Introspection 2

Another quote from Watchman Nee.

“If we persistently turn within ourselves we shall lose our peace completely, for we shall soon discover the discrepancy which exists between our expectation and our actual condition. We expect to be filed with holiness but we are found wanting in holiness. This makes us uncomfortable. God never asks us to be so introspective. To do so constitutes one of the main reasons for spiritual stagnation. Our rest lies in looking to the Lord, not to ourselves. In the degree that we look off unto Him to that degree are we delivered from self. We rest on the finished work of the Lord Jesus Christ, not on our own shifting experience. True spiritual life depends not on probing our feelings and thoughts form dawn to dusk but on “looking off” to the Savior!” 18


Prayers to do that, to be distracted from myself by His love and peace. I've had some of it this week, sitting out on the dock

Out of Introspection

I remember sophomore year, spending time with a dear friend of mine. He bowed at the waist whenever he left a room, as a joke, and it was charming and funny and all those things. But I remember, near the end of the year, a night spent with friends in the dorm. And as I rose to leave, I turned to my friends on the futon and bowed at the waist. Immediately I realized what I had done. I had taken on the qualities of my friend, simply by being with him.

Last night I was getting some light bedtime reading in. Namely “The Spiritual Man” by Watchman Nee. It is neither light nor bedtime, but I was intrigued. It has two prefaces, which might indicate that the author had something to say. He did. The prefaces were as far as I got.

In both, Nee was very clear that this book was not meant for self analysis. He urges his readers not to fall into introspection, for our eyes are not meant to look at ourselves but out and up to God.

Here I become introspective. Because this is my life. I am always checking myself, questioning, waiting.

This summer I’ve been surrounded by beautiful, God loving friends to whom dating is a very, very serious endeavor, probably with an expectation of marriage unless God does something big to stop it. Here I return home, giving advice to a friend of mine along those same lines, and a different friend give much clearer, more freeing advice. He has confidence, and joy, and I’m stuck with introspection, wondering if I am over-thinking it. At which point I, once again, am over-thinking it. Don’t be introspective.

What is good and pure and righteous and holy, keep your mind on these things. How I wish I did. But I stare at myself, all day long. I wonder, should I have done that, should my heart feel differently, could that be done better, what if I’m longing for the wrong job, what if I get the wrong job, what if I’m trying too hard, what if I’m not trying hard enough- oh, it goes on.

The slump that I have sat in for the past year, off and on, began with one conversation, in the plains of Namibia, in which a fellow traveler questioned my love. They argued that I could not be so zealous for the glory of God and still not do what is physically most beneficial for people. And I cried all night, because I felt it could be true.

This began in introspection, in condemnation. And I have sat in that place since then. I have taken things hard, and I have demanded perfection and failed, I have longed for a perfect ministry and a perfect plan and have found none. I don’t sign up because I know it’s not perfect, yet I become trapped in myself for nothing is perfect. Do something, right?

I need a beautiful distraction. I need a God who would take my mind off myself. But how, when I am so intent on getting everything right?

My prayer, Jesus, is that you would free me from myself. My introspection is indeed killing me. There is no freedom in it, at all. My education in critical thinking has made me into a critic of all, but mostly of myself. Because I fail constantly. Constantly. I cannot be perfect, and yet I am called to be.

Jesus, atone for me. Jesus, take my place. Spirit, guide me into hope, into your will. Father, the grace to see your son, and to trust You in all things. For you care for me. How do I know? You speak through NPR, Turkeys, Flannery O’Connor, and Watchman Nee. And the beach last night. How on earth I am found worthy to see that, I can find no explanation outside of Jesus. It’s too good, and I am too inept.

If I abide in myself, I will only become more of me. And that would suck.

If I abide in Jesus, I will only become more of Him. And that would be beautiful.

I have learned that I am completely capable of spending time with others while only abiding in myself. I center upon myself and ignore their interest, grow frustrated (and frustrating), and depressed.

Pray for me to learn how to abide in Jesus. He is my only hope, once again.

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Post-Script: There was strange, beautiful comfort in the name of Jesus after writing this. Driving home, i would begin to pray and then to smile, for no reason. He is faithful. Knowing Him is peace in unknowning.

This morning, reading Joshua, I noticed that the tribes of Israel did not always have their land fully conquered when it was allotted to them. Instead, there remained enemies within their borders, some until Israel grew strong enough to remove them, others to remain permanently as servants, others simply to remain. It is possible to be given your inheritance and still do battle. It's possible to not be strong enough, and still be. The very end of Joshua is very, very encouraging. He asks them to choose, whether to follow the gods of their fathers or the One true God. They choose the one, thankfully. But Joshua isn't satisfied. He says, basically, you can't. You're not good enough. He is holy, and you will whore after other gods. And the people say, no, but we will still choose Him. Amen, sometimes we must choose. And we will never be good enough. Yet His faithfulness overcomes our faithlessness.

The Turkey: The End of Timotheos 2

There’s a story by Flannery O’Connor called the Turkey. It leads you through the erratic emotions of a young boy as he chases down the title bird, gives thanks to God, proudly struts through town, gives his only dime to the beggar woman in gratitude, and then is stopped by some local bullies who steal the turkey off his shoulder. The boy runs home ‘as though fear itself was chasing him, claws outstretched’, or something like that. I remember the claws.

And I remember the emotions. That boy is so very like myself. Chasing and proud, running hard after a turkey and finally catching it. He proudly trots it through town, giving thanks to God, but really only because he has been made to look good in front of his neighbors. And when it is stolen from him, his heart recoils into fear and despair, suspicious of the very God he so recently worshipped.

Yesterday afternoon I went for a run before my sisters and their good friend arrived to help me move out. Shout out to them- I love them very much, even the friend. Since I left for college I have realized how much I have been given in those two girls, and it’s absurdly undeserved. And in their friends too. They could have really crummy friends, but they don’t. Even their friends love me well and encourage me. Rarely have I been humbled so frequently by someone so young as when I spend time with my siblings and their friends.

Enough mush. I went on a run. And about two miles in I noticed something running along the fence line on my right. A large bird. A turkey.

Frightened, it ran, maintaining a good twelve foot gap between us. I chased it for about a quarter of a mile before it doubled back and I had it more or less pinned against the fenceline. I didn’t try to catch it, but I could have. It was exhausted, and wasn’t flying away- it must have had something wrong with it. I let it go and ran home.

It instantly reminded me of the story, but it wasn’t until this morning that I realized what the story was about. The first time I read it, I knew it resonated with me deeply, but I wasn’t sure why- but this morning, after chatting with my sisters’ friend, and wrestling with my own pride and desire to prove myself, did I realize how much it had to do with me.

In much of my ministry I gave God thanks, but much of that for which I was grateful revolved around how it made me look, the confidence it gave me, and the security that I found within it. And when life grew hard, when ministry grew difficult, I felt betrayed.

Yet God has only let me play with his swingset, hold his glory. I had an image in my mind this morning, of me blindfolded, in a red room, with my hands both out and a smile on my face. Blue shirt.  THAT’s how I want to be before God. Joyful and grateful, and rejoicing. Like a child at the petting zoo, so excited just to hold whatever I am about to be given (probably a snake). And ready, when it is asked of me, to give it back.

I can find joy in my work, and in my ministry, and I should. But there I cannot find my life. And if I find my life, my approval therein, God would be right and loving to take it from me, that I might return to Him as my fountain of living water.

NPR’s got a rival. God’s in the turkeys, too. Maybe Franklin knew what he was talking about after all.

Jesus Spits: The End of Timotheos

In my relationship with God I so often long for a big sign, an audible voice or an undeniable realization. But for some reason that’s not typically how God moves in relationship. He’s harder to catch. He moves subtly, speaking in creation, the scriptures, in the words of His body the church. And sometimes, yes, in a voice. But I so highly value testing and certainty that I am often unwilling to trust His invisible hand, His written voice, or His people. I think in terms of a ‘direct voice’ and an ‘indirect voice’. And I put so much priority on what I categorize as direct (audible, or emotions, or direction, or some kind of joy that is near emotion after all) that I stop thinking of any other ways of communicating as truly from God.

I am trapped by my desire, incessant need, to be in the right. It’s true. I am a spiritual perfectionist, and it’s hard for me because so much scripture calls us to perfection. I know that in my sin Jesus forgives me, yet I still feel an incredible weight to do the right thing, particularly in dating and in ministry. These two things put so much weight on me, it’s hard to love God because I begin to view him as a taskmaster, watching for the mistake.

But my friends won’t leave me there. They rebuked the crap out of me on Tuesday. Which is harsh, I know. They told me very firmly that if I could not receive God’s affirmation through community and through scripture, I was going to be out of luck. Very reminiscent of Jesus and the Pharisees, when they ask him for a sign and He says “even if a man was raised from the dead you wouldn’t believe.” I am so like those Pharisees, and, as another friend pointed out, so like Israel in the desert.

And so this week and this year I intend to receive God’s word through scripture and through community as, well, God’s word. To take it as truth, to take it seriously. To pay attention and write it down. To meditate on it. To believe, as Elihu did, that God speaks one way, and then another. But He speaks.

Yesterday I woke up anxious again. I spent some time in scripture, but put most of my morning into writing and praying through all that God has done in me and through me, and affirmed in me, in the past week. I wrote about how much my heart truly desires evil still, and how much I still kick against a God who loves and controls and deserves all the honor and glory and power. I want my own. and yet there is none to have. All good comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth. Trees, grass, water, rain, food, fireflies, rivers, mountains, humans, brains, creativity, joy, peace, hope. Love. It’s all from God. To run to myself is to be a fool. There is not good there. Just pride. And yet I find myself waking up with a longing to be God, to have it all, to be in control and independently valuable. But I am not, and no one is. My heart is still so broken.

I got in the car to drive to a breakfast meeting that I knew would be tough. I was going to have to call this guy on some junk in his life, some passivity that is visibly keeping him from the hope and freedom that is in the kingdom of God. Me, saying that. Oh, the hypocrisy of ministry. Broken people, all around, in the pulpit, in the pew, in the car listening to NPR.

And so I was. And then began a segment discussing the demolition of the Berlin Wall. This week marks the anniversary of its construction, and so German officials are calling for a time of remembrance of the many divisions that caused the Wall to be built. The interviewee told how most foreigners assume that the falling of the Wall was the end of their division; in truth it was only upon its collapse that the two sides discovered how great were their differences, and how difficult reconciliation would be. The west had known democracy, freedom of expression, and a booming market-based economy. The east had known dictatorship, repression, and imploding businesses. The interviewee quoted a friend who had once spoken to him of the difficulties of the east entering the west. She said, “It’s hard to learn to be free when you’ve been a slave all your life.”

Boom. That was it. I freaked out. It’s hard to learn to be free when you’ve been a slave all your life. God is in my radio. God is on NPR*.

After a few minutes of praise and joy, a new segment began, discussing the Dow and it’s unprecedented instability. The woman revealed that never since its inception had there ever been a period of as much wildly varying shifts as had occurred this past week. She said that all the up and down and up and down was driven by emotions wrecked by what they had just experienced. She called it recency bias: our emotions are most influenced by that which has just occurred. In the stock market, we all fear a repeat of the 2008 dip, even if there are no looming market failures like the housing crash that brought much of the country down.

Boom. Recency bias. My emotions are most influenced by that which has just happened, namely, a hard year. That does not mean that I throw out emotions entirely, but it means that I check them against truth, because they are fickle and easily swayed. God is in my radio, I’m telling you.

Having said this, he spit on the ground, made some mud with the saliva, and put it on the man’s eyes.

You can’t see? Let’s add some dirt, that usually works.

But, it does. The man washes and sees.

Sometimes you have to stop looking for what you want, and take what you can get. Spit or words, He’ll heal regardless. And even though it feels like mud (heck, it might be mud), you’re learning to be free even as you wash it off. No, your emotions cannot determine your position- you are too easily swayed. And neither can your work determine God’s love for you, nor your value. He gives all and he takes all. And it’s all His. Always was, always will be. I want to be something on my own, even if it’s a slave. But I have been freed, and I am learning what freedom means. Perhaps it means not thinking so much. Perhaps it means not stressing over being perfect. Never acting or thinking out of fear, but only out of love and curiosity. That might take more mud.

But Jesus, I’ll take it. A God who spits is a God who loves, and Lord knows, really knows, that I could stand to be taken down another notch or two.

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*one more reason the government should never even consider cutting its funding.