Intimacy, hijacked

I find myself struggling.

Some days I handle the pictures and posts well.
Other days, I'm left shaking my head.

Social media has done its work on me.  I realize the line between personal and public has so been eroded that the discernment is gone and every moment is fair game.

Intimacy: (noun)
1) the state of being intimate: Familiarity
2) something of a personal or private matter

For something to be personal or private - to me - means it is not put on display for tens or hundreds to see.  Yet, here's where the path turns:

We are so used to having tens or hundreds or even thousands of people know our business, that we now have to put on display the good, the bad and the ugly.  We thrive off the feedback, the "likes", the comments and opinions.

I'm not saying vulnerability or transparency is a bad thing.  Confessing our sin, our struggles, those days we can't get it together, is a good thing.  Sharing in our victories and successes make them so much sweeter.

But what is the good we are hoping will come out of it?  And if we haven't shared the highs and lows and everything in-between, does that mean we are really living life?

In the wake of her father's death, she says it well to the naysayers who didn't like how privately she lived:

I will be leaving this account for a bit while I heal and decide if I'll be deleting it or not," she wrote. "In this difficult time, please try to be respectful of the accounts of myself, my family and my friends. Mining our accounts for photos of dad, or judging me on the number of them is cruel and unnecessary. There are a couple throughout, but the real private moments I shared with him were precious, quiet, and believe it or not, not full of photos or 'selfies'. I shared him with a world where everyone was taking their photo with him, but I was lucky enough to spend time with him without cameras too. That was more than enough, and I'm grateful for what little time I had. My favorite photos of family are framed in my house, not posted on social media, and they 'll remain there. They would've wound up on the news or blogs then, and they certainly would now. That's not what I want for our memories together..."

Zelda Williams writes this of her time with her daddy, Robin Williams.

If her relationship is anything with him like mine was/is with my daddy these are some things they shared:  he's the first man that ever held open a door for her, took her on jet-ski rides and surprised her with Broadway tickets.  He was the loudest yeller at her basketball games (not necessarily a good thing), stayed up late when she had ear infections, bought her her first diamonds, and loves it when she calls him since distance makes personal visits few and far between.  She watched him battle through cancer and had painful discussions about what could happen. He has been at the birth of all four of her boys and he loves mailing them "treats" in the mail.

Those pictures, those memories, those conversations are  precious to me.  Those are discussions stored in my heart and pictures on the refrigerator.

They aren't posted all over social media and unless you've sat around my table, you won't know the depths of many things alluded to in many of my posts and pictures.  Because of the intimate nature of those those very things.

Unfortunately, I still struggle.  I find myself battling just being in the moment rather than posting about the moment.  Wanting to snap a picture and post it on Instagram rather than soak in the dinner with good friends gathered leaves me distracted.  In the end, I want to be fully here, rather than there -checking to seeing how many people like what I've shared - with those near and dear to my heart. Real, personal relationship rather than one filled with wires and screens.

What if, instead of trying to share all the intimate, personal details and make life look amazingly glossy, we simply did life with a handful of real lives.  People who are invested in us and walk with us and have seen us cry (not just read about it)?  People that bring you lunch just a few short hours after you arrived home from the hospital after your son fell from a tree?  Those that have seen you break down as you deal with sin and drop everything to bring you sweet tea?  A woman who knows you well from your foolish days and sits and stops conversation to simply pray and ask the Lord to restore?  A man, exhausted and weary from stressful days at work, that supports you and loves you and when you arrive home late from orientation, he cooks for you since you didn't have a chance to eat?  Kids that want nothing more than their mommy to stop doing and just sit so they can continue The Voyage of the Dawn Treader?  Family that comes and gathers round the table, sipping glasses of wine, and just talking about nothing in particular, just talking and enjoying the intimacy of being family?

This is life.  Lived out in breaths and actions and impatience and desire and awe and frustration and so many other things that could never be captured in an image or blog.  But I want to live it well, not have other people like it well.

I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.

John 10:10

Milestone

When we celebrated our first year of marriage, we were giddy and marveled over the fact that we had all ready been married one whole year.

We made grand plans for our tenth anniversary, wondering where we would be and what life would look like.

This day, this very moment, we celebrate that milestone.

Ten years has seen growth that I never imagined nor knew I needed.

A dear friend wisely told me you can't measure sanctification in days or weeks or even months, but rather years.

During this ten years, there has been the growth that is tangible, measurable - kids, jobs, moves, trips... ebenezers to mark the years passing and progressing.

Yet far more than what the eye can see, there has been the intangible.  Those things you can't put into words yet you know.

And how to express any of it, much less all of it?

He has loved me with a relentless love.  He has shown me unending grace.  He has been steadfast in pursuit of me, bearing with me in his quietly patient way.

He has let me struggle - he has let me push him away - and then gently pulled me in, wrapped his arms around me and prayed for me.

If ever there was a picture of Christ and his bride, it would be this husband to his wife.
I've learned he's not going anywhere.  I've learned nothing will come to light that will make him walk away.  I've learned his hope is in something far greater than me being a "good" wife and I need to walk in the freedom that allows me.

The struggles still come, some days harder than others.  But what I remember when the days are long and the enemy deceives is the grass is always greener on the other side but it's all in perspective, or rather, the filter that has been placed over it.

Those that have walked with us and know the hardships and successes and failures and fights and confessions and victories remind us that these ten years are but a picture of God's grace and mercy and the next ten will only bring so much more.

Amen.

Onward and Upward

These past weeks I was stuck - mired in the bog of shame and regret.
Sinking quick in the muck of sorrow and regret.

The sting of sin hit and I was left grasping the reality that the consequences for a hardened heart have a far-reaching effect... years later.

Here's what I learned:
Focusing on what is behind me leaves me in the past.

I hurt for what was instead of finding joy in what is.

My eyes become blind to the here and now and I simply can't see the goodnes of the Lord.

I found myself coming to Paul's idea in his letter to the church in Phillipi.  He had written to them while imprisoned, exhorting them to a deeper faith made manifest that was not based on their circumstances.

 "But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind

 and straining forward to what lies ahead. 

I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call

of God in Christ Jesus."

 (Phillipians 3:13-14)

Strive:
1) struggle
2) try hard

The NIV uses "strain."
Strain: to exert to the utmost

I'll be honest.
In my focusing on my "could have, should have, if only's" I was deep in darkness wondering, "how long, O Lord?"

How long until the hurt is gone?
How long until I see the goodness in this?
How long until the pain is not so bitter?

That part was easy.  There is not much exertion when it comes to wallowing in self-pity.

Where I struggled was turning my eyes outward instead of inward.  Finding joy in what I have instead of what I wanted took great strength.

But in fixing my eyes outward and forward and upward, I found the beauty of what Paul was conveying to his flock.

This life is but a breath.  One day I'll fade away and that will be it.
So why keep looking back on the brokenness and what lies in ruins?

I need to press onward, running headlong with abandonment into eternity.

Jesus is there.  And he has already cried, "It is finished."

Victory is mine.

An Unknown Doer

Sunday night found me breaking literal bread with a group of beautiful friends, doubled over with laughter as we played the most ridiculous game ever.  Ever.

Monday found me driving back to my old hometown to spend the night with a dear friend where time had passed too quickly in between visits.  We sat until 2:30 in the morning, sharing and laughing, confessing and encouraging.

Tuesday found me lakeside with a precious woman who has faith that puts me to shame and always spurs me on to live life now.

Wednesday found me back home, sitting with a woman and marching our way through Acts as we both learn.  Her hungry to learn more of God and me aching to just get more.

Community.  Fellowship.
And a complete accident.

As I've been wrestling these past couple of weeks with sin and regret, I've pleaded with the Lord to give me joy in the here and now.  Now.  With nothing changed and no promise that it will get better.

And true to form, he did.

Bittersweet, as I'm still wrestling.  As I'm fighting hard to not let my heart become so.  As I'm putting my nose to the grind and my hands to the wheel, determined to not give up on this race.

But he gave me a glimpse of what life is if I would stop focusing on what it isn't.

He alone has alotted my times and boundaries and seasons.
He alone is good and does good.
He alone is my Sustainer.

It has gotten me far more of him than I thought I could have right now.  It has had me far more joyful than I thought possible right now.

And for that, I lift my hands and give him back all that he has given.

Psalm

Psalm 3:3

 

But you, O Lord, are a shield about me,

my glory,

and the lifter of my head.

 

 

 

The Lord is my shield.

 

The Lord is my shield.

 

The Lord is my shield.

 

The Lord is my shield.

 

When my knees have been knocked out from under me.

When I can't seem to catch my breath.

When I literally can't fix what is broken...

I have only to be still.

 

 



Far Reaching

It hits hard.  Some days more than others.
The regrets.  The shame.  The "if only's."

Yesterday I felt the weight, the burden, the reality of sin.

The sting of sin.  The consequences of sin.  The fact that there are no do-overs. 
It had me on the floor, grieving in such a way I couldn't catch my breath.  The cry that you don't want anyone to see.

I sat in the reality that we sinned, regretted it, and still face the consequences years later.

We looked at each other this morning - one weary with crying and one just weary.

So many things, we said.  So many things that we wish could be undone.

And yet, they can't.  It has rightly been said, "It is what it is."

Yes and no.

It is what it is because of sin, because of the brokenness that has existed from the first disobedience.
It is not what it should be but shall one day be again.  Jesus comes back.

All ready he has risen victorious.  All ready he has defeated sin and the grave.

He has bore my shame and iniquity.

There are no do-overs in this thing called life.  That hurts more than you can imagine at this moment.

Yet, I have to put my focus on the Lord and speak his truth to my broken heart.

Psalm 119:68

For you, O God, are good and you do good.

Pain, Still

It's been 4 years.

4 years of grieving.
4 years of hurting.
4 years of much sorrow.

Mother's Day came and went with reminders of what has been taken.  What has been lost.

A season of sin led to a decision that has birthed many regrets.

Asked by our pastor - in the midst of teaching through Ephesians - what do we need to be reminded of that Jesus is over.

Ephesians 1:21 reads, "far above all rule and authority and power and dominion..."

He asked us to write down the words, "Jesus is over."

He then asked asked us to list underneath what it is we're struggling with and to see that Jesus is over it all.

I want to say I'm healed.  I want to say it doesn't affect me.
4 years is 4 years is 4 years and it's time to move on.

Yet...
Today, writing my list, good things, hard things and just plain painful things led me to write longing.

A longing that has not been realized and won't be realized.
A longing that is putting distance between the very relationship that needs healing.

I'm grateful that in the midst of the sorrow, there is joy.  Deep-rooted joy that is steadfast and unwavering.

Grateful that I have a high priest who sympathizes with me and gives me grace and mercy in my time of need.

Because, God knows, I am desperately needy.  And he alone can fill the need.

Hebrews 4:16

Since then we have a great high priest has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession.  For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin.  Let us then with confidence, draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.