This weekend, I attended my first women's retreat. There are reasons I avoided them in the past: I don't like crowds, I can't stand forced interaction, I hate the way the focus is inevitably on women as housewives and moms, and I don't like a lot of women. But my dear friend Beaner and I agreed to go together, so on Friday I had no choice but to get in the car with her and drive to Lancaster, PA. I should have realized that Beaner would know far more women there than I would, that she's been to 6 or 7 of these retreats, and that she's far better than I am at pretending to be an extrovert. I used to feel very uncomfortable as an introvert, but I have mostly embraced it now and will only try to be extroverted in special situations or when I'm inebriated.
That being said, this weekend was way outside my comfort zone. I don't mind that -- I tend not to feel uncomfortable so much as I feel numb and wait for it to end.
Some highlights: getting to know 3 or 4 women whom I only knew in passing before, and finding I would love to spend more time with them; attending a seminar on healing prayer that is leading me to seriously consider pursuing healing prayer at my church (or at least to start writing out the things I think I may need healing from); watching Beaner and a group of women do "praise hula" to the song "Amazing Love/I'm Forgiven" -- it was one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen.
This weekend came at a good time for me. I've been feeling particularly tempted in one area of life and it was beginning to erode my faith. I pray this weekend will be the start of God giving me the strength I need to be wise, to resist temptation, to continue following Him rather than turning away as I'm so prone to do. Remarkably prone. It is what I know how to do better than anything -- obedience and perseverence are much more difficult, much more foreign.
We drove home today as heavy snow (for the mid-Atlantic) fell. It was beautiful, it made me glad to be alive, which I don't often feel. Something about snow-covered trees and white-topped rowhouses makes me happy.
I hope and pray for God's protection and healing -- Richard is away this week, in Egypt, and already I feel lonely and bored and ready to do something destructive to keep the feelings away. Strange. I do not really understand myself. One of the teachings this weekend was about being fully known by God, and that when we get to heaven we will finally know who we were truly created to be. God reveals that to us in this life as well, but we only learn it in bits and pieces, as we are faithful to ask and listen. I want to do more of that -- asking and listening to God about who He has created me to be, and who He really is.
This post is a little scattered, I apologize. I feel scattered.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Sunday, February 11, 2007
He Knows My Name
I go to a church in the suburbs that's pretty much your typical "mega-church" -- at least mega by Maryland's standards (in California or Texas, it would probably be more akin to a housechurch). The worship music is modern, the pastor is energetic and the messages stay fairly simple. The thing I notice about the music is that we tend to go through phases with songs. Like a modern radio station, we're unlikely to sing a song that was really popular five years ago, even if it's a great song. Of course we'll always throw in an old hymn or two every now and then, but certain songs are simply passe. I find this very sad, but not that surprising.
I don't know if it was this morning or last night, but I was thinking to myself about the song, "He Knows My Name." It's a pretty old-school song, not the most profound of lyrics, not the most haunting melody. I don't recall ever hearing it at my church, but I've heard it a couple of times at other churches and, most memorably, at a dinner celebration one of my organization's church partners held to conclude a Cambodia conference. The song touched me deeply that night in September -- I think because it struck me how God knew (and knows) the names of all the Cambodians who died in the genocide in the late 1970s, how he knows the names of all those who suffer in that country today, how he cares about them and is present to them. The song came back to me this weekend (as it does from time to time).
It often happens that I'll think of a song or be singing a song during the week and then we wind up singing it that weekend in church. I feel like it's a whisper from God, a personal touch of His hand. This morning I went to church and some members of Sandtown's New Song Community Church -- an "inner-city" church -- were leading worship. The third and final song they led was "He Knows My Name." It was so beautiful, so personal, so confirming and sweet. I am so thankful just for that song.
He knows my name
He knows my every thought
He sees each tear that falls
And He hears me when I call
I don't know if it was this morning or last night, but I was thinking to myself about the song, "He Knows My Name." It's a pretty old-school song, not the most profound of lyrics, not the most haunting melody. I don't recall ever hearing it at my church, but I've heard it a couple of times at other churches and, most memorably, at a dinner celebration one of my organization's church partners held to conclude a Cambodia conference. The song touched me deeply that night in September -- I think because it struck me how God knew (and knows) the names of all the Cambodians who died in the genocide in the late 1970s, how he knows the names of all those who suffer in that country today, how he cares about them and is present to them. The song came back to me this weekend (as it does from time to time).
It often happens that I'll think of a song or be singing a song during the week and then we wind up singing it that weekend in church. I feel like it's a whisper from God, a personal touch of His hand. This morning I went to church and some members of Sandtown's New Song Community Church -- an "inner-city" church -- were leading worship. The third and final song they led was "He Knows My Name." It was so beautiful, so personal, so confirming and sweet. I am so thankful just for that song.
He knows my name
He knows my every thought
He sees each tear that falls
And He hears me when I call
Saturday, February 10, 2007
I wonder when I'll become a faithful blogger
It has been so long since the last post, I almost feel tempted to quit and someday start over. Who wants to read a blog that's so inconsistent, so unreliable? And who wants to write it?
My temptation to quit makes me think of how it is when a friend calls and I don't call him/her back immediately, and then it gets to be one week and then two weeks, and pretty soon it's been a month or longer and I am afraid to call at this point, feeling like it has been too long, the waiting period has been too ridiculous, I no longer deserve to call. A good friend who moved to California this fall called me some weeks ago and I've not called her back. I mourn her absence, I miss her dearly, and yet I can't pick up the fricking phone. It is pathological.
So I resist the temptation to give up blogging already. I trust that nobody is reading this yet anyway...
The past month has been...interesting, hard to characterize, a bit up-and-down, a bit nonstop. Again, it makes me feel like a very unsteady, unreliable person. Who knows what mood I'll be in from day to day? Who knows if I'll feel like talking to my husband (let alone anything more intimate)? Who knows if I'll pray and be obedient or fall into bad habits and be consumed by whatever it is in my life that offers to consume me? Since returning home from Christmas break, it has been work that has taken over my life -- this is nothing new. It's my default addiction. Along with it are the ever-present Need for Approval, the Desire for Attention, the Fear of Failure, the Feelings of Incompetence. I'm like the bad case study at the beginning of a self-help book. The good news is I seem to have "gotten over" the miscarriage and am not nearly as devastated as I was 6 weeks ago. The bad news is I probably just replaced one fixation for another and I'm not sure if burying myself in work or whatever else is the same thing as completing the grieving process.
I have this constant, nagging idea that God is disappointed with me, that he's tired of me, irritated, done with me. Like he can't believe how ridiculously ungrateful I am, how repetitive my sins, how slow to learn, how quick to turn away. Does he grieve for me? Is he angry? Does he feel anything about me? I hope he feels something more than frustration. I hope his Word is true, that he does forgive and transform me. I join the man in Mark who says "Lord, I believe; help my unbelief."
I should call my friend.
My temptation to quit makes me think of how it is when a friend calls and I don't call him/her back immediately, and then it gets to be one week and then two weeks, and pretty soon it's been a month or longer and I am afraid to call at this point, feeling like it has been too long, the waiting period has been too ridiculous, I no longer deserve to call. A good friend who moved to California this fall called me some weeks ago and I've not called her back. I mourn her absence, I miss her dearly, and yet I can't pick up the fricking phone. It is pathological.
So I resist the temptation to give up blogging already. I trust that nobody is reading this yet anyway...
The past month has been...interesting, hard to characterize, a bit up-and-down, a bit nonstop. Again, it makes me feel like a very unsteady, unreliable person. Who knows what mood I'll be in from day to day? Who knows if I'll feel like talking to my husband (let alone anything more intimate)? Who knows if I'll pray and be obedient or fall into bad habits and be consumed by whatever it is in my life that offers to consume me? Since returning home from Christmas break, it has been work that has taken over my life -- this is nothing new. It's my default addiction. Along with it are the ever-present Need for Approval, the Desire for Attention, the Fear of Failure, the Feelings of Incompetence. I'm like the bad case study at the beginning of a self-help book. The good news is I seem to have "gotten over" the miscarriage and am not nearly as devastated as I was 6 weeks ago. The bad news is I probably just replaced one fixation for another and I'm not sure if burying myself in work or whatever else is the same thing as completing the grieving process.
I have this constant, nagging idea that God is disappointed with me, that he's tired of me, irritated, done with me. Like he can't believe how ridiculously ungrateful I am, how repetitive my sins, how slow to learn, how quick to turn away. Does he grieve for me? Is he angry? Does he feel anything about me? I hope he feels something more than frustration. I hope his Word is true, that he does forgive and transform me. I join the man in Mark who says "Lord, I believe; help my unbelief."
I should call my friend.
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