Archive for » March, 2008 «

Mar
26

Tonight I stood among women, women who are gifted leaders in the Vineyard movement, and I felt honored.

How did I end up here? How did I land in this place? Looking back on the larger segments of my life, it is quite remarkable that I have come to find a home, a family within the Vineyard. And not just any Vineyard church (because I hate to break it to you; they are not all the same), but this Vineyard. This beloved home where I have such remarkable matriarchs that I look up to and receive blessing from. I grew up in the Foursquare movement, spent some time in a strange, not so theologically sound Pentecostal church in college, and then for whatever reason I picked Chicago to move to after college because Adey recommended Cheryll as one of the best therapists she knew. I was in search of a new church home where I could be cared for while I delved into old and locked places of myself that mostly related to my life growing up in my family. So I moved to Evanston, Illinois, not knowing a soul except that Cheryll was a good counselor and I stuck myself there. I originally thought I would be in Chicago for just a few years and then off I would go on my next big adventure, whatever that may be. But as most of you know, that was almost eight years ago and here I still stick.

So tonight, I was thoroughly delighted to hear women teach me some profound insights they have had over the past few years of searching out the topic of women in leadership. I have thought, processed, fought, read, studied this topic over the past 10 years and it is close to my heart. And I think I am even more passionate about than most because I have been “shhh’d” by one too many men thus locking up my voice, my potential and my power as women leader in the Kingdom. For awhile there, I would call myself (this is all in retrospect, of course) “an unhealed feminist”. Very edgy and angsty and it was a sheer justice issue for me.

Well, tonight. We talked of something different. A whole new paradigm for me to live under and out of and it so fits with the parts of my femininity I feel God has been healing and mending over the years. I also felt so darn blessed to be in on this watershed moment, as Cindy put it. I love being on the edge, the outskirts of God’s Kingdom advancing into new territory. I won’t get into the nitty-gritty of what was discussed and I am not sure if I have fully wrapped my mind around the core concept of what was being presented, but I do know this: I am on board.

When these women talk, I listen and vibrate. I sit there in my chair and say yes, yes, yes! It feels as if the things they speak have been woven into the core of me since I was in the womb. It is part of my make up as a human and a spiritual being. In the end, Cindy, in her tender maternal voice, shared with us what she was committing herself to and what the next steps would be and I could not contain myself—I just smiled and smiled and smiled and was on the verge of laughing aloud. My heart felt so full of joy and thanksgiving that Jesus would lead me here. To this place, to this church, to this group of people, to this room, to this conference. In awe of where I have come and thrilled about where I am going.

I love the Vineyard. I really do. I can never leave it because the longer I am in the more I am woven into it. And the best part of it that the longer I am in it and experiencing it changing and transforming as God moves his Kingdom forward, I myself am being transformed along with it. And like I said, I am on board. Fully on board.

Mar
25

Throughout the last few years of my journey of walking with Jesus, I have found myself in a constant state of searching. I can see myself at times with a flashlight in hand looking for Jesus. Walking through the misty woods of worship speaking in the little Audrey Anne voice, “Jesus, where are you?” I can feel a constant state of hunger and simply not having enough. Some days I look harder than others. Most days I lay the flashlight down and search for reassurance, comfort and love in other places. And that obviously leaves me more hungry.

I was reminded of a conference I went to years ago when I first moved to Chicago. It was the 25th anniversary of my church and they brought in some big dogs to preach and lead amazing worship. There was this one sermon that has stuck with me and flitters through my heart now and again. It was out of the Song of Songs and he poetically described what I find the chronic station of my heart.

All night long on my bed
I looked for the one my heart loves;
I looked for him but did not find him.

I will get up now and go about the city,
through its streets and squares;
I will search for the one my heart loves.
So I looked for him but did not find him.

The watchmen found me
as they made their rounds in the city.
“Have you seen the one my heart loves?”

Scarcely had I passed them
when I found the one my heart loves.
I held him and would not let him go
till I had brought him to my mother’s house,
to the room of the one who conceived me.

The searching, the aching, the wandering, the persistent looking, even the desperateness at times.

But the part that flitters through my heart is that finding part. She finds him and she doesn’t let him go. Clinging, clutching and holding tight. Don’t misunderstand me, I have encountered the one my heart loves in the midst of these years of searching. But it feels so far and between. I miss him. The way you miss an old friend. I encountered Jesus on a train a few months ago. It was a mind blowing encounter with him that left me dazed and dazzled with him. I could see him sitting before me in the seat in front of me, smiling like a kid, dazzled himself with the fact that he just gave me a gift and I didn’t know what to do with it but laugh, cry and say thanks with my big grin.

I was on the train again last night and part of me was hoping I would run into Jesus again. I even waited a good ten minutes waiting, looking, listening. “Jesus, where are you?” Part of what stirred this searching, besides just missing him, is that there is this huge, monumental conference coming up this week where women from all the Vineyards across the US are coming to our church to look for Jesus. And I really don’t want to miss out on this. But like I have been saying, I find myself in the dusk lit streets of life.

This morning, I quieted myself in my little closet designated for quietness, which sadly it feels like is only used every full moon. I suddenly remembered this song I stumbled upon by the David Crowder Band that is a simple instrumental song. It spoke to me. I grabbed my ipod and headed back upstairs to that quiet place and soaked in it over and over again. What I like about this song is that it is a musical illustration of what my heart feels like as the searcher. I can feel my heart taking steps forward, one in front of the other. Then the music blends and all of a sudden I feel as if I am not just moving forward but upward with rising intensity in my searching. Searching for the one my heart loves. The song draws to a close and the symbolism of the music gives me hope that him that I was searching for was found, at last, for this moment in time.

Take a listen if you like. This is the only link I could find, for it is an obscure song on their newest CD. Please, if you don’t mind, close your eyes and disregard the christianese plastered like horrible makeup all over this video. Trust me, close your eyes and just listen.

Take your flashlight in hand.

Mar
13

So most of you know I am a working mom. I juggle a lot of balls in the air and one of them is getting healthy meals on the table in time for Audrey Anne who starts to melt down like a nuclear power plant by 6pm if you don’t feed her. The evenings I have worked all day at the Kellogg, I try to think of things Ivan can get started or easy meals I can whip up right when I get home.

Tonight was the same as usual. Rushing to get out of the clinic. Quickly disconnect my regular Taxol lady by 5pm, swipe out, grab my many bags, get to my car and try to wager what is the quickest route home. I call Ivan to check in and make sure all in on schedule with dinner. Tonight I had asked him to put a lime/cilantro marinated turkey breast roast in the oven and cut up potatoes to be boiled for mashed potatoes.

I get home and the turkey has been sitting out of the oven for *awhile* looking processed and not so tasty (not Ivan’s fault by any means). And I go to put the potatoes in the pink kitchen aid mixer and they don’t feel right. Kind of slimy. I disregard this after asking Ivan in the other room, “Honey, did you put something in the potatoes?”, thinking maybe he added some *creative* ingredient, trying to help, of course. I plow ahead in my pioneer spirit determined to put a nutritious meal on the table for my family. I add sour cream, a little butter and mix it up. I go to the china cupboard and pull out some nice serving bowls for the potatoes and the asparagus I am steaming. I come back and attempt to put the potatoes in the bowl and it becomes very apparent that is something is very wrong.

I ask Ivan again, “Are you sure you didn’t add anything to these potatoes?” “No,” he says from the office. How long did you cook them? I don’t know; an hour, maybe. Oh dear. How long are you supposed to cook them? Till their soft—usually 10-15min.

He had turned the potatoes in to taffy. I am not joking. I took a spatula to them and they looked like the marshmallow in a jar stuff. What on earth? I just kept shaking my head in dismay and despair.

What am I going to feed my family?

It was the worst meal I have made in a long time and Ivan just kept laughing his funny, quiet chuckle. I was despondent. Remember, come Thursday, I have lost all ability to laugh at things such as this. Potatoes turned into taffy.

Ivan resorted to homemade bread for dinner. Audrey ate a few bites of the turkey which I found too salty and artificial tasting. And I ate a few spears of asparagus and huffed and puffed as I put a pathetic looking potato in the microwave.

So now I sit here in front of my bloggin’ computer and share with you my pathetic story of a meal of nasty turkey, taffy potatoes, and limp asparagus.
Off to go upstairs and drown my heart in another episode of LOST: my normal Thursday evening behavior.

Until tomorrow, when I awake and his mercies are new in the morning.

Mar
11

I think I almost died yesterday.

I signed up for a pilates class at my local YMCA thinking it would be a core strengthening, stretching, toning and maybe a little relaxation thrown in there sort of class. Nope. This class revealed I have absolutely not one abdominal muscle intact and available for use. Thus, I almost died. One full hour of seriously complicated positions and maneuvers that just about did me in. It was quite pathetic actually at a few points in the routine. We were doing this abdominal toning exercise where you go down from a sitting position in counts of 4, thus having perfect control with those previously mentioned abdominal muscles. And then you are supposed to come UP from a sitting position in counts of 4 and that is when I made a complete fool of myself. No, I didn’t fart. But I had to grab my legs to pull myself up. You see, one has gravity working with you on the count of 4 going down, but not when you are going up. So you can understand my mortification. And, of course, I was positioned in the front of the classroom so I could see the instructor so by the end of the class EVERYONE knew without a doubt I didn’t have one abdominal muscle. Sigh.

But I will be back! Yes, siree! I am determined to acquire at least one abdominal muscle. And next time I will sit in the back of the class.

© 2010 Strength and Beauty. All Rights Reserved. | Theme Provided by Best Wordpress Themes | Web Hosting