My 100th Post, Which Seems Really Important
There are some times in life when all of the sudden something explodes and you become a different person. These are the times in my life I have come to fear, expect, love, hate, stand in awe of; in some ways I invite them in, wish for them, pray for them, and in some ways I expend lots of energy trying to avoid them.
I think a lot of people refer to these times as crises. Crisis. That’s got to be one of my favorite words, because (side note) I use it all the time about everything, especially when I want to exaggerate, which is every minute.
But still, crises shape us in a very strange and unpredictable way, and I feel like if we all just sat down with our neighbors and recalled the crises in our lives we would all get to know each other better, and we would get to know something really important about humanity and about life. Again with the side notes.
Last night I met some friends my roommate had over, and we stood in the kitchen for a while and talked about moments of panic in our lives. When we’ve locked children in cars, or gotten lost, or left someone somewhere. For some reason those moments are worth talking about it kitchens years later. They’re so important to us, inspire awe in us in a big way, and I think maybe it’s because through them we stare into the face of our frailty and dependence.
I’m not sure this is totally related, but today in class Dr. Curtis was telling us about Jung’s theories, about how he believed there are archetypes in all of us. Jung said at certain times in our lives these little bombs will go off inside of us and propel us toward our callings. These bombs explode in certain situations when who we are meant to be catches up with us quickly, the spark catches fire, the everyday grows into something bigger. I’m saying all of this metaphorically and somewhat taking liberties, but I think it’s safe to say that Jung was talking about what happened that night in the Cottonwood clubhouse my freshman year of college.
Dinislam was in town, and all of the “Russia people” from Fellowship were meeting with him and hearing an update on the church in Karachaevsk. He was speaking through a translator, maybe Slavik, and I didn’t understand a word he was saying in Russian. But even though I was entirely dependent upon the translation, the hair on my arms stood up the entire time he was speaking. My heart was on fire and my stomach was doing backflips. It was like I was seeing my future and I didn’t even know it. I didn’t understand my reaction to Dinislam and his report about the church, but it propelled me to talk to him the next day about staying in Karachaevsk long-term. I remember calling Anna that night in hysterics, telling her I knew I was meant to somehow be connected with Russia, with New Life Church. It was the next summer that I first interned.
That was my little bomb.
One of them.
And I think even those kinds of bombs, those (maybe) “good” kinds of crises, are just like the kitchen moments in a way, because in them we are still completely lacking control, completely afraid and exhilarated because we have been taken over by something greater, in the face of which we are helpless.
I’ve had a couple of those crisis moments in the past week. Small ones in comparison to most, but I think they’re crises nonetheless.
On Wednesday I went to Pentateuch class after lunch – you know, just a typical day in the life – and I started slowly sliding into crisis mode. This is perhaps another side note, but can I just say this happens in practically every religion class and I always expect to be over that phase? All that talk about religion classes being spiritually and personally difficult to process…the breaking down of long-held beliefs or prejudices…blahblahblah. That’s true and all, but there’s gotta be something else going on because my long-held beliefs were already challenged my first semester. I didn’t think there was much left to challenge. I don’t even know.
But I was sitting in Pentateuch realizing I have no idea what in the world the Bible is. Really. I have no idea how to understand what sort of document it is, how to read it, how to believe it, how to apply it. What was this Pentateuch for the Israelites? What is it for Jews? What was it to Christians of Jesus’ day? What about now, post-councils, now that we have our full cannon? Translations. Metaphors. Theories. Interpretations. This ancient book surely is not a self-knowing document, but I trust in its divine inspiration. I just don’t know what all of that means and how to respond and interact with it.
Probably more than you wanted to know. Regardless, it was a big deal to me, sitting there in Fidelity Hall room 301.
That afternoon I got coffee with Micah and I told him all this and he told me some really great, really dangerously true things. I can’t imagine where my life would be without some wise people at Belmont telling me some dangerously true things over the past two years. And he handed me a book to read and told me to stop reading the Bible, which I promise makes sense in context, and sent me on my way.
That night God gave me a flat tire in a sketchy parking lot after dark. Long story there, but it led to a friend crisis and a couple long talks into the night with Sarah and Nathan and Jessie.
And then today I was reminded in a big way that the people I admire are not perfect, and everyone has so much to work through, and that if we can manage to just be really real and raw and hopeful we just might come out on the other side. We just might one day receive the full grace intended for us to heal, to have the veil pulled back, and to know fully, as we are fully known. I place stock in people, I am optimistic about people, I am cheering for people and I want to see them be stronger than I know myself to be. But when they can’t be, the small crisis that ensues just tells me that we are imperfect, I shouldn’t expect otherwise, and I need to love in spite of it.
At this point I probably should clarify that I don’t think these things are the end of the world. They will be forgotten in a year, maybe, unlike my larger “bombs” of the past, and so I know this week is not going to change my life. It’s just that I’ve started thinking maybe God is trying to tell me something, or get my attention, or mainly just say “hey, you need to stare into the face of your own smallness and confusion and messed-up-ness for a little while.”
Because it only takes one flat tire to take you from 80 to 0. It only takes confusion about faith to shake your foundations. It only takes one conversation to remember that life sucks a lot. And that makes me remember how very, very out of control I am – how very, very in control God must be.
I think a lot of people refer to these times as crises. Crisis. That’s got to be one of my favorite words, because (side note) I use it all the time about everything, especially when I want to exaggerate, which is every minute.
But still, crises shape us in a very strange and unpredictable way, and I feel like if we all just sat down with our neighbors and recalled the crises in our lives we would all get to know each other better, and we would get to know something really important about humanity and about life. Again with the side notes.
Last night I met some friends my roommate had over, and we stood in the kitchen for a while and talked about moments of panic in our lives. When we’ve locked children in cars, or gotten lost, or left someone somewhere. For some reason those moments are worth talking about it kitchens years later. They’re so important to us, inspire awe in us in a big way, and I think maybe it’s because through them we stare into the face of our frailty and dependence.
I’m not sure this is totally related, but today in class Dr. Curtis was telling us about Jung’s theories, about how he believed there are archetypes in all of us. Jung said at certain times in our lives these little bombs will go off inside of us and propel us toward our callings. These bombs explode in certain situations when who we are meant to be catches up with us quickly, the spark catches fire, the everyday grows into something bigger. I’m saying all of this metaphorically and somewhat taking liberties, but I think it’s safe to say that Jung was talking about what happened that night in the Cottonwood clubhouse my freshman year of college.
Dinislam was in town, and all of the “Russia people” from Fellowship were meeting with him and hearing an update on the church in Karachaevsk. He was speaking through a translator, maybe Slavik, and I didn’t understand a word he was saying in Russian. But even though I was entirely dependent upon the translation, the hair on my arms stood up the entire time he was speaking. My heart was on fire and my stomach was doing backflips. It was like I was seeing my future and I didn’t even know it. I didn’t understand my reaction to Dinislam and his report about the church, but it propelled me to talk to him the next day about staying in Karachaevsk long-term. I remember calling Anna that night in hysterics, telling her I knew I was meant to somehow be connected with Russia, with New Life Church. It was the next summer that I first interned.
That was my little bomb.
One of them.
And I think even those kinds of bombs, those (maybe) “good” kinds of crises, are just like the kitchen moments in a way, because in them we are still completely lacking control, completely afraid and exhilarated because we have been taken over by something greater, in the face of which we are helpless.
I’ve had a couple of those crisis moments in the past week. Small ones in comparison to most, but I think they’re crises nonetheless.
On Wednesday I went to Pentateuch class after lunch – you know, just a typical day in the life – and I started slowly sliding into crisis mode. This is perhaps another side note, but can I just say this happens in practically every religion class and I always expect to be over that phase? All that talk about religion classes being spiritually and personally difficult to process…the breaking down of long-held beliefs or prejudices…blahblahblah. That’s true and all, but there’s gotta be something else going on because my long-held beliefs were already challenged my first semester. I didn’t think there was much left to challenge. I don’t even know.
But I was sitting in Pentateuch realizing I have no idea what in the world the Bible is. Really. I have no idea how to understand what sort of document it is, how to read it, how to believe it, how to apply it. What was this Pentateuch for the Israelites? What is it for Jews? What was it to Christians of Jesus’ day? What about now, post-councils, now that we have our full cannon? Translations. Metaphors. Theories. Interpretations. This ancient book surely is not a self-knowing document, but I trust in its divine inspiration. I just don’t know what all of that means and how to respond and interact with it.
Probably more than you wanted to know. Regardless, it was a big deal to me, sitting there in Fidelity Hall room 301.
That afternoon I got coffee with Micah and I told him all this and he told me some really great, really dangerously true things. I can’t imagine where my life would be without some wise people at Belmont telling me some dangerously true things over the past two years. And he handed me a book to read and told me to stop reading the Bible, which I promise makes sense in context, and sent me on my way.
That night God gave me a flat tire in a sketchy parking lot after dark. Long story there, but it led to a friend crisis and a couple long talks into the night with Sarah and Nathan and Jessie.
And then today I was reminded in a big way that the people I admire are not perfect, and everyone has so much to work through, and that if we can manage to just be really real and raw and hopeful we just might come out on the other side. We just might one day receive the full grace intended for us to heal, to have the veil pulled back, and to know fully, as we are fully known. I place stock in people, I am optimistic about people, I am cheering for people and I want to see them be stronger than I know myself to be. But when they can’t be, the small crisis that ensues just tells me that we are imperfect, I shouldn’t expect otherwise, and I need to love in spite of it.
At this point I probably should clarify that I don’t think these things are the end of the world. They will be forgotten in a year, maybe, unlike my larger “bombs” of the past, and so I know this week is not going to change my life. It’s just that I’ve started thinking maybe God is trying to tell me something, or get my attention, or mainly just say “hey, you need to stare into the face of your own smallness and confusion and messed-up-ness for a little while.”
Because it only takes one flat tire to take you from 80 to 0. It only takes confusion about faith to shake your foundations. It only takes one conversation to remember that life sucks a lot. And that makes me remember how very, very out of control I am – how very, very in control God must be.
Don't forget that the Spirit will guide you through these bumps in the road. He will help you to keep the main thing the main thing because He chose you! You are his! And you are a vital puzzle piece in advancing His Kingdom. Yes, He is in control, amen. Rest, rest in that. All this challenging to your faith only makes it stronger. I am CONFIDENT that the work He began in you He will finish.
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