Ok, so I’m really no good at keeping secrets (my own secrets–I am good at keeping other people’s secrets) because I get so excited about things God shows me I have to share them. John Piper once said that if you find yourself, when you are studying and reading God’s Word, constantly thinking of ways to communicate those truths to others, then you can pretty much bet that you’re a teacher at heart. That hit me like a ton of bricks. Ok, guilty as charged. I’m a teacher.
So I mentioned before I’m teaching at this women’s retreat (Kelli please just act surprised when I share this stuff with the ladies there!), and for the past few weeks I have been absolutely spinning my wheels at studying. NOTHING is happening. I’m praying, reading, studying, and it’s like I have this bag over my head and I can see nothing. So frustrating. So I kept waiting and praying and today I’m studying and the light is finally turning on! Thank you, God. God always reminds me that it is His Spirit that does the work because I literally am nothing and have nothing to say until His Spirit illuminates His Word for me.
So anyway, we are talking at the retreat about Expectancy without Expectation, and the first session is on Disappointments. Who of us hasn’t keenly felt disappointments? I’ve mentioned before I feel like this entire year has been one long disappointment. But I’ve never found a book entitled “The God of Disappointment”…but right now I’m tempted to write one! Because check this out, if you look at Scripture, God is all about disappointing people! I looked up the word disappointment in my dictionary and it said, (tada!) “Thwarted Expectation”. God is in the business of thwarting our expectations so that He can do greater and more glorious works than we ever imagined. Hooray! Not convinced yet? Check out these examples:
- Abraham: God promises he will be the father of many nations right? Then what? He can’t have kids. He’s disappointed. Expectations thwarted. He then gets so frustrated he takes matters into his own hands and has Ishmael, the child of the flesh, through his servant Hagar. Bickering and grief ensue.
- Joseph: God shows him in a dream that his brothers will bow down to him as ruler. He winds up dumped in a pit then sold to the Egyptians, then spends 14 years in a prison, wrongly accused of harassing Potipher’s wife, then forgotten by the cupbearer, forsaken. Disappointed. Thwarted Expectations.
- Moses: God will make him the deliverer of Israel. Then what? He kills an Egyptian and there’s a warrant out for his head, basically. He winds up spending 40 long years living with his father-in-law in the desert (hey, that sounds familiar!). Disappointed. Expectations thwarted.
- The children of Israel: God is going to deliver them from the Egyptians and the hand of Pharaoh, so after the exhilarating plagues and parting of the Red Sea, then what? Left to wander in the wilderness for forty years while the entire complaining generation is slowly killed off. Disappointed. Thwarted Expectations.
- David: God will make him king, anoints him through the prophet Samuel. Then what? Saul tries to have him killed, and he spends 10-14 years living in caves in the desert, trying to escape from the hand of Saul. Disappointed. Expectations thwarted.
- The Disciples: God will send a Messiah who will come and save the world. Then Jesus comes, who neither fights nor takes over anything, doesn’t even resist the Romans, but is a lowly servant and calls them to a lowly servant life. Then he does the unthinkable and goes and gets Himself killed-what a tragic end! Disappointment. Expectations thwarted.
There is obviously more to these stories … and that is where we will go later on in the weekend. But consider just stepping in at halftime. What would they think? What emotions would they feel? I suggest that they would feel keen and miserable disappointment. I suggest that we love and serve an awesome, majestic, glorious, beautiful, worthy, and infinitely valuable God of Disappointment. And I love Him for it. 
Often when people, at least Christians, are asked, “What’s your favorite book?” such as on Facebook, etc. there is the obligatory “Well, the Bible of course, and then…” and then the list of real books begins. But really, I think that too often I take for granted that in my own possession I have the Bestselling Book of all time, the most reprinted, the most widely translated, the most preserved from antiquity. And not only that, I have, in my hands, the very words that claim they are
breathed by God. How sad that it is sometimes not celebrated, and
truly loved and enjoyed for all its worth.
The last few weeks, I’ve really fallen in love with God’s Word all over again. I’ve mentioned before that I read through the Bible each year, just straight through Genesis to Revelation, January to December. There are lots of neat little reading plans that dabble in the Law, Psalms, New Testament all at once, but they just confuse me and I’m pretty much a straight-through kinda girl. One book at a time. So usually, just because I really do love to read my Bible, I usually find myself getting ahead and finishing early. Well not this year. I don’t have any sort of official plan, because I’ve been doing this for ten years and by now I don’t keep track of anything I just read. But I had a hunch that I was slacking so I looked up online to see where I should be if I’m on track and let’s just say I am WAY behind. WAY behind. Hm. There’s no condemnation in this, it doesn’t make me any less valuable of a Christian and certainly doesn’t mean that God loves me any less, but what it tells me is that I’m consuming less of God’s supernaturally transforming words than I have in the past ten years. I’m thankful for this check. I like measurable things like that because it helps keep me on my toes.
So the past few weeks, I’ve been digging in. Perfectly, and I believe divinely orchestrated by God, I’m in the Psalms. Impeccable timing. I’ve been whining, rejoicing, crying, praying, pleading, questioning, praising, despairing, and wondering with David, Asaph, and the other Psalmists. And I’ve been reminded again at why this is the bestselling book of all time–because it speaks directly to our human condition. There is nothing that transforms my life like God’s Word. There is nothing that comforts, nothing that heals, nothing that opens my heart to be purged and cleansed and renewed like God’s Word. It’s like dialing up the telephone to God and letting Him hear my voice, listening to His, and letting the peace that surpasses understanding come and fill my heart. This is why I love God’s Word.
So this might be super cheesy, but just as I gave some Fiction recommendations, I’d like to share some of the Psalm passages that have been ministering to me. Also, if you’d like recommendations on Bible-reading helps, visit Jeff’s blog. He just finished teaching a class on enjoying the Bible for all its worth, and he posted resources for his students. (Click here!) Back to the Psalms…
Psalm 5:11-12 “But let all those rejoice who put their trust in You; Let them ever shout for joy because You defend them; Let those also who love Your name be joyful in You, For You, O Lord, will bless the righteous; with favor you will surround him as with a shield.”
Psalm 16:5-6 “O Lord, You are the portion of my inheritance and my cup; You maintain my lot. The lines have fallen to me in pleasant places; Yes I have a good inheritance.”
Psalm 31: 14-15a “But as for me, I trust in You, O LORD; I say, “You are my God.” My times are in Your hand.”
Psalm 43:5 “Why are you cast down, O my soul? And why are you disquieted within me? Hope in God. For I shall yet praise Him, the help of my countenance and my God.”
Psalm 51:17 “The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit, a broken and contrite heart–these O God, You will not despise.”
Consider re-reading the book you already own, the Bestselling Book of all time.
Really nothing deep and significant here.
Really. Since we’re unofficially on the topic of books this week, and fiction books so far, I’m wondering why there cannot be a short-legged heroine. I am not short, in fact I’m tall for a woman, but I have a very long torso and therefore, relative to my torso, shorter legs. I’m ok with it. I’ve come to grips with the fact that I will never be described as “leggy”. However, I’m a bit disappointed in the fact that in all the fiction books I’ve read (and of course, all the movies I’ve seen) I’ve yet to see a short-legged heroine. I’ve seen skinny, full, blonde, brunette. clever, air-headed…but I’ve yet to see one with a long torso and short legs. Even Shrek’s wife Fiona, who won my heart by being plump and green, you must admit has a pretty lengthy set of legs on her, even if they are no doubt chubby. I’ve read five or six Rosamunde Pilcher books recently (whom I adore) and I must say that I’ve begun to notice, with a little irritation, that all the female main characters are described as having long legs, or leggy, or skinny spindly legs. Hm. I suppose this is just the way life is. Short-legged girls don’t stand a chance at being the heroine. It’s too bad because there are some good ones of us out here. Can I get an amen? That’s all for tonight.
Tonight I sat around a campfire, on the beach, with the crashing Pacific Ocean waves just yards away. No annoying wind, just a crackling fire nestled down into the sand, with sitting logs on three sides. My brother, Kris, and Jeff built the fire, scurrying around like boys, eyes dancing, collecting sticks and engineering the perfect fire. Once the fire really took off, we tore open the bag of marshmallows, procured the necessary sticks–not too short and not too thick–and began roasting. I sipped my hot chocolate and pulled my blanket tight around my shoulders, although by now my shins were getting hot so I laid down next to the fire, in the sand, gazing up into the darkness, savoring the sweet moment of forgetting the job search, the morning sickness (almost forgetting it until I tried to eat a marshmallow and remembered that nothing tastes right), the need to find a place to live, the upcoming arrival of baby #2 complete with financial needs. For a little while I was back in college, eating marshmallows with my brother. I was again a newlywed, walking hand in hand with Jeff through the sand.
We’ve been here, at the beach, for the past 4 days. We leave Wednesday, and I am just reminded again how sweet it is to get away. And this is my idea of a vacation. A beach house (paid for by my parents…this is key), a stone’s throw from the crashing waves, and walking distance from the Alsea Bay, where we can use the paddle boat and Dutch can play in the shallow water. Walking distance from a little mart where we can get milk and cheerios if need be. Walking distance from the point where hundreds of seals gather, where we can take Dutch and watch with delight as he “Whoa!”s and points in awe. This is the place where we can cook our own food, eat like Kings (healthy ones), and savor delicious dessert every night. This is where I can curl up in the huge wicker chair with the cream cushions and put my feet on the windowsill and look out over the ocean, lost in thought, or read for four hours straight, like I did today. This is where I can turn on the dryer to muffle out the noise while Dutch sleeps. :-) This is where the huge family dining table can seat all of us, my brother and his wife and daughter and my parents and us and Dutch. This is where we can all curl up and watch a movie together. This is where Jeff and Dutch can bike, where Kris and Nikki and Jennika can take off in the afternoon for a hike. WHere Kris can surf (he really did!) and the boys can fly their kites and Mom can have pneumonia but still somehow enjoy the whole trip from the solitude of her room, listening to the joy and watching from the huge bay windows in her room. This is where we have that beautiful balance of together and alone time…the mix of freedom and belonging, which is one of the strengths of this family that I will always appreciate.
ANd this, mixed with the forced change of pace that pregnancy brings, has been good. With pregnancy, I have permission to nap (today I got up at 6:30, walked on the beach with Jeff and Dutch, then came back, ate a bowl of Cheerios the size of a mixing bowl, then went to bed and slept from 8:30-10:30. How awesome is that?) With pregnancy I have permission to break all the rules of eating at appropriate times. After my Cheerios, and a big lunch, I went back at 2pm for another 1/2 a chicken salad sandwich, then at 3pm I polished off the strawberry shortcake, then at dinner I didn’t touch anything except the chicken, but filled up on Tillamook Mudslide ice cream afterwards. I actually really enjoy the freedom…you can always just play the “I’m pregnant” card and pretty much anything goes.
The other thing I love about pregnancy is that it allows you to be weak and to accept help. My sister-in-law has been an absolute dream on this trip. The very day we got here my mom came down with pneumonia, and after a trip to the hospital, has spent the entire vacation in bed. I was in charge of planning all the meals and bringing the food, which I did, but that was before morning sickness, so now that we’re here I want absolutely nothing to do with preparing raw chicken and sauteeing onions. She has swept in and joyfully prepared meals that I planned (that’s never as fun as preparing your own planned meals), and doing dishes, cleaning. SHe’s been a dream. ANd it’s been so freeing to just say, “Here is the recipe. Can you help me? I can’t do it tonight.” It’s been good to say, I”m sorry, I’m a disaster right now and I’m so tired I can’t think. Please forgive me for being a bear. As always, she understands. After all, she was pregnant once too.
So, this long and rambling post is basically telling you that it’s so good when life is interrupted and we’re knocked on our back a little, knocked into a soft chair with a good book and a view of the ocean. I admit, I still fall into panic mode: “We need a JOB and a place to LIVE and we have a BABY on the way!” But most of the time God is gracious enough to allow me to remember that today is today, and it is all I have. He holds my tomorrow. So, tonight I sit here, in a dark room, listening to my toddler son breathe noisily through his stuffy nose, and my husband breathe quietly next to me, his chest rising and falling in soft rhythm. Across the wall sleep my brother, his wife, their daughter. Across the hall sleep my mom and dad. Outside the waves are still crashing. Tragedy is happening somewhere. Rejoicing and celebrating are happening somewhere. ANd the waves are still crashing. And God is still God, and allowing me this sweet vacation, this rest for my soul and body. Thanks, God. Thanks.
I know not all of you are obsessive writers like me. You all are probably able to function somewhat normally, going through the day responding to circumstances without sudden flashes of supposed inspiration which sends you rushing up the stairs two-by-two to grab your laptop. You can probably watch movies without jumping up and frantically groping in the dark for a pen so you can scratch “fight for milk” on a napkin. You might even be able to look away from the computer screen when your spouse slides into bed next to you. It must be nice.
As for me, I love to write. So for my birthday my mother-in-law (a brilliant writer) got me a book called Writing on Both Sides of the Brain by Henriette Anne Klauser. The gist of the book is brilliant–she explains that basically all of our dread of writing stems from the fact that we are taught to write and edit simultaneously, rather than letting ourselves loose with words without worry for conventions, then going back later to edit and rework. (My problem is actually that I never, ever, go back to edit. My writing is plenty free, but could use some editing!)
But what is true of writing is also true of life. How many of us are terrified to actually risk doing something because we are afraid we won’t do it just right? She tells a fabulous story about a little boy who wants to write a story about a mouse and a motorcyle but he doesn’t know how to spell motorcycle, so he writes a story about a mouse and bike, but somehow when he’s done it wasn’t quite the same story he had in his heart. Sad! But so true. He was afraid of seeing his teacher’s red marks slashed across his paper, and was too insecure to ask how to spell the word. So he produced a less work, and in essence wasn’t true to what was in his heart.
I live like this! Ugh. How often do we feel that stirring in our hearts to do something, but we procrastinate or hesitate because we’re afraid how it will all come out. Klauser tells a story of a woman who decided that whenever a new opportunity came up, whether to learn how to change the oil in her car or to learn to dance the salsa, she would pretend that she was 8-years-old. Rather than fearing looking dumb, she insisted that kids were allowed to learn new things without fear or failure, so she would too. With the adventurous courage of an 8-year-old she would tackle the latest feat.
Finally, Klauser explained that brilliant Russian pianist Franzk Liszt produced not only Tarantella, Don Juan Fantasy, and Liebestraum (I am so ignorant I’ve never heard of these), but also more than 700 works, most of which were “uneven in quality, superficially composed or down-right dull.” The point? Even the greatest writers and composers spend the majority of their time writing…well…trash. Can you allow yourself to writer trash? Can you allow yourself to try something and do it poorly? Can you allow yourself to write for the world to see knowing that misplaced modifiers and dangling participles may be there as well? Yes, there’s a time for editing, but I dare say we live our lives doing a little too much editing and not enough time creating…or living. Be willing to write some trash. Leave the editing for later.
