Life is interesting. I wrote not long ago that change is in the air -- I can feel it, I can almost touch it. I don't know what it will be, but it is coming.
Maybe it's just a part of the preparation, but I feel lately like there are some ghosts I have to deal with. To exorcise. I was speaking with a pastor from Nairobi, Kenya, who was just visiting Baltimore for a few days last week. He said he felt like a lot of the sudden violence they're experiencing along ethnic lines was something that had to be released, like there was too much pressure and the top had to come off, and he predicted that people would be able to move on relatively quickly. Perhaps it's a silly connection for me to make, but the word "exorcism" is what comes to mind in both cases.
I've read a few books on healing and spiritual warfare but I can't say I understand much about it or even deeply believe, although I know I should. In countries all around the world, people experience the spiritual realm in a very physical way, they witness healings regularly, and yet I am confined to my western rational mind that reduces everything to neurotransmitters. I want to see the truth, I want to know the truth. I want to be set free from the demons that haunt me. I want to fight, to stand up and fight.
I'm reminded of the Caedmon's Call song, The Lord is a Warrior. The words are comforting to me. He is mighty in battle, He is mighty to save. And a battle it is.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Happy Fracking New Year
Richard got me watching Battlestar Gallactica this Christmas. I'm officially a fan. I'm officially compulsively addicted. Add that to the list.
So I now have to update my profile to say "just turned 31," and I should probably also confess to giving away our very fat tabby cat.
Today I passed the homeless man I always pass on my way to or from work. He didn't make eye contact for more than a fraction of a second, and he waved in a dismissive, uninterested way. It was sad, it made my heart hurt. He didn't feel like putting on a smile or nodding his head or pretending like we had some special connection because we saw each other from time to time on Baltimore Street just 4 blocks from the Inner Harbor in front of an abandoned field where he'd built a makeshift fort out of cardboard and old folding chairs and scraps of clothing. Tonight was cold. There was a long line out in front of the shelter/soup kitchen across the street, he didn't seem interested in standing in the line. I wonder, what is the right thing to do?
This weekend I was singing at church -- I was asked at the last minute because two vocalists had to cancel. I always enjoy being on the worship team. This time, I was on with a drummer I've known for a few years now. He's about 26, really sweet guy, very sincere, loves to drum. He used to be part of this Christian boy-band that was popular at our church and has moved onto Nashville (but this drummer stayed behind). He has always seemed a little sad, a little bit like he's wandering and feels like there's something else he should be doing. He seems to truly love God and to love people. He's the sort of person that makes you feel welcome, that makes you feel good. In September, he broke his back. I don't remember the whole story of how it happened, but he had surgery to fuse his spine back together. The pain hasn't gone away -- he walks with a cane, carefully, slowly, he is gentle when sitting down and standing up. He grimaces in pain. It breaks my heart. So this weekend was his first weekend back on the team since the accident, and it was hard. He looks remarkably at peace when he's playing the drums and he plays them perfectly, but it takes all the energy he has and the pain must be almost unbearable after each service. I didn't think he'd make it all the way through the 4 weekend services (and his doctor had advised against it), but he did. He felt he had to, to prove that he could do it, that perhaps all hope was not gone and perhaps God would see that He really needed to heal him. Perhaps God would work a miracle.
This week at work is difficult. I don't feel like I have the skills or the patience or the wisdom to make our partnerships successful. I feel unworthy. I feel frustrated with our organization for its chaos and dysfunction and petty arguments. I was directed to Psalm 77 this morning, instructing me to remember God's work and God's deeds, to remember He is a God who performs miracles. I am unworthy. We are dysfunctional. I don't have what it takes to make everything work. But I remember God and all that He is and does and will do. May this be a year of miracles.
So I now have to update my profile to say "just turned 31," and I should probably also confess to giving away our very fat tabby cat.
Today I passed the homeless man I always pass on my way to or from work. He didn't make eye contact for more than a fraction of a second, and he waved in a dismissive, uninterested way. It was sad, it made my heart hurt. He didn't feel like putting on a smile or nodding his head or pretending like we had some special connection because we saw each other from time to time on Baltimore Street just 4 blocks from the Inner Harbor in front of an abandoned field where he'd built a makeshift fort out of cardboard and old folding chairs and scraps of clothing. Tonight was cold. There was a long line out in front of the shelter/soup kitchen across the street, he didn't seem interested in standing in the line. I wonder, what is the right thing to do?
This weekend I was singing at church -- I was asked at the last minute because two vocalists had to cancel. I always enjoy being on the worship team. This time, I was on with a drummer I've known for a few years now. He's about 26, really sweet guy, very sincere, loves to drum. He used to be part of this Christian boy-band that was popular at our church and has moved onto Nashville (but this drummer stayed behind). He has always seemed a little sad, a little bit like he's wandering and feels like there's something else he should be doing. He seems to truly love God and to love people. He's the sort of person that makes you feel welcome, that makes you feel good. In September, he broke his back. I don't remember the whole story of how it happened, but he had surgery to fuse his spine back together. The pain hasn't gone away -- he walks with a cane, carefully, slowly, he is gentle when sitting down and standing up. He grimaces in pain. It breaks my heart. So this weekend was his first weekend back on the team since the accident, and it was hard. He looks remarkably at peace when he's playing the drums and he plays them perfectly, but it takes all the energy he has and the pain must be almost unbearable after each service. I didn't think he'd make it all the way through the 4 weekend services (and his doctor had advised against it), but he did. He felt he had to, to prove that he could do it, that perhaps all hope was not gone and perhaps God would see that He really needed to heal him. Perhaps God would work a miracle.
This week at work is difficult. I don't feel like I have the skills or the patience or the wisdom to make our partnerships successful. I feel unworthy. I feel frustrated with our organization for its chaos and dysfunction and petty arguments. I was directed to Psalm 77 this morning, instructing me to remember God's work and God's deeds, to remember He is a God who performs miracles. I am unworthy. We are dysfunctional. I don't have what it takes to make everything work. But I remember God and all that He is and does and will do. May this be a year of miracles.
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