a loan from my retirement account which will run out in another couple of months.  The plan is to move back north to live with my mother for the time being.  

My prayer as I leapt was that God would give us the courage and strength to hang on until the next pathway opened.  That remains my prayer as the pathway remains shrouded and the pressure mounts.  We are trying to sell our worldly possessions and be out of this house by the end of January.  To prepare for the transition, our daughter has left her school to be homeschooled for the rest of this year, until we know for sure where we'll settle next.  I'm desperately seeking affordable health insurance, and trying to hold my marriage together.  This move is not at all convenient or attractive for my husband who is a musician and has some momentum going in the area where we live.  To move seven hours away to live with my mother was not part of his plan.  Not surprisingly, our relationship is feeling the strain.  And, did I mention that we're heavily in debt?

So, why in God's name would I begin a blog on taking a leap of faith from such a horribly discouraging place?  Two reasons:  1) if this "sermon" about leaping is going to be true, it just needs to be true.  Nobody gains courage by reading about easy choices with easy answers - but by witnessing hardship endured until the light returns; 2) by writing, I hope to keep some part of myself focused and attuned to the spiritual hope behind the mess that we're in.   You are my witnesses, and your presence will hold me to the path.  And when I arrive (see? my faith - though stretched - remains...), I pray that we will all have witnessed God's power and loving grace.