With wings to "GO"

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I recently went away on vacation with a very specific prayer request...

"Direction and a road map, please God." 

That was my request. I had an intense desired for clarity that had grown over a period of months (perhaps years). The desire to have God provide clear direction had grown into a tumor of conviction that I could no longer run my fingers over and ignore. Had it been an actual tumor, it would have recognizable both by touch and by sight. And so I prayed. Fervently. As always, God delivered.

Just not in the way I had hoped.  

It happened while spending a wonderful week with my children at our favorite place on earth; Mount Hermon Christian Camp. Family camp looks different than it did 10 years ago when we attended for the first time that special summer. A decade of growth will do that. Instead of filling our free time with trips up and down the mountain to tackle all the activities the camp had to offer, the kids set out on their own. Their need to involve me in every one of their activities had faded and was replaced with fearless, adolescent independence. This left me with some very wide open space in my days. 

I was blessed to be able to invest part of this time with my daughter, who was spending the summer at the camp as a camp counselor. The other time, however, was empty. I think it's a pretty common, human thing to try and fill voids with busy activities when it comes to vacant time. In past years, I might have been inclined to do so. Mount Hermon offers a variety of options, extending from arts & crafts to archery to a ropes course that sits 80 feet above the ground in the redwood trees and culminates in a double zip line that brings you, gently, back down to earth. Any of these activities would have easily (and gratifyingly) filled the empty time that I was confronted with.

But this year was different. 

And here's where I get honest....

I didn't seek out to "spend time with God"...necessarily. Instead, I allowed myself to just "be". No agenda. No official plans. Sometimes, this meant reading. Sometimes, it meant taking a nap. Sometimes, it meant having a phone conversation with a new friend. Sometimes, it meant coloring on the grass in front of the field house, Other times, it included walking around the campus with no real destination in mind and simply taking in the beauty that comes with the Santa Cruz mountains (this particular option could have filled every second of empty space...and beautifully!). And like He promises...

God met me there.

In each and every one of those places. He didn't choose the most majestic spot or wait for the most prepared time and space. He simply met me where I was. And the result of our time together was that by the end of the week, I had an answer to my prayer. 

Well....at least part of it. 

You see, my prayer was two-fold; (1) "What are you calling me to do?" (direction) and (2) "What is that going to look like?" (roadmap).

Funny thing is, God only chose to answer ONE.

Hearing an answer to my prayer didn't involve one of those moments where I heard an audible voice and I can't describe to you the moment I knew God was "speaking" to me. If I had to explain it in words, it was more like a CLARITY.

By the end of the week, I KNEW. 

I knew what He was calling me to do. And even more than that, I had KNOWN. God simply reminded me of something I had already heard. And his reminder was loud and clear. Because I was open to listening (which is one step beyond simply 'hearing'), I couldn't ignore it. 

"GO." 

That was the direction. 

Now what I need to elaborate on, is that the tug-of-war I had been having with God pertained to my job. Specifically, the admin part of my job, which makes up half of my full-time job, with youth ministry filling the other half (plus). I had been struggling with some things regarding my admin role for quite some time. I would like to look back and say that I had really handed my concerns completely over to God, but this wasn't the case.

You see, I was holding out for the road map.

Direction, followed by explicit instructions of what to do next. It made perfect sense to me and I wasn't going to move until I KNEW that I KNEW that I KNEW where (and how) God wanted me to move. My first mistake was in holding onto the idea that His calling is always accompanied by a road map.

Silly me. 

So, as you might be able to imagine, here's where it gets interesting. The clarity that I heard loud and clear was this...

"Go. Leave your office job. It's time."

What I didn't hear was the "how". What was this going to look like, God? Do I quit my job completely? Just give up half my job? (Side note: I didn't hear God asking me to leave my youth ministry job) Was this going to involve me needing to get a second job to supplement my income? How would we transition someone into the admin position? Would I leave my office? Work from home? 

"What is this going to look like, God? What's next?"...

Zero. Zip. Zilch.

Nada. 

I got nothing. No road map with a red pen marking the path from point A to point B. No GPS with several different travel options and an audible voice that reminds you of any directional changes and warns of any road delays. Not even a "miles to go" sign, like the kind you see on your way to a destination that serves as a countdown clock for how many miles you have before you arrive.

All I got was an exit sign. That's it. 

Thanks, God. 

Thankfully, the fact that I had clarity was the deal breaker (or the deal MAKER, you might say). I knew what God was calling me to do, I just didn't have the map to back it up. This could have been where I settled back into my comfort (again) and waited for God to present the map.

"I can't move until I know where I'm going, God." 

That would have been logical. Right? 

Unfortunately, this time I knew better. I knew that not having the map was part of the relationship. That God was asking me to trust Him...without knowing the "how".

[Side note for my Youth Group peeps: This is where I say, "Yes, Jesus, I trust you...but why don't you tell me what you're going to do and THEN I'll do it...What are you going to do...run around and catch me? Poof! There's a bed!" ;-) ]

This blank-canvas scenario takes on quite a special challenge when you try and explain it to other people.

"What's your plan?"

"Um...I don't have one." (Try telling THAT to your friends and family!)

I have four possible scenarios in my head, one of which encapsulates anything that is outside my realm of imagination, I consider this the "God-margin". This open space keeps me from grabbing a hold of the steering wheel too tightly. Loose enough for God to reach His hand over and turn the wheel, if need be.

I have full confidence that God has got this (I don't think I could have said this a few years ago). I think this kind of confidence...the kind of confidence that knows that He will not forsake us...is key in our relationship with Him. 

You see...He could have spelled it out for me. He could have given me all the instructions I was asking for (the map, the GPS, the sign...the whole sha-bang), but my trust would have been wrapped up in the predictability of the OUTCOME and not in HIM. My action would have been based on what I could SEE, instead of on what I could NOT.

Instead of a step of FAITH, it would have become a step of REASON.

When we hand over our trust to another person, it's the vulnerability and risk involved that makes it such an important bonding opportunity. When it happens, it's divine. But remove those two things and trust vanishes like disappearing ink during a magic act. 

So this is where I take a slight rabbit trail and address a related word...

Obedience.

Like so many other words, I believe it's gotten a bad rap (perhaps you had a visceral reaction just reading the word). Sent to the principal office one too many times for causing a scene or picking on someone, the word "obedience" isn't put into the same category as honor, respect, and love. It has, instead, become a word that authoritative parents use to get their children "behave" in a particular way and with very little freedom for the child to choose a different option. Mix this with selfish parental motives and you've created a toxic combination that turns the word into a perverted, unrecognizable counterpart.

But here's the thing, when we remove all the negative connotations of the word, true obedience comes down to one thing... 

TRUST. 

As a parent, I want my children to trust me. It's important to the relationship. Truth is, I didn't get this until I became a parent. There have often been (as I'm sure there will be many more) times when my children have not known the entire situation and I've essentially asked them to "obey" (often using a different word to avoid preconceived notions about what this means) without understanding every detail. I ask them to trust me. And their ability to do that is, perhaps, the greatest pathway (or biggest barrier) in actually moving forward. Not unlike the scenario I spoke of in my recent blog regarding the relationship between a parent and child while attempting to remove a splinter from a finger, trust is an underlying factor in every relationship.  

If we believe that God created the heavens and the earth, can we also allow ourselves to consider that we just might not know it all (or NEED to know it all)? Can we consider that there are things that He sees that we cannot? And that HIS thoughts are higher than OUR thoughts? With all this, it makes sense that we also, then, acknowledge that HE knows the path. HE knows the destination. And if/when we trust Him, HE will show us the way.

Take the lead, Lord, and I will follow. 

I've come to understand that obedience is simply a word that describes our action-oriented response following a specific request.

And our trust in the "requester" has everything to do with our response.

When I returned from my vacation, I knew what I needed to do. I was ready to trust God with an aspect of my life that I had not previously released to Him. I cannot begin to explain the freedom I experienced, once I spoke the words "I will be stepping away from my office job". The following Sunday, I worshiped more freely than I had every worshiped in my entire life, in spite of being in a predicament that would logically create anxiety and fear regarding my future.

I'm fully convinced that the freedom was directly related to my obedience...my trust in Him...manifested. 

Now don't get me wrong, there are a number of things that I love about my job. There are things I'm going to miss. There are aspects of it I know I am good at completing and could sit comfortably doing for quite some time. There is a convenience (and personal confidence) that I know I will be walking away from. Couple this with the (possible) fear of the unknown, and you could come up with a number of reasons why moving from the chair onto the dance floor is too risky. Believe me, I had a list. And I used it to justify not moving for a very long time.

Letting go of the grip on life can be a challenge (specifically for a strong-minded, independent woman who has been single for over a decade!). But knowing that God has called me onto the dance floor...that He is gently and graciously extending His hand to me in an offer to lead...makes all those excuses seem rather trivial. And with a gentle, yet very specific pull of his other hand, which has been precisely placed on my lower back, I believe that He is requesting that I take the next (slightly larger) step of faith in my dance with Him. A step that requires me to get up out of the office chair and allow myself to be replanted. Replanted to a place with (temporarily) unknown demographics.

I believe that the last few years has been a time of pruning and preparing. Of confidence and trust-building. Of feeding and nourishing. As cliche as it sounds, I believe that He has been preparing me to fly. Strengthening my wins. And every bird that has conquered that first flight will tell you that the initial trust fall is worth it. Of this I'm confident.

The truth is, the flight isn't scary when you personally - and intimately - know the one who designed your wings.

Childlike splinters

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For those living in particular areas of the country, the changing of the seasons brings forth a change in wardrobe and recreation. For many, the seasons of spring and summer present a lovely opportunity to step outside and take in all that the warmer weather carries in its bountiful basket. Pants are replaced with shorts. Sweatshirts are replaced tank tops. Boots are replaced with flip flops.

My children are older now, but the memories of traveling to the nearby playground when they were little are colorfully vivid. In our home town, the most popular playground, without contest, is one located just off the main road that dissects the town into two fairly equal halves. The playground features a large wood structure with ramps and hanging bars and swings and slides. In this space, it's easy for the untainted spirit of a child to transform the equipment into a giant pirate ship and brave the storms, or race around the structure like an Olympic obstacle course, or challenge each other to a game of ultimate hide-and-go-seek. It's all enjoyable...

until someone gets a splinter.

The drawbacks of a wooden structure, I guess. It's inevitable.

So here's where I admit that removing splinters brings me great joy. I'm not sure there's anything that comes close, as a parent, to being able to remedy an otherwise painful ailment for my children without the risk of spoiling a life lesson. While carefully walking the tightrope of allowing our children to learn from difficult life experiences without constantly trying to shield them from pain is a skill I believe we should practice daily, splinters are something entirely different. There is no purpose for them to sit and fester (apart from a useful metaphor, perhaps).

Removing the splinter resolves the issue. Done. Taken care of.

It doesn't matter the number of times one of my children has had a splinter removed, the reaction tends to be the same. The child gives me their hand and points to the location of the splinter. I pick up the tweezers and move towards it, ready to conquer and save the day. Then, in anticipation of the pain that's to come, the child pulls their hand back in objection. For a moment, the pain is not worth removing the splinter. I have, on several occasions, had a child try and convince me it would be better just to leave it in.

If only they knew.

I had a splinter once that did not get removed. It was painful at first and then, eventually, the pain subsided. I thought it was gone. Perhaps it remedied itself. Perhaps it somehow disintegrated into my skin (my belief in the complexity and power of the human body backs up this argument quite justifiably). Whatever the case, I was relieved. It appeared to be gone. Then, one day, I realized that the skin around the splinter was sensitive to the touch. When I examined the area, I noticed it was red and slightly swollen.

It was festering. And my body was doing what it was created to do....

Get. It. Out.

It didn't belong, and my body knew that. The festering process is not pretty and it is definitely not void of pain. If only I could go back and have the splinter removed before the area around it got infected.

So where am I going with all of this?

I believe that there are times when God is wanting to tend to something....to remove a splinter in our lives (a pruning process, of sorts)...and, not unlike a hesitant (albeit naive) child, we pull back in anticipation of the pain. Perhaps we even begin by offering it to God, but as we get closer to Him actually dealing with it, the reality hits us and the benefits do not seem to outweigh the consequences. Not worth the risk. Leave it.

It'll take care of itself.

Pruning is a tough thing. We typically respond in three ways when confronted with it; (1) participate in the pruning process and allow God to remove what is not serving us, (2) tell God that it really isn't that big of a deal and that we are fine ("It's OK...really."), or (3) completely avoid the situation altogether (I know a little bit about denial. He was my roommate for many years.). The avoidance is usually associated with a temporary pain or tension that we cannot justify. 

We cannot see the fruition.

The concept of biblical pruning is a beautiful metaphor, with the principal being that the branches bearing fruit will become "even more fruitful" once the fruit-less branches (ie: sin) are pruned back (John 15:2). I experienced this first-hand, when I was given the responsibility, along with the proper training, to prune my mother's rose bushes. There is a precise process. And when done right, the fruit (flowers) are glorious! And while we aren't talking about literal fruit, spiritual fruit is even more gloriously delicious. Who doesn't want to be more loving, more joyful, more peaceful, more patient, more kind, more good, more faithful, more gentle, and have more self-control? (If you don't, well...I might just be wasting your time.)

I'm a processor. Perhaps you're not (if not, feel free to skip the next couple of paragraphs).

I've always been slightly hesitant to answer too quickly. It's what makes casual social gatherings quite challenging for me. I'm not sure when this started or whether it's always been a part of my genetic make-up, but for processors like me, quick answers can be a red flag. Not unlike the "How are you?"-"Fine, thanks" dance that we participate in on a daily basis, I have a number of them that I default to during conversations (and am disgusted with, after I allow them to exit my mouth).

The concept of short answers in church is pretty prevalent. In our high school ministry, we call these "cookie cutter answers". The principal of this, is that our answer comes out of our mouth before we've even given pause to the question, or more importantly...before we've allowed ourselves to stew in the tension long enough for it to travel to our heart and truly convict us. While the typical church cookie cutter answers are one word ("Jesus", "God", "love"), they're not restricted to that. They can be several words. They can even be a few sentences long. This can be even more problematic for us than the short answers, because it gives the impression of deep thought (to others AND to ourselves). It's less obvious that it's a cut-out and, therefore, easier to believe that heart penetration has happened.

Tension averted. 

I'm not sure there's anyone who really enjoys this kind of tension (perhaps there is, but for the sake of this argument I'm going with this assumption). We typically want to avoid it. I could include a list of things that, over the years, I've pulled my hand back in protest, rather than allowing God to tend to. I believe that often times, what we miss, is the opportunity for something to travel from our head to our heart. 

18 inches. 

Not terribly long, as far as length goes. But the magnitude of this journey is profound. Life-altering. More importantly, heart altering (which leads to fruit-bearing). Ironically, the answers we come to often come back to those cookie cutters... "Jesus", "God", "Love" ...but I believe how we get to these answers is really what is important. Without the process...the stewing...the penetration...the conviction...they are just words. Words that look good on a wall plaque, or on a bumper sticker, or tattooed on a shoulder (just slightly out of sight, perhaps)...and nothing else.

Have you ever thought you learned a lesson, only to repeat the same thing a month, year, or decade down the road? I believe this can be accredited to an unfinished journey from the head to the heart. Perhaps the conviction traveled a few inches. Perhaps it even made it a full foot. Long enough to convince you that your heart had been penetrated, even. But our repetition of life lessons - those things that keep popping up in spite of our desire for them to just go away - would suggest that the cycle was never truly completed. And I'm convinced it's directly related to our ability (or inability, rather) to sit in the tension and deal with the pain...for a moment...as our Father gently exposes the sin and removes the splinter from our lives.

As a parent, I don't desire to remove the splinter from my child for my own selfish reward. Sure, I admitted that I enjoy it, but the premise of that joy comes from knowing that I have the knowledge and power to remove something that is causing my child pain...even if it means causing discomfort to them for a moment.

And I relentlessly persist in removing the splinter because...watching them in unnecessary pain is painful.

I persist because...I know better than they do, in the moment.

I persist because...I love my child. 

And all my child has to do is give me their hand.    

No Longer a Slave

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Fear. 

Fear is a big topic with me. I could probably write a book on the subject (the length of this blog will speak to this). Perhaps, one day I will. 

Unless fear gets a hold of me first.

Fear is an interesting fella. We welcome him into our lives as though he is some sort of authorized guard in a bullet proof vest, sent to protect us from harm. Armed with defense tools, training credentials in hand, and dressed to impress. While standing at attention, fear protects us. He keeps at a distance those things that would violate our boundaries, threaten our loved ones, and cause us pain.

Right?...

Oh, sweet friend, no.

We've got it oh, so wrong. And it's costing us greatly.

Fear is a thief in guard's clothing. And his credentials are lies. He manages to steal from us before we realize we have anything to take. And he does it with our permission. In fact, we employ him.  

I remember the first time I realized how manipulative fear was. I cannot tell you where I was or what I was doing. I only remember the clarity with which I was given. I remember identifying his ability to get us to take our eyes off of what was important, as if he held the remote control to our corneas. And he does it nobly. With justice on his sleeve and a badge of honor on his chest, as proof of the recognition he's received for past triumphs. He gets us to believe that our safety is when we are positioned behind him. And he offers his protection free of charge. 

How lucky for us. 

In Priscilla Shirer's book "One in a Million" (a Bible study that helped to radically challenge my faith), she describes an intimate scene outside a circus tent, where an elephant is tied to a pole with a single-link chain and two metal bolts. Out of the mouths of babes comes this pair of questions...

"Why doesn't he just escape? Doesn't he know he's strong enough to break the chain?"

If only.

You see, elephants are trained at an early age to not recognize their strength. By chaining elephants when they aren't strong enough to break the chain, it guarantees their captivity for life because they never come to realize that they have the power to actually set themselves free.

I believe the same is true about fear.

We learn early that fear has the ability to keep us from harm. We teach our children to fear things, with the confidence that we are training them to live long, safe lives. A busy street. A fire. A balcony. A sharp object. A dark alley. A stranger. Climbing on a roof. Playgrounds. Riding a bike (seriously...don't get me started). The list goes on and on. And when fear does his job, the list grows...beyond the realm of logical cautiousness...and becomes a never-ending scroll, like the music sheet inside a player piano.

When the list has no boundaries and can instantly be triggered simply by a media story, he knows he has done his job.

Like the chain around the elephant's ankle, fear grips us. Traps us. Holds us captive. We go from employer to slave in 2.5 seconds. Worse than this is the fact that we can live this way without even realizing we are trapped. It becomes our normal state. Denial. A false safety. I'll even go as far as to say that we are comfortable there.

We like it.

Fear doesn't have a physical hold on us, but the subconscious hold it has is far more dangerous.

From an early age, we've been taught that fear is a red flag that we should pay attention to. Easy enough to spot, once you get the hang of it. Then, every once in a while, we encounter someone who appears to have missed the warning. They move in spite of the red flag. Ignoring it, almost. Perhaps they are color blind. Did they think it was green?! Why aren't they taking proper precautions?!

What we fail to realize is that what we are witnessing is a person living without fear. It looks a little alien. Abnormal. Strange. 

"We aren't meant to live vicariously through the lives of others, but sometimes someone else's experience is the aroma that draws us to the table of life, so that we may experience the feast for ourselves." (I'm quoting myself)

This is something I came to realize a few years ago, as I witnessed my daughter take some major steps of faith towards her future...unaware of what, exactly, it was going to look like.

I beamed (as her mama).

I yearned (as a sister in Christ).

I cheered (as a lover of God).

It was glorious.  

Watching someone live fearlessly can be an aroma. As lovely as this sounds, the opposite can also be true. When we smell the aroma of fear, it can draw us to the table. Only instead of a table strewn with plates of delicatessens fit for a king and practically stacked to the ceiling, this table features a bounty of smelly, moldy leftovers.

Not the feast God intended us to partake in, sweet friends.

It's a trap. One that swallows our dreams, our hopes, and - ultimately - our purpose. 

Perhaps you've heard that there are 365 times in the Bible - one for each day of the year - where God addresses the topic and tells us to "fear not". From encouraging to commanding. While there is a bit of controversy over whether or not there are actually 365, the argument is moot. The reality is, you can cut the number in half and it still makes a good case for us to take the "fear not" words seriously. So what does "fear not" look like? I'm not an expert, but I can share with you a connection that I made recently.  

As with everything that comes out of this cavern brain of mine, there is a bit of a backstory... 

During a Wednesday evening lesson with a group of high school students, we were discussing the fear of God. Specifically, this..."The fear of God is the beginning of wisdom." Wisdom is something I think we can all agree we would like more of (or NEED more of, however you'd like to spin it). So if it begins with fearing God, what does that look like? I've heard some refer to fear as a "reverence" and as sound as this theology might be, I'm not shying away from the word "fear" for this discussion. We are going to stew in it for a moment. 

Fear God. 

If this statement causes some visceral reactions inside of you, you're not alone. That night, we were uncomfortable. Stirring in our seats. At one point, one of the students exclaimed, "This hurts my head" (I think the challenge to fear God and love God simultaneously was part of it).

If you really want to get an idea of what we sat in that night, you may want to pause and read some of these; Proverbs 1:7, Proverbs 8:13, Ecclesiastes 12:13, Proverbs 14:26, Job 28:28, Proverbs 14:27, Proverbs 3:7, Psalm 111:10, Psalm 34:9.

So now that you've (hopefully) stewed in it a bit, let's move to the next step. Here's where it gets complicated...or clear, rather (depending on your perspective)...

For some people, the idea of fearing God is one of the factors that keeps them from God. It's too hard to accept that there is a God that created all things and is asking that we fear Him...like some attention-driven, power-hungry mongrel. The sad thing is, they're missing the most important piece. It's a flipping upside-down tactic that Jesus was so good at. Perfect, in fact.

He mastered it.

The ability to take something sound and flip it on its head, while making the other side equally sound,  is perhaps one of the most beautiful things to me about Jesus' teachings. So here it is...

The fear of God is PRECISELY what allows us NOT to fear.

Are you with me? Did you hear that?

Perhaps God knew that in order for us to "not fear", we would need assurance. Someone to trust. Unfortunately, we're fearing the wrong thing. The fear that we are inclined to trust with our safety...that guard...is God. He is the one with the power to protect. The only one with the credentials. The other is a shady impersonator. And it is when our fear is properly aligned that we get to live a life without fear. When we grasp how big...how deep...how wide God's love is for us, alongside the fact that He is all-powerful, all-knowing, ever-present ....that is where we can rest....fearlessly. It's perhaps one of the greatest paradigm shifts that God invites us into.

"So do not be afraid. I am with you. Do not be terrified. I am your God. I will make you strong and help you. I will hold you safe in my hands. I always do what is right." Isaiah 41:10

It's as though God is saying, "Fear me....now go live...fearlessly." It's like we can't have one without the other.

"Don't worry. I've got this." (Can you hear Him saying this?!) As a parent, I can relate to this. I have, on many occasions, asked my children to trust me. Don't worry. I've got this. Go play. In order for my children to feel the freedom I'm encouraging them to experience, they have to trust me first. They have to understand the power in what I am offering.

Personally, I believe that in order to "go play", we have to address (and even visit) the past. Any suggestion that we have to avoid the past in order to move forward makes me want to take the "Put your past behind you" plaque and throw it on the ground, smashing it to pieces (it's a thing with me). Sure. We are moving forward. No looking in the rear-view mirror...right? But sometimes confronting the past is the fuel we need in order to move forward. Sometimes, the healing is in the past. Sometimes, epiphanies are there. Sometimes...the beauty is there. In the backstory. The reality is, the past can bring about regret. And truth be told, we'd prefer to avoid this topic.  

"Fear is a thief. It robbed Peter of a perfectly good walk on water, & kept the other eleven in the boat." -Bill Johnson 

I wonder if Peter and the other disciples experienced regret. Regret not moving. Regret not trusting. Not believing. When I rest in this for a moment, it stirs me to confront fear head-on. Fists up. It's an ugly MMA fight, at times, with hair flying and blood splattering up against the cage. Not pretty. But in my core, I know it's worth it. 

For me, regret is the price that fear has cost me (and he told me it would be free...pffft).  

There's a wonderful video that sheds light on regret. While we might typically think that regret has more to do with things we wish we HADN'T done, the experiment demonstrates that the opposite just might be true. That our true regret lies deep within the things we wish we HAD done.

I'm convinced fear plays the leading role in this scene. Masked, perhaps, but he's there. Impersonating a hero, I'm sure. And his influence is evident when we pause for a moment to take a look back.

"If I had not allowed fear in...."

• I would have gotten out of the house more
• I would have apologized more
• I would have stepped into that relationship
• I would have stepped out of that relationship 
• I would have talked to my children more about our brokenness
• I would have taken that trip
• I would have gotten into the pit with my friend
• I would have gone back to school
• I would have opened my heart
• I would have let go of my grip
• I would have started writing

Sometimes fighting fear involves identifying the thief and then crossing out his lies, one at a time. And starting a new list...

"Because I choose to fear God and rest in His assurance..."

• I am no longer a slave

The Love Antidote

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Destination.

What do you think of when you see that word? What images or words come to mind? Perhaps you envision a vacation of some sort. Perhaps, an attainment of a goal. Or the end of a race.

"Arriving" can be a wonderful thing. I don't think there's anything wrong with the word, per-se. Until we use it in conjunction with a relationship. For whatever reason, when it comes to a relationship between two people, we tend to make the mistake of setting a marker. A point to be reached.

A destination.

One of two major relationship markers I've witnessed (the other being marriage) is when we acknowledge that we "love" another person, with the "falling in love" sentiment describing the period of time leading up to this point.

It's out of the bag. It's been said. Destination: Arrived.

On one hand, hearing the sentiment expressed to you by another person can be exciting. Heart-warming. Comforting. Overwhelming. Stimulating. There are a number of adjectives that could be used to describe the reaction one might have when hearing someone express this to you for the first time. But what does it portray when we've viewed it as a place where we "arrive"?

End of the road. Travel complete. Goal achieved.

If I'm being honest, these words don't really entice me when it comes to being in a relationship. I'm half expecting an "It's all downhill from here" joke, followed by uncomfortable laughter. The kind where someone laughs because they know something you do not (pointing fingers is optional, but also appropriate). A serenade of "Welcome to the Jungle" as comedian Tim Hawkins would sing it, followed by a maniacal laugh.

Count me out. (Perhaps it's why I've been single for over a decade. I'll process this some other time.)

I'm an idealist and a dreamer. There, I've said it. "My name is Mindy and I'm a dreamy idealist". An INFP, if you're a Myers-Briggs fan. Feel free to leave me the information for a recovery group in the comment section below. Better yet, mail it to me on a personal note, tucked inside a copy (preferably a first edition) of Thomas More's "Utopia".

The reality is, I've come to terms with it (yes...along with acknowledging the consequences). I will even go one step further and say that I'm proud of it. My favorite compliment to date is one of an in-your-face reality check wrapped in a metaphor suggesting I was under the influence of drugs...

"You're on crack".

Yep. To my face. You'd be mistaken if you thought I was offended. Quite the contrary. I'm content with my INFP status and everything that comes with that. So perhaps it won't surprise you when I share that this compliment was handed to me during a conversation about the topic of...nothing other than...LOVE. (Specifically, the power that it holds to fix the broken things of this world.)

If it's a drug that I'm on, let me have it. I am not interested in living any differently. The idea of falling in love is a sweet one. But when put into the context that it somehow ends when we use the "L" word, it loses it's zeal (shouldn't love, after all, always be zealous?!...). The idealistic dreamer part of me says that love should be something we "fall" into...indefinitely. An ongoing process. Something that, perhaps, starts with the sharing of the sentiment, but definitely wouldn't stop there.

A seed. A sprout. A beginning.

I've learned a lot by being single. I'm a watcher. And a listener. I even attended a couple's Bible study once, to try and glean from those who appeared to be making their relationship work. But I was also on the lookout for those who appeared to be newly in love, in spite of the longevity of their relationship. I was searching for God. A manifestation of His presence amidst the relationships. A sign of zeal.

If I were to label something as "divine" in all that I've witnessed (both in my personal experiences and watching the lives of others), it would be that valuable growth seems happens when we experience adversity together, ie: the "less ideal" circumstances of life. (For an identified idealist, this is a welcomed paradigm shift!). Perhaps the downhill mentality that we joke about - partially because we know it's true and partially because we are, perhaps, mourning the loss of what once was - comes from our failure to get this. From our inclination to ignore the confrontation and avoid adversity.

With all that we know about Jesus' upside-down teachings, it would make sense that love is crafted the same. Wouldn't it?! With the less-ideal actually becoming the ideal. If I'm going to stick with the "falling in love" statement, it may look a little something like this...

We fall into CHALLENGE...and grow more in love when we experience reconciliation.

We fall into HURT....and grow more in love when we experience forgiveness.

We fall into FEAR....and grow more in love when we experience trust.

We fall into VULNERABILITY...and grow more in love when we experience safety.

We fall into TRAGEDY..and grow more in love when we experience hope.

We fall into SIN...and grow more in love when we experience grace.

We fall into ______ ...and grow more in love when we experience _______.

You could put almost anything into this sentence and there will always be a "love antidote". Not an antidote to REMEDY love, but one where love IS the remedy. An antidote for any adverse situation two people may encounter. An antidote with the power to repair the broken, with flakes of gold (which mirrors the way God mends our brokenness). An antidote that allows individuals to walk head-on into the unknown in full confidence that they'll come out more loved - and more loving.

An antidote that intensifies and multiplies for as long as two people are willing to drink it.

Pass me the cup...