Sacred Mundane: The Blog

I am reminded this week that we are whole beings.  It’s a shame that the word “holistic” has such non-Christian connotations, because precisely what I want to emphasize is that we are holistic beings.  The definition of holistic is “Emphasizing the importance of the whole and the interdependence of its parts.” But please don’t conclude that I’m chumming up with the folks as holistic.com – I’m not.  I’m using the word based on the definition above. 

Sometimes I like to read through old things that I have written in years past.  As I read my journals, poems, and reflections, I marvel at the grace of God who has brought such growth in my life!  Sometimes it’s hard to even recognize the girl who wrote about such frustrations and struggles.  Not that I have attained some great spiritual state, but I praise God that I am not where I once was!  It fills my heart with thanksgiving to God for what He has done!  This is one advantage of keeping journals – we can remember what God has done. 

But as I read, I drew this conclusion:  I think one of the main reasons why I experienced defeat in my spiritual life in the past was a failure to recognize this powerful connection between body, soul (mind & emotions), and spirit.  If you prefer you can divide the human into just body and spirit instead (there’s a whole theological debate there!).  Whichever way you dice us up as humans, the important thing is that we recognize that none of our dimensions exist apart from the others.  In the past, I had placed all my emphasis on cultivating my spirit, believing that that was all that “mattered.”  But as I look back I can see that that is so dangerous.  When I believe this I am buying into the ancient Gnostic heresy that says that all matter is evil.  The way that this plays out is that I live a frustrated life because I only focus on the things of the spirit, but am constantly frustrated and “weighed down” by these other aspects of my person.  Instead of embracing those dimensions and recognizing that those are avenues by which we grow and develop our spirits, we see them as hindrances.  When I do this, I am living a dangerously dualistic life that in no way reflects the heart of the Father in His Word. 

It wasn’t until the past few years that I began to recognize and embrace this holistic view of life as a follower of Christ.  For example, when I challenge my mind, through learning, reading, studying, creating, and simply discovering, my senses are awakened to the greatness of God and I am thirsty to learn and know Him more.  The more I know Him, the more I love Him.  When I embrace and learn to express my emotions honestly and responsibly, I know myself better and am freed to truly know and love and be vulnerable with others, enabling me to grow in Christian fellowship and love, and to experience the richness of the body of Christ.  When I exercise my body and take delight in nourishing it through healthy, energy-giving food, I feel alive, I feel energetic, I feel strengthened for the work that God has for me.  When I feel freed from the shackles of physical struggles, I am able to freely give myself to God, to others, to the things around me.  Health in my mind, body, and emotions brings health in my Spirit, as I am freed to know God more, love God more, and enjoy God more. 

I’m thankful for the emphasis on this, remarkably enough, during my studies at Multnomah.  The course, Biblical Counseling, emphasized this truth.  My professor reiterated, innumerable times, that pastors and Christian workers don’t leave the ministry because they no longer love God or don’t want to read their Bibles anymore, they leave because of personal problems.  They don’t learn to cultivate themselves as whole beings, and so they are lopsided, unbalanced, susceptible to burn-out.  They spend 99% of their time trying to be spiritual, but huge parts of their lives are left uncared for.  Their physical, emotional, and mental health are neglected, which impacts one’s spirit.  It is impossible to flourish spiritually without flourishing in these other areas.  My professor even went so far as to demand that we create time for fun, recreation, fellowship with people who don’t drain our energy (!), sleep, vacation.  Imagine this!  I would add that we must be diligent to challenge our minds, and to exercise our bodies and nourish them with healthy food and not energy-sapping garbage.

I was reminded of this last week when I felt so crummy physically.  One thing led to another.  First, I was sick.  This led to a lack of sleep and an inability to exercise.  By the end of the week (which you all know who follow my blog), my whole being was a wreck.  This is an example of how we are not always in control of all of our dimensions.  We may get tossed around through circumstances and physical challenges, but our job is to continue to cultivate our whole beings, as best as we are able. 

So this week I have determined to get back in the holistic swing of things.  Saturday I indulged in a bath while reading a fun and creative book, The Secret Life of Bees.  I went for a hike with my brother, even though my lungs were hurting and my thighs were burning (!).   Sunday I enjoyed a passionate, powerful praise services, worshipping my precious Savior.  I have been going for long walks with Dutch every day this week.  I’ve taken Dutch down to the river each day to show him the beauty and splendor of nature.  I’m tutoring students, doing everything from long-division to reading comprehension problems.  I’m getting sleep.  I’m feasting on roasted yams, beets, and carrots, steaming hot green tea, and delicious Asian slaw.  I’m spending time with God in His Word.  I’m praying for people.  I’m reflecting.  And all of these things, put together, make for a refreshed, replenished, whole child of God.  We are holistic beings.  I am more than a spirit, body, and mind, disjointed and disconnected.  I am a whole daughter of God—magnificently complex.  I will love the Lord my God with all that I am—heart, soul, mind, and body.

And you shall love the LORD your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength.   Mark 12:30

What a difference a weekend can make.  Yesterday, I had one of the sweetest afternoons, even though I was still feeling sick and weak and physically miserable.  My brother came over in the afternoon and was taking care of a friend’s son who is six months older than Dutch, so we had the sheer delight of watching the two boys play with toys together (and steal toys from each other!).  Then Kris and I took the two boys in our backpack carriers and hiked up the Molalla River Corridor.  I was exhausted, carrying my 24 pound son after being sick in bed all week, but the opportunity to have sweet (and candid since he’d read my recent posts!) conversation as we trekked the trails was priceless.  It reminded me of similarly sweet times we’d had in college and it left me praising God for genuine, honest, sincere fellowship. 

That night, some dear recently married friends came over and cooked us all dinner, sharing their wedding photos and some generous gifts with us (it doesn’t get better than having someone bring fresh salmon to your own house and cook it for you while you relax!). 

I also read the my latest chapter in my John Piper book.  I am always amazed because whenever I pick up that book the chapter addresses exactly what I’m dealing with. I opened it up and saw “Battling Despondency” and shook my head, smiling that once again God was speaking personally to me.  Piper simply demonstrated, through the life of Jesus, that it is not sin to feel despondent, it is sin not to battle it.  I went to bed that night determined that I needed to fight.

Sunday morning I awoke with a raging migraine.  It was so infuriating—my spirit wanted to praise God and rejoice and press through and my head hurt so bad I could hardly see straight.  Jeff massaged my head and neck until the last minute before church, and we somehow managed to be dressed and fed and out the door in record time.  As Pastor Dale began his message, I once again had to shake my head at God’s personal love for me—it was all about enduring with courage through discouraging and disheartening times.  Wow!  Every word was for me.  It was literally as if two people had come along side me and lifted my arms, pulling me back up and giving me the strength to battle discouragement.  This afternoon my headache still raged, and no medicine would touch it, but Jeff and I had a radical time of prayer this afternoon, just seeking God for our future and asking Him for grace. 

I knew that tonight was the all-community praise and worship service.  Jeff and I had never been to one and I had a feeling it’d be neat to gather together all the area churches and praise God as one voice.  As the time neared to go, my headache was still raging and I wasn’t even sure I’d make it.  Then, Kris and Nikki stopped by for an hour before the service, and as we talked, my headache began, every so slowly, to fade.  By the time we reached the church I felt as though a thousand pound weight had somehow been lifted from my shoulders.  My headache faded even more, I saw dozens of people I love, hugged, laughed, and rejoiced.

And then we began to sing.  It is a gross understatement to say that I was completely undone by the goodness of God during worship.  His greatness, His faithfulness, His mercy, His love, His grace, His patience, His longsuffering, His provision  . . .Him!  He is the famous One, He is the Worthy One, He is the Awesome One.  As I stood and praised God, with outstretched arms,  the most vividly clear though filled my mind:  I am unspeakably rich.  To my left stood my parents; my faithful, godly, selfless, amazing parents who I love beyond measure.  Next to them stood my brother and sister in law, who have loved me faithfully, stood as a godly example to me, and supported me.  They held my precious 3-month-old niece.  To my right was my amazing, godly, faithful, humble, absolutely incredible husband, praising God at the top of his lungs.  In his arms sat my son, my beautiful, precious son who fills my life with joy.  Surrounding us were hundreds of God’s people, all praising Him together with one voice.  And the object of our praise was my Beautiful Savior, the most gloriously intriguing and awesomely powerful God, who loves me enough to send personal messages to encourage my soul.  As I stood there I was overwhelmed:  I am unspeakably rich. 

As we drove home in the dark, I watched my son play with his hands as he babbled to us and pointed at headlights reflecting on the windows.  My migraine was completely gone.  I felt like a heavy, cold weight had been lifted, a dark spell of some sort had been broken. And the things of earth will grow strangely dim, in the light of His glory and grace.

Thank You, God for who You are.  I have everything because I have You.  I am unspeakably rich. 

There is one constant through all my blog entries.  As I re-read through some of the things I’ve written, I see deep valleys and high mountain peaks.  For so long, I felt my life was really smooth sailing, only hitting a little bump here and there but nothing jarring at all.  Right now, the road has turned to gravel, with huge potholes.  My headlights are dim so I can’t see in front very far ahead, and I’m bouncing along, squinting to see the next hairpin curve, praying desperately that God will use this bumpy road to accomplish His purposes in my life.  But there is one constant – my Jeffrey. 

My husband is the one who is behind every single blog entry, every single story—the unsung hero who serves silently, loving me, encouraging me, supporting me, through it all.

For example, yesterday.  You all read about yesterday is my last post.  The night that I cried myself to sleep, Jeff held me in his arms, praying for me, silently wiping the tears from my cheeks, squeezing me tightly in his safe and comforting embrace.  The next morning, when I was distraught and crying (again!), he immediately left his computer and the loads of schoolwork and teaching prep that he had to do, helping me change Dutch’s diaper and get him dressed and ready for the day. He loaded the car before we went into town.  He drove.  And, he didn’t even respond or get defensive when I was rude and told him how to drive.  He remained cheerful, loving, patient, humble, through my grumpiness, tears, and sharp remarks.  He dropped me off at the front door of the grocery store so I could get our food, then waited in the car with Dutch, picking me back up at the door so I didn’t have to walk in the rain.  When we got to Clackamas Town Center (where I was meeting my friends) – I was sure that I’d miss them because we were 20 minutes late.  I had to pee so bad I was whining about that too.  He drove me to the door and told me to go inside and pee and he would park, get Dutch all bundled up in his stroller, and bring him to me inside so that I could meet with the girls as soon as possible.  When he came inside, he insisted that he wanted to walk me in and stay with me, just in case I couldn’t find them and felt discouraged.  And he did.  He walked around the food court with me until I finally found the girls.  He talked with them, played with the other baby, and was the most loving, cheerful, selfless husband I could ever imagine.  Then, while I met with my friends, he sat in the car and worked on grading papers.  When I was done, he pulled the car around to the front of the mall, so that I once again didn’t have to walk in the rain.  He loaded the stroller and drove me home, insisting that I tell him all about my time with the girls, listening intently as I shared with him.

That is love.  I was utterly and completely unlovable this week.  I was grumpy beyond words and tired, impatient, complaining, and sad.  I moped around.  I was behind on the laundry.  Jeff had to sift through laundry baskets of clean clothes to find socks and underwear. 

And he never, never, complained.  Instead he brought me cough drops in bed, filled my water glass in the middle of the night, made me hot tea, and took care of our son so that I could rest.  He told me I was beautiful when all I could see was my zit.  He insisted that I look flawless when I was whining about gaining five pounds.  He even, at the end of the week, took me in his arms and danced with me, telling me that he’d never been more in love with me in his entire life.

Even as I write this, tears fill my eyes.  Who loves like that?  How on earth did I deserve getting a husband who daily demonstrates Christ’s selfless, agape love toward me?  When I least deserve it, he lavishes love on me most.  When I’m the ugliest, he praises my beauty.  When I’m harsh toward him, he responds with tenderness and grace.  He daily shows me what love truly is.  And yet, he so often goes un-praised.  While I find it hard to honestly rejoice in other’s success sometimes, I have to say that I have never ever met another person who so honestly and genuinely rejoices at other’s successes.  Ever.  It really is an amazing quality about Jeff.  Even though he has dreamed, for so many years, of serving God full-time in vocational ministry, as a pastor, and even though he’s watched so many of his friends see their dreams from true in that area, he has always, always, genuinely rejoiced over them.  He roots for my brother more than any other guy I know.  He loves seeing Kris succeed. He loves seeing his friends succeed.  And that amazes me.  He is truly a man who is not afraid of other’s success.  He is not threatened by anything.  He is a man who demonstrates true humility.  Not false humility where he pretends like he’s worthless, but true humility, where he recognizes his worth as a child of God and is secure in his status as God’s beloved son. 

And, I am blessed above all women to have him choose to love me.  So today, I wanted to finally post something that praises the man behind my life.  The one who shows me Christ daily.  The one I love.  Thank you, Jeffrey.

Warning: This is really honest! 

When I started writing this post, earlier this morning, it was entitled, “Why I’m So Depressed.”  Now, perhaps I wouldn’t have really posted something by that title, but that just clues you into my frame of mind at the time.  I was down.  Really down.

It’s just been one of those weeks.  For the last month Dutch has been doing this thing where he will not nap—which translates into zero free time for Mommy and endless hours of comforting, walking, dancing, rocking.  And, needless to say Dutch is not the only one crying through this.  We went to Santa Barbara this last weekend, which was great, but by the time we were headed home I was just about to snap—Dutch was exhausted and would not sleep, I was exhausted, and the last day I caught Jeff’s cold and was sick.  The next day (sorry guys, gotta mention this) began that special friend we women get that translates into a grumpy, achy, bloated, emotional, irritable, and just generally miserable girl.  Cramps and headaches on top of my sneezing, sore throat, sleepless miserable self.  The first day back from the trip was my first day of tutoring full time, and I certainly couldn’t call in sick the first week, so I dragged myself to tutoring each day this week. 

So, this was my physical and emotional state—it was not good.  On top of this, I have been struggling with feeling like a complete failure, like a loser, because we live with my parents and we’re almost 30 and for heaven’s sake shouldn’t we be a little more “successful” than that?  And here comes the part where I’m really vulnerable, the part where I reveal why I’m dysfunctional (we all are, by the way!).  I have lived my whole life in the shadow of my brother.  Yes, there I said it.  It seems so trivial and stupid, and I’m sure it is, but it’s still true.  Try being the little sister of Kris Zyp.  Not easy!  Kris was doing trigonometry at age 9.  He was taking college math classes when he was in junior high.  He scored a perfect 800 on math portion of the SAT.  He is the smartest, most athletic, pretty much most perfect person you could ever meet and I have to be his little sister.  So, I spent my childhood trying to be as good as Kris.  I have the most crystal clear memory of being probably six years old and being with my grandma.  We were at a golf course and she was introducing us to one of her friends.  She said, “This is Kris, and this is Kris’s sister.”  Kick in the gut.  I know, I should be over this by now, huh?  Well, I’m working on it.  I think it would be easy if Kris wasn’t so stinking nice and humble and godly and wonderful.  If he were a really successful heathen or a really successful jerk, it wouldn’t be so hard.  But he’s not!  I actually had a wide-awake nightmare the other day that I would get to heaven and spend eternity listening to God list Kris’s accomplishments and godly characteristics while I sat and watched.  I know.  That’s really twisted, huh?

So, why I am I bringing this up?  Well, I thought that I was over all this.  I mean, I’m 27 years old.  I really thought that since we’re now grown up and done with grades and sports and scholarships, it was all over.  I really don’t think about it anymore.  But then I got blind sighted and realized how sick I really still am.  You see, my brother and his wife are moving out of the state and he is seeking a job.  I don’t want to give all the details, but basically I feel like every day I hear from my parents about another job offer, for another ridiculously high amount of money, for my brother to be able to work from home and basically have all his dreams come true (exaggeration, I know).  But that’s what it feels like.  While this is happening I am seeing myself, with no income whatsoever, living with my parents, taking any sort of charity we can get, and I basically feel like all my life of living in his shadow has culminated at this point and I have received the final verdict of my worth: NOTHING.  ZERO.  LOSER. 

And it’s not that I am not happy for him.  I really am.  I love him so much, and I want him to succeed.  But because I am so selfish it still hurts.  It still makes it feel like a kick in the gut, the same way it felt when my grandma introduced me as Kris’s sister. And I know that it is spiritual attack.  I know that when I believe that I am worthless and a loser that I am listening to a lie.   I swear I can smell Satan’s breath right now.  But I keep falling back into this, and I think it’s exacerbated so much because of the timing—he’s at his peak while I’m at my valley.

I know the root is pride.  I know that pride is what prevents us from genuinely rejoicing in the successes of others.  I know that pride is what makes me want to be “successful” or somehow to have attained something in the world’s eyes.  And, I know that my value is not based on how much money we make or whether anyone wants to hire us or praise us.  But man, it’s sure hard to remember that!  In fact, I’d say I’m not really successful at that right now.  The lie that keeps overwhelming me is this:  “How stupid you are for being excited about any dreams or hopes or goals in life—they’re really stupid things and you are a fool for thinking that anyone would want to read your writing or hear anything that you have to say. You are playing pretend and you’re worth nothing.”  Ugh.  Gross huh?  So why do I keep believing it?  It is straight from the pit—from the father of lies. 

So where does the title of this post come in?  Well, last night I cried myself to sleep (I was really at the bottom) and this morning I was still sick, with swollen shut eyes from crying, a throbbing headache, and (of course!) a huge red zit on my forehead.  So, I’m trying to function and I have plans to meet two friends in Portland, and I’m trying to figure out a way I can get out of it because the last thing I want to do it talk to anyone.  So while I’m going through my morning, I take Dutch from my dad in order to change his poopy diaper, and my dad looks at me and says, “What happened to your head?!”  He is totally serious.  I just look at him, and he repeats, “What happened to your head?  Did you get hit or something?”  And that was it.  Tears filled my eyes and I grabbed Dutch and ran upstairs.  We managed to get out the door but through more frustrating circumstances were 20 minutes late to meet the girls. 

But then, it all changed.  These two precious friends of mine, Liz and Lyndi, came to my rescue.  Just the sight of their faces reminded me that life was not that bad.  I shared with them about my week, openly and honestly.  I told them how I was doing—I shared it all.  And, amazingly, they have similar difficulties, hardships, struggles.  They weren’t shocked at my lack of selflessness—in fact, they understood!  They didn’t try to fix me, didn’t quote Bible verses, and didn’t give me pat answers.  They listened, cared, and loved me.  They spoke the truth in love.  They cared.  And as we talked and shared we found ourselves laughing so hard our stomachs hurt.  One of them actually had her husband say to her that morning, about her zit, “What happened to you? Did you get hit in the face?!”  I could not believe that we had both had exactly the same situation that very morning.  And there was more—it was uncanny how much we shared in common.  And it reminded me of what Paul wrote in 2 Corinthians 1: “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort those who are in any trouble, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.”  I know that that my “tribulation” is minor, but how glorious it was to have friends who cared, who understood, who didn’t just sympathize, but who empathized! 

So, all that to say, I’m thankful for friends.  I’m not out of the woods—I still have a lot to learn about finding my value in Christ and rejoicing in the successes of others.  I haven’t arrived, but I’m on my way, and I’m sure thankful for those who walk beside me.  That’s what friends are for.  That’s the reason this post has a new title, and I have a new perspective.  Thanks Liz & Lyndi.  I love you both.