Divine Intervention; A Lesson on Failure and Scars.

The taste of failure is bitter.

I remember the first time I took a dive on my bike. It was as if the whole world shifted off its axis and threw me off my wheels. The shot-putt trajectory was aimed directly at the pavement. I can still taste the metallic sting of blood in my mouth and see the fried nerve endings retreating back into my gaping knee. My skin still bears these scars of failure, those ever-gruesome moments a faint memory as the skin has healed and by divine design the flesh resolved to renew itself.

I carry failure with me in these scars.

I believe that this physical world shadows the spiritual. Just as our skin bears wounds, so do our hearts. Several months ago, I maxed out. Hit the proverbial wall. Burned out. Fried. I was working 42 hours a week, churning through a full semester of accelerated college courses, all while trying to balance worship band and odds and ends at church. My plate was so full, it was overkill.

It was all about me.

As I look at all the "stuff" I tried to accomplish, I cannot help but laugh at myself. What was I thinking!? Once I felt the fall coming, I paired down everything I could. I stopped bringing snacks and coordinating the welcome team, I said goodbye to my fellow bloggers and fired myself from all of the superfluous. I thought bare bones would be enough, but when the world tilts, and your balance is shot, sometimes the only way out is down.

My failure was blindsiding.

Finally pastors came to me, lovingly and gently. With courage and great strength they told me I could not help them in this season. I was too busy. I was too weary. I was already bloody. I just couldn't see it on my own. They helped me see my failure and face it head on. They apologized for not leading me well and allowing me to overextend. They shouldered the weight and cushioned my fall. After we sat and cried, I left the room and for the first time in months felt freedom.  My heart was relieved, as I fully felt ok to be broken.

Let me repeat: the physical is indicative of the spiritual.

My failure was painful. This cost more than a simple swallow of pride. I extended every ounce of energy into this monumental breakdown. My body revolted and the wound reverberated into every area of life. A visit to the doctor was just as revealing. He told me abruptly that he couldn't give me a pill for a lifestyle, and if I was trying to take my body past the point of its capabilities it would shut down. His diagnoses (not surprisingly) was that my adrenal glands were fatigued. I needed to make some radical lifestyle changes or there would be no healing of my ailments. I realized that my physical condition mirrored well the taxed state of my soul.

"It's ok to break, but it isn't ok to stay there."  -Matt Chandler.

As I took a look around at the aftermath of this failure, I realized that the very things I wanted to do most were the first things to go. My failure cost me my passions. This recognition hit me very hard. I retreated as, introverts are prone to do, and I faced off with my oldest foe: depression. But as all seasons change, so did this one. In the Spring, I felt the surge of new life and realized that I had to make a significant step.

Trust.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart,
    and do not lean on your own understanding.
In all your ways acknowledge him,
    and he will make straight your paths.
Be not wise in your own eyes;
     fear the Lord, and turn away from evil.
It will be healing to your flesh
    and refreshment to your bones. Proverbs 3:5-8 ESV

God woos. This is a repeating pattern in my life. As I was nursing my broken spirit and my bruised pride, he gently began what he is always best at: restoration. My passion was redeemed and I finally was able to face the depth of my failure. “Do not lean on your own understanding.” It is one thing to see that with your mind, it is an entirely other thing to actually live it with your heart. Like a bull in a china shop, I followed my instinct, relied heavily on my own understanding, and let my life become more about the doing and less about the being.

Redemption is a relationship.

It takes more than I possess to live out my calling. As I realized the loneliness of my failure, I found again the refreshing life that comes from the ache for my Savior. I began to dig into Scripture and pray that He would guide my steps and fashion my days. As I realized more and more what direction I wanted to take, I realized that only he could make it a reality.

When walking hand in hand with Jesus, the burden is light.

Suddenly, my life was simple. Though I am still battling with my health, I am no longer stressed by the "small stuff".  I trust implicitly that God will take me where I need to be. He has intricately juxtaposed my life with certainty. The act of living out the call he has placed on my life became so simplistic, I barely had to lift a finger. Through his guidance, I am now a paid intern at my church, through his leading I am now a business owner, through his softening I am getting paid to style hair and help others feel the inherent beauty that resides deep within. Through his guidance, the things that I am most passionate about are the not getting swept aside. God is using the past to redeem the future. None of this would have happened on my own accord and none of this would have happened if it were not for my failure.

Failure happens.

It is messy and painful. But as I stand amazed at the renewal of redemption, I realize that this failure was a tool for God's glory. I am honored to bear this scar on my heart; I am better for it. I pray that this broken moment would shine brightly of the exquisite nature of my Beloved. I pray that the scar of this failure would be an ever present reminder of how much I need him to survive. 

The Cost of the Artist

So you say you are an artist.

You CREATE.  Or was that REcreate?

There is nothing new under the sun.

True.

But still…

 

Is your art costing you ANYTHING at all?

 

Imagine with me for a moment at the dawn of time. Either you will believe this or you won't but at least follow my logic for a moment.

 

God.

Created.

 

Do you think that a being who is known as almighty, all-knowing, and present everywhere did not understand the cost of this creating?

 

Do you think he had no foreknowledge of the amount of pain and suffering that he HIMSELF would endure because of the story that would unfold?

 

God created the heavens and the earth, afterwards he looked out and called this creation good. He looked out at his creation and saw it not simply for what it was, but for what it was going to become.

 

Fallen.

Broken.

Void of goodness.

 

Yet he looked out and called it GOOD.

 

God cannot lie. It is outside of his nature.

When he calls something good, he means it.

 

Now back to you, the artist.

 

When was the last time your art cost you deeply?

 

When was the last time you stuck your neck out to CREATE? Not just another knockoff that others might enjoy, but something deeply transparent, something insanely different, something far from selling out?

 

I ask again, how much does your art cost you?

 

Are you willing to create something so magnificent that it may cause you pain?

Are you willing to pay the ultimate price as an artist? 

Or are you simply looking for the fame and glory?

 

If I were to look at companionship for a moment, and say that I was a gold digger looking to get married you would scoff. Because that is selfish. Marriage is not about what you can get out of a mate, but more so what you can give.

 

So it is with the creative soul. I can tell by your paintings, your stories, your poetry and your designs, when they cost you something deeply.

 

I can also tell when they don't.

 

How much are you willing to offer?

 

I ask again how much is your passion actually costing you?

Living Out Your Gifts

"We are all missionaries. Wherever we go, we either bring people nearer to Christ, or we repel them from Christ. I believe God that God made me for a purpose, but He also made me fast. When I run, I feel his pleasure."
Eric H. Liddel, Chariots of Fire

What are you an expert in? What is the thing that you do so well that you know you were made for it? What is your life bent around? What is that one thing you do that you feel Gods pleasure over you when you do it?

For me? Its bringing out the beautiful in others. What joy it brings me when I have the chance to help someone see something in themselves that they didn't know before. I was made for this. God gets excited when I am able to act out my calling. Now your turn.

What were you made to do?

How Can You Know?

Of Aslan in Prince Caspian: When all seems lost....

Peter: How can you know?

Lucy: What do you mean?

Peter: To have seen Him? I wish He had given me some sort of proof.

Lucy: Maybe we are the ones who need to prove ourselves to Him.

Tension. Introversion. Brokenness. Healing. Glory.

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The wealth of information at our fingertips is vast, yet no matter how hard we try, our ability to absorb it is weak.

 

Tension.

This is the state of existence that an introvert resides in. Tension, like a rubber band pulled taut. There is a consistent pull of her level of comprehension and normalcy at any given times. Some people think that the term introvert means that she doesn't like to interact with people, but this couldn't be farther from the truth; she longs to interact, she longs to embrace the exuberance of the people around her, she longs to belong in the social world.

 

The reality is though, that she sees the world through different eyes, and as such, she must live out her perception of it. Though you often will find her on the outskirts of a crowd, unable to reach out, there are times that she is able to mask it, temporarily of course. This dichotomy is deafening, defeating, differentiating, yet deliberate. You see, God made her this way, with forceful intention and descriptive creation. "I knit you together in your mother’s womb, carefully constructing the woman I want you to be" he says.

 

Perception. It is the way you see the world. This girl will always see more than necessary. She will stand at the concert taking in the music that overstimulates her ears, she will absorb the flashes of light, she will notice the irregular stance of the couple in front of her, she will notice the quality of the fabric that covers the skin of those around her. She hears the whispers and the mutterings of those around her. The lady across the room with the elegance of a monarch butterfly catches her eye, while another fellow introvert to the left of her shrugs off the caress of his girlfriend; his mind is overtaken also and that touch puts him over the edge. This girl catches every spilled drink, every odd look, and every thudded trip on the stairs next to her.

 

                                                                             

Overstimulation like a bad drug will run your mind, body, spirit, and emotions into the ground. An overdose of endorphins;  your body can't take it and shuts down as more stimuli is presented. Sometimes I wish that I could share the way I see the world with others, moments like these are too torturous to bear, and wouldn’t it help to have someone carry the burden? Tears well up as I write that last line. Yes, it would be nice, yet empathy can only go so far. The reality is that you can only understand what you yourself have discovered.

 

 

I try and compose my heart, but the rhythm of my day is beating down on me. Grind, settle, tamp, pull, froth, pour, flourish, repeat. There is simplicity to this monotony, yet the excessive babble of those around me crashes into my harmonious relationship with the espresso machine. The only way I am able to survive in the world of an extrovert, is through the rhythm of this complex process of extraction; making coffee soothes my mind.

 

Grind, babble, settle, yammer, tamp, gush, pull, yap, froth, yell, pour, sigh, flourish, marvel, repeat. What is it about this position where people feel the need to expose their souls and share their depths? I fail to see the similarities between me and the shrink, yet so it goes, an outpouring of the human condition with every drink made.

 

 

Stimulus can be addicting. As stated before the rush of endorphins to the adrenal glands is exhilarating. Addiction though, will kill you in the end. The overload to the system always comes at different times. I pull up to the gas station realizing my car is facing the wrong way, a simple problem with an easy solution, but not today. Today, I cannot fathom the intricacies of the geometric pattern it will take to get my car in the right lane, facing the right direction. I know I cannot see what I must do, but I try it anyway. More cars begin to fill the lines for the twelve pumps ahead, and my options for successful entry dissipate, seconds pass with the thud of blood rushing through my veins, my heart swells as the race to feed my brain oxygen ensues. My breath becomes shallow as the cars close in around me. I forcefully exclaim some profanity or another and then the torrent unleashes: “Why can I not do this?” “Why is this simple task so hard?” “What the hell is wrong with me?!” I finally admit defeat as I almost back into another car, my heart is thudding so loudly it leaves little room in my body for anything but forceful motion of the blood pumping thruough extremities.

 

Overstimulation should be fair reason to take ones license away. When your body tenses through the climax, the remaining reality of claustrophobia ensues. As your brain shuts out all excessive provocations, the natural state of  seeing everything becomes an oppressive reality. In protection your body gives you tunnel vision, your hearing goes dim, and forward momentum becomes as difficult. It’s as if you are suddenly swimming through Karo syrup. Everything goes eerily far away, yet the dimmed perceptions only mask. Your mind knows it is being tricked. Subtle reality check ensues and a crash of mental acuity begins. The world is closer than I perceive it, and in a flash all deceptions fade away, the reality left behind is stark and closer than my skin. The  protective haze is gone and the world is so present. I cave in and simply want to sleep, this caustic moment must decease!

 

 

Pull over, shut your eyes, breathe deeply, sense nothing. As if you could separate the heat from the flame, the logic of this notion compels you to scoff at the very nature of your predicament, but you must try. “Lord help me!” Breathe. “Become the peace you promise me!” Breathe. “Be with me in this moment of suffering!” Breathe. “God let this cup pass!” I selfishly cry. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. In Out. Deeply the rhythm once again calms my soul. “Ok, Lord if you ask me to suffer this way, then I ask that your glory shine brightly through it. Take this heartache and use it for your fame.” Breathe, deeper in my core with each gasp, closer to the nature of my being with each exhaustive exhale. They say that Yahweh literally means breath. Every deeper grasp of oxygen I take, draws in the essence of the Divine. Even in this broken moment God is significantly present. As I push away from the world around me, I settle in the deeper understanding of why God made this broken reactionary trail that leads me straight into the arms of my Savior.

 

 

I cannot love God rightly. I have no capacity for the fullness this requires. I have no capability to see him in the strange extraordinary places. In my dim understanding, I love him as I must, but in these terrifying moments of human brokenness, I love him as I am. God goes out of his way to woo me, and this is why I would never ask for a more sympathetic understanding. God fully knows me in the darkest places of my soul, he transcends all understanding and reality to paint the canvas of my life with the enormous reality of his love. Broken I may be, that Christ, be the glory that shines in my healing is his and his alone.

Learning to Love

"My beloved speaks and says to me:
'Arise, my love, my beautiful one,
   and come away,
for behold, the winter is past;
   the rain is over and gone.
The flowers appear on the earth,
   the time of singing has come"'
Song of Songs 2:10-13

All that I am, every facet of my being, every stirring of my soul, is swept up in the most romantic love story. I am bound by this love, rooted by this love, and established by this love. All that I gain, all that I do, all that I accomplish, is for my beloved. For the glory and fame of the One that I love. I am swept away by the absolute  grace that frees me daily. Thankful for the opportunity to live redeemed. Not perfect, but saved nonetheless. How can I respond in any other way than deep, eternal, intrinsic, love? This is truly a divine romance, and I am simply captivated. 

 

Intellegence Rarely Comes From Knowledge...

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Leadership:

"Although he received only an elementary level of formal education, Charlemagne possessed considerable native intelligence, intellectual curiosity, a willingness to learn from others, and religious sensibility—all attributes which allowed him to comprehend the forces that were reshaping the world about him. These facets of his persona combined to make him a figure worthy of respect, loyalty, and affection; he was a leader capable of making informed decisions, willing to act on those decisions, and skilled at persuading others to follow him."

- Charlemagne. (2012). In Encyclopædia Britannica. Retrieved from http://ezproxy.ccu.edu:2059/EBchecked/topic/106546/Charlemagne

 

"And my prayer for you is that your love may abound more and more, with knowledge and all discernment."

Phillipians 1:9