Thankful for girlfriends to quilt with, walk with, talk with. Thankful for a rather late night of sharing our hearts with one another. Thankful for Casandra and Joanna. Thankful they’re my friends.
Visit Davene at Life on Sylvan Drive for more Simple Sunday posts.
I call it self-sufficiency, trying to make it on my own. I call it being a grown-up, this unwillingness to ask for help.
“I’m a big girl now,” I say to myself, “I can’t always be daddy’s little girl.” I’m going to prove myself, I’m going to make my own way. I don’t need a leg up from anyone.
I call it living my own life. I call it not being presumptuous.
I call it lots of things, but really it’s just pride in disguise.
Sorry I haven’t written lately. I’ve been too busy.
“Busy doing what?” you might ask.
Too which I can only respond: “Dreaming.”
It had been ages since I knelt in worship–even longer since the kneeling turned to sitting. I used to kneel in worship all of the time. And when my knees started to go numb, I’d transition to sitting on the floor, basking in the presence of God. Many of my most intimate conversations with God have occurred on the floor of our church during a worship service. But it had been a long time since I’d been on the floor–and a long time since I’d last had that kind of conversation.
When I knelt in worship this Sunday, I wasn’t expecting anything spectacular–I just wanted to worship God. And when my knees grew tired of being sat upon, I shifted onto my bottom. I wasn’t expecting God to drop in–but He did.
“When did you become so pragmatic?” He asked. “When did you stop dreaming?”
You see, I used to be a dreamer. I dreamt of making a difference in the world. I dreamt of seeing great things, of doing great things. I dreamt of seeing blind eyes receive sight. I dreamt of dancing in the arms of a lover. I dreamt of owning a house that I’d minister out of. I dreamt of marriage and children. I dreamt of traveling the world. I dreamt of so much. My goals are nothing compared to my dreams.
But somewhere along the way, I stopped dreaming. Things hadn’t turned out the way I intended. I turned 21, not only unmarried but with no prospects in sight. I was 24 and still in school. I prayed for revival, but I didn’t see it happen. I stopped dreaming. I stopped believing that dreams could come true.
It’s not that I didn’t miss dreaming. On the contrary, I sorrowed over my lack of faith, my absence of dreams. I even wrote a little song about it:
Once upon a time I thought big thoughts
I hadn’t yet learned they were impossible
Once upon a time I dreamed big dreams
Before I learned to not believe
Teach me again the faith of a child
Teach me again to see
Teach me again, God oh so big
Teach me again to believe
Remember the child
dreaming to sweat drops of blood?
Remember the child
Crying for revival to come?
Bring back that heart,
that longing,
that hunger
Teach me again to believe
I heard Michael W. Smith’s “Missing Person” with new ears. I’d heard the song, sung the lyrics a thousand times without ever giving thought to what it was saying:
There was a child who had the faith to move a mountain
And like a child he would believe without a reason
Without a trace he disappeared into the void and
I’ve been searching for that missing person
He used to want to try to walk the straight and narrow
He had a fire and he could feel it in the marrow
It’s been a long time and I haven’t seen him lately but
I’ve been searching for that missing person
It brought tears to my eyes–I wasn’t the only one who felt that way. But for all my searching, I wasn’t getting anywhere closer to finding the missing dreamer inside of me.
At least, not until God asked me His question: “When did you become so pragmatic? When did you stop dreaming?”
I didn’t really have an answer–or if I did, it was a pretty defensive one. “Well, Lord, what do you want me to do?” I asked in frustration.
“Listen to the dream.” He answered back. “Let it well up in your heart once again. And let Me make the dreams reality.”
I struggled with God a bit: “So how do I know that dreaming won’t just lead to disillusionment? I’ve dreamt before–and where has it gotten me? Have any of those dreams come true? How do I know that dreaming isn’t just a waste of time–something to keep me occupied so I don’t notice when life passes me by?”
And God responded: “My kind of dreams aren’t a waste of time. My kind of dreams don’t keep you from enjoying life. The knack, Rebekah, is to dream My kind of dreams. The knack is to discover where your dreams and Mine intersect–and to jump on them for the ride of your life.”
And then He began to awaken the dreams. But this time, they’re not the fantasy castles of a little girl. This time they’re the dreams that involve blueprint writing, financial affair setting in-order, deep soul-searching. So I’ve been busy dreaming–finding the missing person I thought I’d never see again.
Thankful for this year’s high school seniors who are staying in Lincoln after they graduate. I don’t know what I’d do if they left.
John and Steve around 6 years old.
Congratulations to Steve (this week), John (two weeks from today), and Joanna (next month). I’m so glad you’re going to stick around–we won’t have to break up the gang quite yet.
Visit Davene at Life on Sylvan Drive for more Simple Sunday posts.
Anyone who’s walked with a loved one through Alzheimer’s knows that it’s a challenging path to trod. It’s tough and frustrating for the sufferer–and tough and frustrating for those who love them.
My experience walking with my Grandma through Alzheimer’s has convinced me of one thing: I’m going to do everything within my power to keep my children and grandchildren from having to experience that kind of anguish. I’m going to do everything possible to prevent the onset of that disease, a disease of relationships as much as it is a disease of the mind.
Which is why I’ve been collecting research (and pseudo-research) on Alzheimer’s prevention.
That was mostly science. Based on epidemiological studies, people who have such factors are either more or less at risk for developing Alzheimer’s. The pseudo-science comes in when you ask if and how you can impact your risk of developing Alzheimer’s by changing your behavior.
But I’m willing to jump on the risk-avoidance bandwagon–or the proactive prevention bandwagon, if you’d rather.
Which is why I’ve pulled my recorder off the floor and started playing.
I can hear your “Huh?” loud and clear.
Well, it just so happens that “better cognitive function” is a preventative factor. And one of the proposed means of increasing cognitive function is playing an instrument. It also just so happens that “better lung capacity” is a preventative factor. And one of the means of increasing lung capacity (along with aerobic activity) is playing a wind instrument.
It just so happens that I have a wind instrument–a little plastic recorder I received as part of a white elephant gift exchange at my life group. That recorder has been sitting on my bedroom floor since the day I pulled it out and tried–very unsuccessfully–to teach myself to play.
But, bolstered by the thought of saving my grandchildren from the agony that is Alzheimer’s, I grasped hold of the recorder, googled “how to play the recorder”, and began my education.
Amazingly enough, despite my initial failure, I was able to successfully play “Mary had a little lamb” last night–and to still play it again this morning. Turns out you don’t just blow one endless breath into the recorder–and you don’t hold the recorder at a right angle to your face either.
Ah, thank goodness for the internet! What would I do without handy self-teach websites like this one? I’d probably already be senile–and terrorizing the entire world!
My dad used to tease my mom that she had only two speeds–slow and stopped. Of course, the only time that comment made its way out was when we were all waiting in the car for mom to finish grocery shopping. In reality, my mom is a speedy burrito.
I have two speeds as well–overdrive and hyperdrive.
It doesn’t matter what I’m doing, I’m doing it quickly. I rush to this and to that, from this and that. I pack my days plumb full–and then add a to do list a mile long on top. And then there’s my brain. Even when I get into bed, or watch a movie, or have some other “down” time, my brain is still moving a mile a minute. I worry about this or fret about that, I second guess one thing, and try to untangle another thing.
My mind was reeling last night when I read Psalm 46–and it was going crazy again this morning when I re-read Psalm 46. And then God spoke.
I am God! That’s not going to change, no matter what circumstances you find yourself in. In the toughest day of your life, I am God. In the most spectacular day of your life, I am God. I am God when you don’t see any hope for what you desire–and I am God when your imagination runs away with the possibilities. I am God. Be still and know.
“Be still and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth!” Psalm 46:10
Still: adj 1. Free of sound. 2. Low in sound; hushed or subdued. 3. Not moving or in motion. 4. Free from disturbance, agitation, or commotion. 5. Free from noticeable current: a still pond; still waters
What a thought. What an idea! To be free. Free from noise, from disturbance, from current. To have a mind that is quiet, hushed, subdued. A mind that is not always in motion. A mind free from agitation and commotion. Still. I want a still mind.
What a dream. What a concept! To be free. Free from current, from agitation, from motion. To have a body that is subdued, calm, undisturbed. A body that isn’t constantly fidgiting for some next thing to do. A body that doesn’t slosh about with every current of the to-do list. Still. I want a still body.
Psalm 46:10 suggests that stillness is a choice: “Be still.” It is a command with an understood “You” as the subject. “[You] be still.”
But how can one choose stillness? I’ve certainly tried choosing stillness many times before–and failed every time. I try to clear my mind, but the thoughts just come back. I clear my schedule, but I end up fidgeting to refill it–uncomfortable with the lack of movement that threatens deadness.
Psalm 46:10 offers the answer to this question as well. “Know that I am God.” The implicit message, at least in my mind, is “…and you are not [God].” If I know that God is God and that I am not God, then I can let my mind be still–trusting God to “worry” out the details. If I know that God is God and that I am not God, then I can rest my body–trusting God to “work” out the details.
Still. Know. Rest. Trust. Words I want to characterize my life.
They don’t characterize me yet–but they will. I trust that they will. For now, I’m just learning–learning to KNOW God and to be STILL.
Ask your average churchgoer what their favorite way to evangelize is, and you’re likely to get a variation on a couple of themes. Undoubtedly the most common method is the “St. Francis of Assisi”. You’ve heard it: “Preach the gospel at all times and, when necessary, use words.” Then there’s the “King James”: the word of God speaks best–and speaks best when quoted verbatim. Then, of course, there’s the “Savvy Shopper”: weigh the pros and cons, you can’t beat the price of this one.
One answer you’re not likely to hear is “Cognitive Dissonance.” But, I believe that cognitive dissonance is probably one of the most effective, and most underused tools of evangelism.
Most likely, you are asking (along with my little sister): “What’s that?”
According to Wikipedia, Cognitive dissonance is “an uncomfortable feeling caused by holding two contradictory ideas simultaneously.” In other words, cognitive dissonance is an awareness that the things you believe or do don’t quite match up.
Take, for example, a conversation I had with my advisor this afternoon. I handed her my MOC (memorandum of courses for the uninitiated) and, after looking it over briefly, she asked me “So why aren’t you writing a thesis?” I gave my standard answer–not wanting to specialize, blah, blah, blah. She didn’t really try to convince me, she just kept the conversation going. Then I said something about how both Anna and I had taken Microbiology instead of Food Safety. “Now why’d you do that again?” Dr. Jones asked. “I wanted to keep my options open,” I told her. “I took Biochem 431 instead of 321 for the same reason.”
That’s when she said the words that have been rolling around in my head ever since: “That doesn’t sound like someone who doesn’t want to write a thesis.” I brushed it off quickly, too quickly, with: “Maybe I used up my overachieving in undergrad.” But it doesn’t brush off quite that easily.
Dr. Jones could have tried to convince me to write a thesis. She could have given me the pros and cons of the thesis option and tried to sway me that way. She could have told me I had no option–if I wanted to be her student, I would write a thesis. But she didn’t try to sell the thesis. She didn’t lay down the truth for me to take it or leave it. She just introduced a little cognitive dissonance.
And the thoughts run through my head. “She’s right–I’ve never been someone to take the easy route out.” “Yeah, I probably could do this–I made it through micro and biochem just fine.” “Options open. Options open. I wanted to keep my options open–but now I’m cutting off my option of a doctorate. Just like that.”
She plays a few more fancy evangelistic tricks on me too. “Just out of curiosity,” she asks, “what would you do your thesis on if you were to do a thesis?” The answer jumps out of my lips without warning, “Probably on the meal planning or grocery shopping habits of mothers of young children.” Where’d that come from? And the thoughts continue running through my head. “That was a pretty quick answer. Amazing from someone who’s never even let a thesis be an option.” “You’re sure you don’t want to write a thesis, don’t want to ‘specialize’?”
By now, my mind is going crazy in confusion. Maybe I wasn’t so sure that I didn’t want to write a thesis in the first place. Maybe I’ve been just deceiving myself to think that doing the non-thesis option was in my best interest. After all, I’m not the kind of person who takes the easy way out. I’m not the kind of person who closes off my options. And I can pull a topic off the top of my head that I’d love to explore in thesis-depth.
Do you see what I’m saying? It’s not just about FACTS, it’s not just about CONVINCING. It’s about causing someone to second guess their own beliefs–to realize that what they’re thinking or the way they’re acting is really not consistent with their beliefs.
Surely you can see the applications to evangelism.
I once heard someone speak on an evangelistic strategy they attributed to Francis Schaeffer. According to my memory of this presentation, Schaeffer believed that every worldview (except the correct one), has internal inconsistency–and that the only reason why people persist in holding their particular worldview (that is not correct) is because they are UNAWARE of the inconsistency of their stated worldview. For example, take the individual who claims to believe that there is no God. He does not believe that man is created in the image of God. He believes that humans are just another animal. He has no qualms about eating meat–but cannibalism is repulsive to him. “That’s just wrong,” he says.
Yet, if indeed, humans are not made in the image of God–if they are just another animal–why should eating another animal be repulsive?
Our theoretical atheist takes another tack. “But humans are the most highly developed animal–we have reached intellectual heights not obtained by other animals. This makes us special.
Which makes us wonder if perhaps cannibalism would be okay, as long as we only ate the profoundly mentally retarded. Of course, our theoretical atheist still finds this to be repulsive and “wrong”.
Anyway, enough of my tangent. According to the speaker, Francis Schaeffer suggests that we use this cognitive dissonance to our advantage in evangelism. Push people to take their beliefs to their logical conclusion. This will create the cognitive dissonance that forces them to come to grips with what ideas can be carried out to their logical conclusion and still be consistent with both external and internal reality. Of course, only truth remains consistent with external and internal reality when carried out to its logical conclusion. Everything else falls apart somewhere along the line.
Introducing cognitive dissonance. It’s a novel idea. One I’m pretty sold on, considering its effectiveness this afternoon.
I pride myself on being a good citizen–and in voting in every election. But today, for the second time in a row, I almost missed an election.
My brother sent me a text message reminding me to vote in the primaries in April. It was a good thing he did–because although I was up on the ballot issues, I had forgotten that the day was THAT day.
Today, I was walking out of work when I spotted someone else’s “I Voted Today” sticker. Thank goodness for that–elsewise I’d have never remembered today was election day. I’ve been on top of this election too–everything except the date, that is. I’d never fixed the election schedule in my mind, or scheduled it in my planner–and so, I almost missed it.
That’s the hard part of being a conscientious citizen–remembering to vote. You can be a registered voter, you can follow the issues, you can be informed about the candidates. But when push comes to shove, you have to remember to vote. And you have to remember to vote even when the nation isn’t deciding on its president.
Face it, it’s easy to vote for a president. You’ve seen the names for a good year, at least. You’ve heard the date at least a bazillion times. Everyone is talking about how November 2 or 4 or whatever has the potential to change the destiny of the nation. And when the day comes, everyone is proudly wearing their “I Voted Today” sticker. And if you happened to not come into contact with anyone, the TV and the Internet are awash with the latest exit polls.
The harder elections are the spring elections in the off years–the elections in which you vote for your city council members, school board, and airport authority. The elections in which someone tries to sneak a bond issue past an unsuspecting public. Those are the elections that are hardest to make–and the ones it’s most critical that you attend.
Face it, one vote out of millions doesn’t make quite as much difference as one out of thousands or hundreds. And face it, most “little” elections like the one today are attended by only a few hundred voters. That means YOUR vote means A LOT–as long as you actually get out to the polling place to vote.
So here’s a word of advice. Next time you hear of an election, put it on your calendar straight-away. ‘Cause it doesn’t matter how much you CARE, or how much you DEBATE, or how much you FOLLOW the news–if you DON’T VOTE, your opinion DOESN’T COUNT!
Ordinary: adj. 1. Commonly encountered; usual. 2a. Of no exceptional ability, degree, or quality; average. 2b. Of inferior quality; second rate.
It’s a word that often characterizes my life. Common, usual, without exceptionalism. Ordinary.
If my life had directions, a la shampoo bottles, the directions would read: “Wake up. Go to work. Work. Come home. Putz about. Go to sleep. Repeat.”
It’s not a bad life, when all is said and done. I enjoy my work, I love to putz. Sleep is good. As much as I long for the extraordinary, the unusual, the exceptional, the prime–I find myself quite content with the ordinary, the usual, the average.
I completed Nancy Moser’s Just Jane, a novel about Jane Austen, over the weekend. It was an enjoyable book–comfortably Austenish without trying too hard to mimic Austen’s voice. I could identify with Jane’s moods of peace and peevishness as she rode out the unexpected life of a spinster. Moser’s Jane was swept along by so many waves–decisions were made for her that were far less than her expectations or desires. And she let herself wallow in discontent for a while. But at some point, she has to find her home–she has to learn to be content to be “Just Jane.”
I feel that I am coming to that point–or at least that this ebb of the tide brings me to that place. I am content to just be me. I am content that my life be as usual. I am content to be unexceptional. To be ordinary.
Except that I know that ordinary I shall never truly be. For inside that “ordinary” capsule of day to day routine, I am one of the “peculiar people”.
“But ye are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, an holy nation, a peculiar people; that ye should shew forth the praises of Him who hath called you out of darkness into His marvellous light.” I Peter 2:9
Peculiar: adj. 1. Unusual or eccentric; odd. 2. Distinct from all others. 3. Belonging distinctively or primarily to one person, group, or kind; special or unique.
Yep. That would be me. Ordinary, but peculiar.