Strength and Beauty

We got home around 8:30pm and I went out to check the mail in the dusky neighborhood. Looked down and saw my very thirsty hydrangeas and looked further and saw my shriveling roses and looked even farther and saw the ground cracking under the blades of grass. It is dry. Turned the slow soaker hose on (so glad I put those in the front yard this year—thanks LoAnn for that suggestion years ago) and decided to meander through the cool grass and gaze at the dusky flowers. Picked a piece of lavender, a nice and full stalk of fuzzy purple blooms and here I hold it in my hand as a token of peace to my melancholy soul. The scent puts me at ease for some reason.

Today is my mother’s birthday—July 23rd! I am partial to the 23rd, for my birthday lands on it as well. It was my basketball jersey number in high school and well, it’s just a nice number. Upon leaving our meeting tonight, I used the restroom where they have very earthy scented soaps and lotions in there. In honor of my mom, I put on a generous amount of patchouli scented lotion as I left. Thinking about you, Ma, on a day I celebrate you being born.

Earlier this evening, we were driving down the Amstutz–a mini little expressway of sorts in Waukegan and North Chicago–and right before my eyes the SUV blazing ahead threw out of their window not just one piece of trash, but a whole handful of debris. What the hell is up with that? I wanted to get out of my car so badly at the next stop light, stomp up to their window and chew their ass out (I know…kind of bad ass living in the hood like of me), but who the hell taught them to do that? Who gave them the right to just throw their garbage out the window driving down the expressway? It is one thing to be walking down the street and see litter and choose to not pick it up. Or another thing to be getting out of your car and a gum wrapper sneaks out of your car as a gust of wind takes it away and you choose not to go chasing after it. But to purposefully say to yourself, “Um, I think I am done with this cheeseburger wrapper…um, I guess I will just pitch it out the window.” What the hell? Do I live among such hoodlums and riff raff that don’t give a rats ass about their neighborhood, their city, their world? Can you tell I have a little angst about this? The only reason I didn’t get out of my car at that stoplight is that it might be very likely they would have a gun in their car and would use it on me. Well, maybe not entirely likely, but possible. One of these days I will get out of my car…you just wait and see. Hurumph!

I spent another day trying to stay out of the politics of other peoples affairs at work. Does any one else find this hard to do? I am such a caretaker to a fault that I have this serious over-responsibility muscle (as my massage therapist likes to call it) and I feel a strong urge to take care of other people’s problems. I have to consciously keep my nose out and let them feel their own problems, stand up for themselves, hash out their own disputes, resolve their own conflicts. And some days I just feel dragged into it and have to consciously say, “NO! Mind your own business, Shanel. Look straight ahead, keep your mouth shut and do your work!” Kind of silly, but necessary. Even today, this one nurse tried dragging me into the affairs of another stressed out, can’t say no, in a tizzy sort of a nurse. She comes up to my desk where I am happily minding my own business and says, “Shanel, can I ask you a favor?” I look up at her, wary, “Sure.” She says in a whisper, “Could you offer to help Dory*? She seems overwhelmed.” I shake my head in unbelief. I won’t get into the rest of the story, but it proves to illustrate how easy my over-responsibility muscle gets flexed. [And a word to the wise, if you have one of these muscles, don't let the massage therapist apply any pressure to your armpits cuz that is where it is located.]

Audrey and I drove to school and to work this morning in the “new car”. It has a sunroof which was open considering it was an absolutely stunning morning. And AA was in awe every time she saw the moon. Well, she calls it “moona”–like she is some Italian or something. She pointed out moona at least 50 times driving to school. No exaggeration.

Lastly, I realized tonight some of why going to church is hard for me. I thought it had mostly to do with being reminded of all that I have lost in being a part of the Martens’ family. Seeing all the siblings and wives and little Elliott. Seeing dear LoAnn. Not seeing Roy. But I am recognizing that there are many more layers of the loss of family I am experiencing. Not just the Martens’; sure, that is the biggest sore spot right now. Being a part of the Martens’ used to be this thing people in our church held up as an honor, a coveted position, a family where people wanted to be included—and it was that. But that has changed and I feel pushed further to the edges of our church community because…well, I think a lot of it is people feel uncomfortable, like maybe they don’t know what to do with us or how to understand what has happened. This is not the point I am wanting to make; I feel myself digressing. The point I wanted to make is this: the other layers of losing family started before the uprooting of the great ol’ oak of the Martens’ tree. Before Audrey was born, I found myself pulling out and back, some out of necessity, some out of instinct (women do this right before they give birth) and then when she was finally born, out of self protection. And over time, with the birth of my daughter and the uprooting of this marvelous tree I have found myself on the outskirts of a family I so dearly treasured and loved belonging to, one where I felt myself gravitating to the center of. I have been propelling like a flywheel with all sorts of pain and grief to the outer corners of my church family. Tonight, I am simply feeling the multiple layers of loss of my church family. Just feeling it. Not trying to fix it, sort it, understand it. Just feeling it.

And lastly, the little things. Glad for sparkling water with a wedge of lime in a lovely glass.

Sweet dreams, little ones.

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.

I bet not many of you can say that.
Today, I did.

As I drove around the northwest outskirts of Chicago today, over rolling hills, through small woods, around scattered frozen lakes, I realized I like winter. I might even go as far to say, I love winter. There is a beauty to it that is often missed and simply overlooked.

I have discovered something quite curious. A trend, a pattern of sorts. For the past few years, I have begun to notice that my spiritual life deepens during the winter. Quite interesting, actually. When the buzz and chaos of the holidays is finally over and winter really begins to set in—I come alive! There must be a turning inward that happens, the way a pregnant woman or even dying man turns inward. Greater quietness, less interruption, increasing starkness. A bareness of sorts.

I feel myself opening up and pressing into something new with Jesus. And it is almost like he is breathing on me. That probably seems a little weird to a few of you. But I have felt like a frozen flower for some time, covered in snow. And his hot breath and warm hands are bringing me back. My color is breaking through the white packed snow. At the same time, I find that I need to be looking for Jesus in times like winter. Searching him out, keeping my eyes on the horizon for him.

Lately, I have been aware of some of the beauty of winter around me. The small iridescent blue berries in the evergreen bushes and the vibrant red berries hanging gracefully on the elegant rich brown branches of trees. I catch the intricacy and artwork in stunning snowflakes, a midimarvel. The bare black branches against the dusk sky. The slender trunks of elegant trees as I walk through the woods. The quietness of walking in snow, hush, hush. The color of the waters of the lake under a winter sky—teals, sea greens, aqua and grey mixed in every shade of blue. Root vegetables for supper. Homemade hot cocoa made with whole milk and dutched cocoa. The lovely shade of rose on a woman’s cheek after coming in from the cold air. Snow clumping to bushes, weighing them down. The sun setting at 4:30pm, casting sharp lines of rusty orange light. Have you looked around for the beauty of winter lately? You might be surprised to find Jesus among the beauty.

Recently I was reminded of another wonderful thing about winter: SPRING WILL COME! It always does. We mope about, eyes downcast unable to see 2 feet in front of us, consumed by the miserableness of winter. And we forget that Spring will come! Yeap. The crocuses will be the first to pop their heads through the frost. And then we will see the buds of green little coils, tightly wrapped leaves, waiting for their cue. And then daffodils, tulips, hyacinths. Ooooohhh! Spring will come! Have you ever known a winter where Spring did not come? I haven’t.

This speaks volumes to my heart about the nature of hope. I led a bible study series on The Hope of Heaven and I remember having an interesting conversation on the subject of Biblical hope vs. how we normally use the word hope. “I hope the Cubs win the World Series this year.” “I hope I win the lottery.” “I hope I can get the day off so I can go to the concert this Friday.” You get the idea. Hope is wishful thinking. A better word really is “wish”. It’s a longing, a nice idea, something I want to happen. Biblical hope is entirely different. It correlates very closely to the very idea I mentioned above: SPRING WILL COME! There is a confident knowledge that yes, Spring, will happen. There is very little doubt that it won’t. You can count on it. That, my friends, is Biblical hope.

God reminded me of this awhile back when I was walking through Lions Woods. Many of you know some of my story of this past year and the deep sorrow I have known in my family. My flower has been buried beneath many feet of snow, seeming to me to stay there for the next ice age. I was buried in grief, bouts of depression, and much sorrow. I didn’t think I would ever come out of it. As I was walking that day, I heard God say to me, “Shanel, see the winter around you. It will come to an end. SPRING WILL COME!” And my heart cracked open and I believed him. Hope began to grow in my heart and has been taking root. And more recently, my flower busted through the snow and popped her head out, transformed in strength and beauty.

Spring is coming to me, my friends.
Hope is growing in my heart.
God never leaves me in winter.

I leave you with the lyrics of a song by Andi and I…

“Autumn’s fallen winter’s crawling down black limbs
Sprawling across a gray slate sky
As the last sigh of summer green
is crumbling to brown and coming down around my face…”

I am parusing an ol’ favorite book, Following Jesus in the “Real World” by Richard Lamb and I reread this one part and I so very much love it! This book actually was the book that led me to Chicago. Some of his thoughts and wisdom I took to heart and put into practice when I was searching for a church home and as I started to invest myself in the Evanston Vineyard.

Listen to this and tell me what you think.

“In a short book on the nature of the church, The Outward Bound, Vernard Eller uses two contrasting images to describe how the church sees itself. ‘A commissary is an institution which has been commissioned to dispense particular goods, services, or benefits to a select constituency. The commissary church, then, sees itself primarily as a divine institution franchised by God. God has stocked the institution with a supply of heavenly graces (Bible truths, correct theology, the sacraments, etc.) which the clerical proprietors, through proper transaction, can disburse to the customers. The measure of a commissary, it follows, lies in the legality of its franchise, the warranty of its goods, and the authorization of its personnel.

A caravan, on the other hand, is something entirely different. It is a group of people banded together to make a common cause in seeking a common destination…The being of a caravan lies not in any signed and scaled authorization but in the way it functions. Its validity lies not in its apparatus but in the performance of its caravaners—each and every one of them. A caravan is a caravan only as long as it is making progress—or at least striving to make progress. Once the cravaners stop, dig in, or count themselves as having arrived, they no longer constitute a caravan.’”

He also goes on to share some of the story of Saul meeting Jesus on the road.

With [pursuit of the Christians] in mind, I was traveling to Damascus with the authority and commission of the chief priests, when at midday along the road…I saw a light from heaven, brighter than the sun, shining around me and my companions. When we had all fallen to the ground, I heard a voice saying to me in the Hebrew language, “Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me? It hurts you to kick against the goads.” I asked, “Who are you, Lord?” The Lord answered, “I am Jesus whom you are persecuting. But get up and stand on your feet; for I have appeared to you for this purpose, to appoint you to serve and testify to the things in which you have seen me and to those in which I will appear to you. I will rescue you from your people and from the Gentiles—to whom I am sending you to open their eyes so that they may turn from darkness to light and from the power of Satan to God, so that (logical connector) they may receive forgiveness of sins AND a place among those who are sanctified by faith in me. [Acts 26:12-18]

The author observes something interesting that I would have just passed over in my reading of this passage.

“Jesus tells Saul why he has appeared to him. He is going to send Saul to the Gentiles. Saul’s appointed task is to open people’s eyes and to turn from Satan to God, so that they will receive forgiveness…that’s it, right?

No, receiving forgiveness from sins is not the ultimate destiny of those who respond to Paul’s preaching, as important as that is. Rather, Jesus goes to all the trouble to call Paul in this dramatic way in order to accomplish a further goal: “so that they may receive forgiveness of sins and a place among those that are sanctified by faith in me.

For the Gentiles who will respond to Paul’s preaching, and for us today, the process is not complete until people take their place within the body. Taking a place means more than finding a church to attend on Sunday mornings when nothing else is going on. It means more than finding a pew to sit in. It means entering the community of the people of God and taking up your role in God’s plan for his people. It means being a functioning member of the body of Christ.”

I am so glad I have got caught up in the caravan and long to even more deeply and profoundly “take my place” in the body of Jesus.