Faith Like a Wrestling Match

Most days the life of faith feels like a wrestling match. Not the physical sort that Jacob experienced as he wrestled with God in the desert, but an equally exhausting mental-sort. In this match, I step into the ring clothed in my selfish desires masked by noble intentions; armed with my own set of assumptions and ideas about who God is. But I'm not fighting for the blessing so much as for the answers. 

 

“Come on, God. Make it all clear to me. Make it cut and dried. Make it simple. Take me down quick and easy. Overcome all of my delusions by a mighty display of your power.” This is my prayer, my cry, throughout the match. 

 

But instead of going straight for the pin, which he could easily do, my opponent dances around the ring. He makes me pursue him. At times he allows me to get a grip on him, to think I'm winning, to believe I have it all under control – only to throw in a surprise move, catching me off-guard and knocking me to my knees. Now would be the obvious time to take me down. Now that my foundation has been rocked.

Now would also be his chance to gloat. To stand over me and say, with relish, “What did you think of that?” But instead, he eases up. He draws me back to my feet. He asks me to fight some more. And though I don't want to, though I still desire the easy take-down, I acquiesce. 

 

But maybe I'm starting to understand. Maybe a victory has nothing to do with winning or losing and everything to do with staying in the ring and learning how to fight. As maddening as it is, I am afraid that my opponent likes wrestling matches and that this one will not be quickly over.

Chapter 2: The Parable of the Blood Brothers

 Let's start at the beginning. Or at least the beginning of me 
starting to figure out who I was. Who I am. Let's start with where my story first collided with His.

 

I was eight years old. That's when I officially remember choosing to have a relationship with Jesus. Now I'm not one of those people who can remember the exact date, time and place where I turned my life over to Him. Instead, for as long as I can remember, it seems like I knew He was there, and I never doubted it. But eight was the turning point -- when I went from knowing He was there to realizing that I needed him. Desperately. 

 

It's only looking back now that I realize what a selfish decision it was to start our friendship. I'd moved around year after year, being uprooted from people and places, and I wanted a friend. A friend I could count on. I was sick of being the new kid, either constantly trying to fit in or else forced to elbow my way into already existing friend groups where I wasn't wanted. Yes, I wanted a friend. Painfully. 

 

I'll never forget first grade when my teacher, Miss Smith, designed a class activity for us to become blood brothers. She gave us each a small piece of red construction paper and instructed us to tie it around our wrist. Then she told us to pick one classmate with whom we wanted to become blood brothers by rubbing our red papers together in front of the class. 

 

Now, I know what you're thinking. You're wondering what kind of activity this is for a first grader, right? And I wholeheartedly agree with you, but at the time, I was six. What did I know? It sounded like fun, and I couldn't wait to start. Miss Smith gave the go ahead and soon her room was abuzz with first graders running across the room to lock elbows with their future blood sibling in anticipation of the big ritual. 

 

I made a beeline for Amy; but I was too late. Jennifer had beat me. I took a step back and anxiously surveyed the classroom only to discover that I was the only kid without a partner. I stood there looking at all of my classmates smiling contentedly in their little pairs, each one oblivious to my situation, and I felt like the biggest failure in the world. I was looking for someone to take me in, anyone, but there was no one left. It was a crushing blow to my child psyche. I know this to be true because other than being chased around the playground by my male classmates and taking a Rorschach test, it's the only memory I have of first grade. 

 

Sensing my desperation at that moment, Miss Smith convinced Amy that it was acceptable to have three people in her group. With forced smiles, she and Jessica took me in. But I knew the truth. I was second best. 

 

When I rubbed my red paper with Amy's, I didn't experience the same twinge of satisfaction that the other kids did. Instead, I felt a deep loneliness. I was the blood sister that nobody wanted. But even that blood friendship didn't last long. By second grade I was on my way to another school, and then another, to do it all over again.

So at eight years old (after having made my fourth move in three years), when I kept hearing that Jesus was a forever friend who'd always be with me, never leave me or forsake me, and would love me just the way I was, well, it seemed like a no-brainer. Who wouldn't want that? Just say a little prayer, and he'd come into my heart and the friendship would start instantaneously. What wasn't to like?

And so while I'm pretty sure that my eight year old brain believed all the other stuff about Jesus –- that he was the Son of God, had died on the cross for my sins, and had risen again to be my Savior -- it was the fact that I'd have a forever friend that really sold me on him. He was the forever friend who loved me so much that he was willing to do more than rub a piece of red construction paper against my wrist. He was willing to seal our friendship with real blood, his blood. That was a bargain my eight year old brain couldn't pass up. And so my relationship with Jesus began.

* * *

Of course, when you're eight, nobody reads you Luke 14:25-33(NLT):

 

A large crowd was following Jesus. He turned around and said to them, “If you want to be my disciple, you must hate everyone else by comparison — your father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters — yes, even your own life. Otherwise, you cannot be my disciple. And if you do not carry your own cross and follow me, you cannot be my disciple.

“But don’t begin until you count the cost. For who would begin construction of a building without first calculating the cost to see if there is enough money to finish it? Otherwise, you might complete only the foundation before running out of money, and then everyone would laugh at you. They would say, ‘There’s the person who started that building and couldn’t afford to finish it!’

“Or what king would go to war against another king without first sitting down with his counselors to discuss whether his army of 10,000 could defeat the 20,000 soldiers marching against him? And if he can’t, he will send a delegation to discuss terms of peace while the enemy is still far away. So you cannot become my disciple without giving up everything you own.”

No! Instead, they tell you about God parting the seas, and Jesus walking on water, and Noah building an ark big enough to cram in two of every kind of animal. They give you fun crafts to make, prizes for the Bible verses you memorize, and a sticker if you have perfect attendance, but somewhere in all of that, they conveniently leave out that as wonderful as your friendship with Christ is, that it's going to cost you something. No, not just something, everything. 

 

Maybe that's too much for a child to swallow at such a young age, but even as an adult, I can't think of too many churches I've been to where the pastor has been up front about the whole thing. Where he's gotten down to business and said, more or less, “Okay, you want to be a Christian and join our church? Great! But here's a list of what it might cost you – father, mother, spouse, children, friends, wealth, property, all of your possessions, popularity, worldly success. Am I forgetting anything? If I am, you may have to part with that too. Still interested?” 

 

It would almost be refreshing to hear someone say that instead of finding ways to explain away what Jesus actually said and call it “interpretation.” But many of us, myself included, have become adept at finding a way to make the Bible say what we want it to so that we can feel good about doing exactly what Jesus told us not to. In other words, so we can live for ourselves.

At any rate, somewhere along the way I blinked and went from being a little girl who selfishly wanted a best friend and was told I could have him for nothing more than a prayer to a young woman who realized that that wasn't the whole truth. That somebody had been holding back on me. Because the more I read and studied the Bible, the more I realized that that little prayer wasn't enough. It was enough to begin the friendship, but it wasn't enough to keep it going. This was a friendship that was going to require more of me than I'd ever realized. Much more than a red piece of construction paper that's for sure.

* * *

Has an experience of loneliness ever led you to a place of intersection? If so, what did you learn there?

The Introduction to "Intersection"

Okay, so here we go! This is the Introduction to my work-in-progress manuscript which is currently titled, Intersection: Where Two Stories Meet.  
   Stay tuned -- more chapters to follow!

INTRODUCTION

 

   When I first started writing this book three years ago, I titled it, Confessions of a Scatterbrained Christian (who's just trying to make a difference in the world). In many ways, that still describes me. I am still all over the place – and with the rise of such technological advancements as smart phones, Facebook and Twitter, perhaps even more so than I was back then. 

 

I am also preoccupied with making a difference. Making my life count. As you will see through the course of these pages, that desire has been transformed and shaped over the years. And thankfully, it is still being re-shaped (less of me, more of Him!); however, it's still very much present. My husband can attest to this. He is the one who must deal with my monthly, sometimes weekly, rants as I wonder aloud if I'm doing what I'm supposed to, how I'm supposed to, where I'm supposed to and why I'm supposed to. Or if there's something more for me to do out there that I haven't quite put my finger on. Yet. 

 

The “confessions” part of the original title conveyed my desire to be as open and honest as I can be, not holding back or sugar-coating things. That includes sharing ideas and thoughts that you may not like. Heck, that I may not even like. Why? Because honesty with ourselves and others is the only path to true relationship. And true transformation. 

 

I started writing this book at a difficult time in my life, a time of indecision and uncertainty. Much of that stemmed from wondering if the vision I had for my storytelling company would ever come to fruition or if all of my time, energy and passion were wasted. There was so much of myself wrapped up in that endeavor, that to not see it thriving made me feel like a failure as a person. It was a time when I realized how much I relied upon accomplishments to measure my self-worth, even though I knew this defied every tenet of my faith, which teaches that my worth comes from Who loves me, not what I do. It was a time in my life when I had every reason to be happy, but for some reason, couldn't will myself to be so. 

 

However, shortly after completing the first draft of this book, my life and professional endeavors seemed to find wings and soar. In fact, the rest of that year would read like a laundry-list of major professional accomplishments for me. And the following years just added to it. I didn't have time to think about editing Confessions of a Scatterbrained Christian. I was too busy. 

 

And then one day recently, I came across the half-forgotten manuscript while searching my computer for another document. Out of curiosity, I clicked on it, and to my surprise, 259 pages popped up to greet me! As I read through them, I could still see myself in the collection of stories and vignettes. But even in the simplest of stories, there was a much more central character. Someone who has been a part of every one of my high and lows, ups and downs, experiences and undertakings, thoughts and feelings. Someone who gets me even when I don't get myself (which is most of the time!) That someone is Jesus Christ. 

 

Jesus and his story are constantly intersecting my own. Sometimes, this occurs in tiny, seemingly insignificant, ways. Other times it's so monumental that I expect to feel the earth shaking below my feet.

The word 'intersect' is defined as:

• to cut across or through
• to cut across or overlap
• to have one or more points in common

As a storyteller, one of my favorite stories is that of the birth of Jesus. If this does not describe an awesome intersection then I don't know what does! Jesus cut across the division of heaven and earth. In himself, he made the human and divine overlap. He became like his creation, having much in common with them, and in doing so, showed his creation how they could be more like him. 

 

And I don't believe he's done doing that. I believe that he's still intersecting the world every chance he gets. And if that is true, then my story and God's story are not two distinct tales. Instead, his great epic collides with my simple story and creates an intersection – a place where amazing things can happen, both big and small. 

And so I invite you through the pages of this book and my experiences shared here to reflect upon the thousands of little ways that God's story is intersecting your own on a daily basis. This may require slowing down. It may require keeping a journal. It may mean learning to pay attention or to watch and wait with expectancy. It may mean something entirely different at different seasons of your life. But my prayer is that you won't miss it. Because an intersection is the place of greatest possibility.

Waiting, Watching, Hoping

Sunday morning I had the wonderful opportunity to visit Christ United Methodist Church in Alliance, Ohio, where I gave a performance of my program, “Babushka: A Russian Christmas Tale,” for their combined Sunday school classes. The historic, classical-style sanctuary reminded me so much of the church that I grew up in, with its dark wood pews and railings, stained glass windows, the sound of the organ and the balcony wrapping around the top. The audience, comprised of both the young and young at heart, was great fun to work with – and little did I know that when I randomly chose one adult to be one of the three kings/wise men that I had chosen the pastor of the church! I wouldn't discover this until later when the service began and I saw him in his pastoral robe! One of the other kings, a young boy with lots of spunk, made everyone laugh, myself included, when after being coached to say that they were “three kings from the east” instead confidently proclaimed, “We're three guys from the north.” It really was delightful!

I think one of my favorite parts about my job is all of the people that I get to meet whom I would most likely never meet otherwise. After the show, I met a man who had just returned from a business trip to Russia and an older woman who told me all about the Christmas ornaments that her aunt taught her to make during the frigid South Dakota winters. I love the variety of experiences, the stories, the smiles that are shared with me. I feel like I leave each place I go with a wider circle of friends.

During the worship service, the pastor (aka Balthasar!) shared about the meaning of advent. He talked about it as a time of waiting on God's plans and said that this is precisely why advent is so difficult for the average American, or even the average human living in the 21^st century for that matter. We are not good at waiting for anything. Think about standing in line, or traffic, or a slow internet connection – these little things are sources of frustration, annoyance and impatience. Our culture has done away with the idea of waiting as best as it can in favor of a my way, right away approach. But God has not. God still asks us to wait – to wait on Him and His plans.

The Old Testament reveals that God had promised to send a Savior, the Messiah, and the people of Israel were waiting for him. They had their own ideas of who that Savior would be and how he would come – with power and authority and military might. They weren't expecting a baby born in a manger. That was not their plan. But it was God's plan. And I suppose that's why it took the poor, the weak, and the foreigners of that time to realize who Jesus was while many of the scholarly religious people missed it. In my experience, these are the people in society who find it easier to let go of their own plans in favor of God's -- no matter how different they may be from what they had expected.

Today we wait for that same Savior. We wait to see him at work in the world and in our lives, and we wait for him to return and redeem all of creation. But it is important to remember that His plans are not our plans, and His ways our not our ways. And so we wait, and we watch. We look for signs just as the Wise Men looked for the star, but we recognize that He will probably come in ways that we are least expecting.

I've gotten fairly good at waiting and hoping in my plans (and anyone who knows me knows that I have a lot of them!). I've gotten really good at watching and looking for signs that my plans are coming to pass. But this advent, I pray that I will learn to wait on God's plans, even when I don't understand them and especially when they are different from my own. This is the hope we have in Advent – that God's plans are exceedingly greater than ours.

Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen. (Ephesians 3:20-21)

Happy Advent! Happy Season of Waiting and Hoping!