Lately I've been meditating and talking with the Father about how to simply BE and speak this being into existence. Sound crazy? It is a little. In this process, I've been learning a whole lotta' basic truths. I've heard these truths for a long time. But they're now being manifested in my life. It is OUT OF CONTROL AMAZING.
1ST. Have you heard that saying, "be the person you want to marry?" Recently I've started a little trial period of really, sincerely, focusing my eyes on my weaknesses. I've been asking friends where I need work, meditating a lot in the wisdom of the Proverbs, and re-accessing old relationships where I failed. Meanwhile, the distractions of current potential (and occasionally actual) relationships have taken a back seat. They've become the thing I daily place on the alter and leave with Him to take care of. In short, I find myself working on being the best me, and offering up the variable to Him.
2ND. My heart aches. A lot. Mainly for three reasons...
ONE: Life isn't perfect. I get told no a lot. A lot of dreams have crashed and burned. I ache to be WITH Him. A lot of times I just long to go HOME.
TWO AND THREE: There are two things I want to do more than anything else in life: love a man with all my heart and lead worship for His body. While I occasionally get glimpses of the man-to-come, he's just as far away as he's ever been (or at least my physical eyes see it that way). In the same vein of thought, I am blessed with countless opportunities to lead at different churches. But getting to be plugged in at one church, really building into people's lives and seeing growth in worship, well, this isn't a current reality. While there are a lotta' pots cooking in the works, well, it's not actuality. The result is, that I ache for these dreams to be manifested in the current reality. I wholeheartedly believe He is moving, putting pieces in place for a position perfect for me. With all that's within me, I believe He's leading a man to find, pursue and passionately love me. Even as these two eyeballs don't see it, my spiritual eyes are being lead by the Spirit to see and believe He is bringing them to pass.
3RD. As my heart aches, I'm learning to bring Him my pain. So often, when I feel pain, I KNOW He could do something in a split second to make that pain go away. More often than not, He leaves that pain to ache. So often I hold onto that pain, shielding it from Him. I don't want to let Him into those intimate spots that hurt. After all, He's the one that either caused it to hurt, or allows it to continue to hurt, or BOTH! So I raise one hand and voice to worship Him, He IS SO WORTHY. But then I use the other hand to shield my heart and self from His vision and embrace...as if I could hide anything from Him! I've started giving Him my pain. When I ache, I come and say, "Ok Father. You know how much I love You with all of my heart. I SO SO SO want to please You. Today my heart hurts Daddy. It hurts with the desire of the dreams I believe You've planted there. Would you take that pain today? Or just walk with me in the middle of it?" I'm learning the FELLOWSHIP of His sufferings.
4TH. I hate the cliche "bloom where you're planted," but it seems to be my banner these days. Here I am, not having accomplished many of the things I desire to accomplish, believing so many of His promises for me, leading worship and waiting tables. He's teaching me how to love waiting tables just as much as I love leading worship....er, well, He's teaching me how to have as much JOY in waiting tables as I have when I lead worship. The joy of leading worship is natural and spontaneous: I was created to lead worship. The joy of waiting tables is a choice, a practice: like Brother Lawrence, learning to practice His Presence in every moment!
5TH. I'm learning to love well. Talking with a dear friend a month ago, she mentioned that she tries to show more appreciation and respect to the people closer to her. I had a tendency to take dear friends for granted, I mean, once a friend always a friend right? Making new friends easily and travelling as much as I have lately, it seems that I was spending my time and energies fostering new friendships rather than sowing into old ones. I've started to flip-flop my approach, spending my time and energies primarily in finding ways to show love to those closest to me. It has been phenomenal to watch how so many deep relationships have blossomed again. And we've gotten closer...this is a huge joy.
SO..These are a few of the things He's so kind to teach me these days. I'm so grateful. Hope this encourages to you run the race harder...He is SO worthy...and His intimate Presence is more than I could ever desire.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Getting Left in the Grocery Stores of Life
When I was uber young, I can remember going to the local grocery store, begging for just about every sugary thing on the shelves. With 4 (at the time!) of us running around, grocery trips were a little harrowing. Out numbering the 'rents, we had a tendency to wander off, geting lost in the store. I think every kid gets lost or left in a store at some point. I mean, kids are wiggly little buggers. They have a tendency to squirm and wander.
When I'd wandered off, one partiular time, I vividly remember that feeling of aloneness. I was standing next to the spaghetti noodles, tears welling up, anxiously looking for my parents. Sometimes I'd frantically rush through the grocery store looking for them. But this time, I stayed put, "in one place", as my parents had instructed me to do when I was lost. Waiting for them to come find me seemed to take years! In my early years, I'd scream bloody murder, hoping that'd alleviate my fear and draw their attention to my aisle, finding me at last! That particular time, in the spaghetti aisle, there were just tears, no screaming. I was only "lost" for a few minutes. In a little farm town, the grocery store is not that big. But in those few minutes, I felt like the world was a huge horrible place. And I thought my parents had left me, never to return. Funny how quickly I jumped to an abandonment scenario when their behavior with me would have proven anything BUT abandonment!
I thought they left me.
Recently, I thought He'd left me. Naturally, when I don't think He's working, my flesh has a tendency to manipulate and push circumstances to my liking. Sarah & Abraham did that with Hagar and Ishmael, and so the Islamic peoples were born. I can't imagine what world religion could be born out of my own manipulations...let's pray He protects me from that manipulation!!
But, guess what?? In the midst of believing He'd left me, He saved me from myself. And He didn't leave me. Even now, as no cicrcumstances have changed that would say to others that He is here, well, He's been speaking so loudly to my heart, "I DIDN'T LEAVE YOU!"
NO SIRREE!!! He DIDN'T! He's HERE!!!
I am almost beside myself with this revelation. How quickly I turned my thoughts to believing my parents had left me..how much quicker I believed He had left me in the midst of the desert.
I hear Him and I believe Him.
Life looks exactly as it did when there seemed no hope. The only difference is a revived heart. Joy has returned in the midst of the darkness...I am indeed dancing in the dark. And let me tell you, I've got "moves you've never seen!"
So I'm grateful. Renewed faith has been borne, not of my own cynical, questioning heart, but from His firm strong gaze. In the middle of a grocery store I'm reminded, He's here. He's coming for me. He hasn't left me yet.
So I'll continue to play out this holding pattern, moving as He leads, praying for open and closed doors, with my "ears to the rails", listening for His coming.
He's coming my friends!! Oh how He loves me! I glory in this highest honor today...and love Him back with all my heart.
When I'd wandered off, one partiular time, I vividly remember that feeling of aloneness. I was standing next to the spaghetti noodles, tears welling up, anxiously looking for my parents. Sometimes I'd frantically rush through the grocery store looking for them. But this time, I stayed put, "in one place", as my parents had instructed me to do when I was lost. Waiting for them to come find me seemed to take years! In my early years, I'd scream bloody murder, hoping that'd alleviate my fear and draw their attention to my aisle, finding me at last! That particular time, in the spaghetti aisle, there were just tears, no screaming. I was only "lost" for a few minutes. In a little farm town, the grocery store is not that big. But in those few minutes, I felt like the world was a huge horrible place. And I thought my parents had left me, never to return. Funny how quickly I jumped to an abandonment scenario when their behavior with me would have proven anything BUT abandonment!
I thought they left me.
Recently, I thought He'd left me. Naturally, when I don't think He's working, my flesh has a tendency to manipulate and push circumstances to my liking. Sarah & Abraham did that with Hagar and Ishmael, and so the Islamic peoples were born. I can't imagine what world religion could be born out of my own manipulations...let's pray He protects me from that manipulation!!
But, guess what?? In the midst of believing He'd left me, He saved me from myself. And He didn't leave me. Even now, as no cicrcumstances have changed that would say to others that He is here, well, He's been speaking so loudly to my heart, "I DIDN'T LEAVE YOU!"
NO SIRREE!!! He DIDN'T! He's HERE!!!
I am almost beside myself with this revelation. How quickly I turned my thoughts to believing my parents had left me..how much quicker I believed He had left me in the midst of the desert.
I hear Him and I believe Him.
Life looks exactly as it did when there seemed no hope. The only difference is a revived heart. Joy has returned in the midst of the darkness...I am indeed dancing in the dark. And let me tell you, I've got "moves you've never seen!"
So I'm grateful. Renewed faith has been borne, not of my own cynical, questioning heart, but from His firm strong gaze. In the middle of a grocery store I'm reminded, He's here. He's coming for me. He hasn't left me yet.
So I'll continue to play out this holding pattern, moving as He leads, praying for open and closed doors, with my "ears to the rails", listening for His coming.
He's coming my friends!! Oh how He loves me! I glory in this highest honor today...and love Him back with all my heart.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
For Father's Day...Belated I Know!
When I was a kid, I thought my Dad was SO NOT funny. I remember the phone ringing upstairs and my Dad lunging up the stairs two at a time. A pastor in a normal, middle-class tri-level in NW Indiana, we'd hear him shout, "County Jail, Warden Speaking." And then we'd hear him murmur something...Mom and I would dash up the stairs yelling, "ROOGERR!" and "DAAD!" simultaneously. Turns out he'd say "County Jail, Warden Speakin'" in a fake southern drawl and THEN pick up the phone and whisper a hello. Mom and he always got a good giggle out of it. I would just roll my eyes and say, "grownups." His antics in answering the phone would continue pretty much my whole life, ranging from the pizza delivery company to the pest control company to the morgue. Sometimes he'd actually answer the phone with this crazy talk. The stammering on the other end was almost too much for him to handle. He'd crack a smile and quickly shift gears for the unsuspecting victim on the other end of the phone line. Whenever he was paying a bill over the phone, he'd spell out his first name and then say, "Box. Like cardboard." He always got a laugh for that one. My older sister Corrie says it to this day. I wonder what she'll say when she gets married.
Honestly with his profession and personality, you'd never suspect my Dad has as keen a sense of humor as he does. If something is the most amazing thing to ever transpire on the face of this planet, he'll say in monotonous syllables, "That's great babe." I used to think this was totally rude. Now I know he's a little tongue-in-cheek mixed with ultra-laid back.
From ages four until I turned twelve, we'd sing at the local nursing home ever Friday. There were three girls in my family old enough to sing. That's really where I learned to sing harmony. I remember my sister telling me to just "hear" it. And "hear" it we did, to songs like "In the Garden" and "Tis' So Sweet to Trust in Jesus." If we didn't sing loud enough, we got a spanking. "But if you sing loud enough," Dad would smile, "you get a Coke!" Mmmm...I remember those cold coke cans. I'd struggle to pop open the metal ring, but the cool fizz that came was worth the bruised little fingers. I'd try to chug it, like my dad's friend Chuck after one of their softball games, but I could only get a couple of gulps down before my stomache started to ache. I never got a spanking for singing too soft at the nursing home. I was the "loud one" and it was easy to avoid punishment on that end. Now Corrie, she had a small frame and an even smaller voice. To get her to sing above a whisper was like pulling teeth. Dad would cajole and prod and push and finally resort to spanking every week. But after four emotional weeks like this, well, all her kicking-n-screamin must've helped her lungs to just sprout out real huge, cuz' after that, well, she never did have a problem singing loudly again.
The only thing I didn't like about the nursing home was the smell and the required hugs. I went through a "Don't TOUCH me!" stage for about four years when I was younger. I still don't know what caused it. Along with singing loud enough, we were required to hug every neck in the room at this nursing home. It wouldn't have been so bad except there were some people so drugged up that hugging them was like hugging a drooling corpse. Or worse, some of them would just hang on for dear life not wanting to let you go! If that particular long-hugger was a stout woman, well, you got a nose-full of bossom for an indefineable amount of time that seemed like eternity. Gross.
What I loved about the nursing home was the candy and the motions. Two of the little ladies were well into their hunderedth year. They'd keep little plastic baggies of mints and butterscotch with them to give to us every week. I loved the butterscotch. We got to do motions with several of the songs we sang. We'd sing "He's a Peach of a Savior," to the tune of "The Lord's Army." Each time we sang it three times. We'd sing it once at a normal pace, once in slow motion and once at super sonic speed. We also loved singing Father Abraham so fast that when we spun around we'd lose our balance and end up falling on the floor. Dad would allow a little bit of foolishness, but we knew we only had about 30 seconds of it before we got the slight eye squint, which meant our precious Coke reward was on the line. I always thought his slight squint was really him imagining the size of the spanking stick he'd use on us. When I was eight we went to one of those pioneer exhibitions. It was one of those things where they had rows of tents with different exhibits showing you how the pioneers lived. They had corn being ground for meal, clothes being washed on a board and hot wax being stirred for homemade candles. There was also a tent where they burned words and designs onto wood. This was my favorite tent. I loved the smell of burning wood and thought the swirl of roses on a chair was so pretty. I would sit and trace the swirls with my finger while munching an ear of rosted corn. I really wanted one of the little rocking chairs they made. Dad and I stood there about 15 minutes while he had something made. I don't know why I didn't ask what he was doing. It wasn't til we got back to the car that he showed my mom what he had bought: a large wooden spanking paddle with all of us kids names engraved on it. I knew I hated that stupid tent. It served my dad right when he broke that stupid paddle on my heinie about six months later. Pioneers must not have had kids as obstinate as me.
I remember getting a spanking every day one summer. We got spankings for three things: Disrespect, disobediance and lying. If you think about it, any adolescant misdemeanor can be categorized as one of these three. I think I was most often spanked for disrespect. Well, disrespect and delayed obediance. According to Dad, "Delayed obediance is disobediance." So really it was my mouth and attitude that got me into trouble. I loved to answer my parents serious queries with a lotta' sass. They thought they were so smart. And that whole "delayed obediance" thing was primarily due to draggin my feet...part of my quiet rebellion to do whatever they were asking me to do.
I can't find the exact quote, but somewhere in my youth I remember someone telling me, "It's funny how much your parents will learn from the time you turn 16 until the time you turn 21." I've thought about that so many times since hitting my 20s. I remember thinking I knew so much more than my fuddy-duddy parents. Typical teenager. And then when I turned 21, almost to the day, I'd start to call Dad and ask for advice. We'd even talk about boy stuff. It was always humorous. He'd always ask if the boy knew the Lord. And then he'd just listen. I'd spout off about a particular encounter and he'd just listen. I think he considered this long-suffering on his part. I honestly think he could've done without every detail, but I was bound and determined to make sure he knew what was said to me and how and from whom. At the end of the conversation he'd offer me a verse of Scripture or a little thought. If the verse or thought cut a little too close to home, well, I'd think he was being a little pushy or too churchy. But I'd think on what he said for a few days and invariably call a few days later to apologize for a poor attitude. Mom on the other hand, well, she'd spout off for hours on what I needed to do to chase a boy away or attract him near.
Growing up with four sisters, going to the grocery store with the family was always an interesting ordeal. If Dad took you, you always knew you were getting Hershey's Almond Chocolate bars from the checkout counter because those were his favorite. He'd walk in with the youngest in the grocery cart and the rest of us would roam about, looking for things that we couldn't live without, e.g., sugary cereal, marshmallow creme and frozen pizza. We knew if we begged just right, we'd have a chance of at least getting one item we wanted. When he had finished getting the items on Mom's list, he'd give one sharp, quick whistle. He could have whispered it, and I don't know why, but we'd always hear that whistle and come running. I don't know if any of us ever got a spanking for not responding to the whistle, but if any of us did, I'm sure it was me.
They say that our view of God is largely based on our view of our earthly Father. Honestly, I can't imagine what people do who don't have a good earthly Father. It really makes me sad. I don't think I'm feeling sorry for them. Rather, I just get sad because it was so easy for me to see the Father as good and loving even when punishing. Every time my Dad spanked me he'd say he loved me and hug me afterwards. And amidst the snotty sniffles I'd hug him back. There was one season where I was going through a particularly rebellious stage. Every time Mom or Dad said something, I'd shoot something dicey right back to them. There was all sorts of screaming and door slamming on my part...and furrowed brows and occasionally screaming right back on their part. One day, after a particularly punchy shouting match, i was cooling off by shooting baskets in the driveway. Dad came outside and silently shot baskets next to me. After he'd made one particularly stellar three pointer, I tossed him back his "change." He held the ball in both hands, slowly shifting it around. I could see the wheels spinning in his brain, but there was nothing in this world that would have prepared me for what came next. "Annetta. I love you. You are my responsibility and the Lord has asked me to make my family my priority. If it takes me leaving this church and going somewhere else to make you know Him, I'll do it." And with that, he set the ball down and I lept into his arms for a huge hug while sniveling, "I'm sorry Dad, I won't do it again!" For a moment I had thought lightening was about to strike me. I mean, my Dad giving up his church position because of my poor attitude and razor tongue? Surely leaving the pastorate would have to have more severe repercussions than leaving any other profession?!? But my Dad never had to make good on his promise. After that generous, but scary, offer, I straightened up a little. Our home went from the battlegrounds of World War 111 to intermittent arguments over stupid stuff. It was that conversation with my Dad, more than any other moment in my life, that showed me how much my heavenly Father cares about me. My Dad here was willing to put aside things that were extremely important to him. My heavenly Father offered me His Son.
Maybe it's my Dad's example of who God is that has gifted me with a greater understanding of faith. I mean, it's not hard to imagine God's gonna' catch you if you leap if you have a Dad like mine. I've worked with some pretty phenomenal Christian leaders, a couple of them are the leaders of our century. My Dad is the godliest man I've ever known. I mean, don't get me wrong, he's defnitely gone through he's more infuriating stages. There was that time when I was ten that he was going through a stage where any type of rock beat was from the devil. We had to throw out our Amy Grant cassette tape and records. There was also the no-dating-til-you-are-16 stage. Well, maybe that was smart as they had me for a daughter! There are many moments when he drives me crazy. But there are far more when I am so thankful that he was the one that God placed in my life. When my engagement was called off, Dad and I would sit and talk for hours. Rather, I would talk for hours and he would listen.
It's funny. The older I've gotten, the more I can hear my Dad's voice in the day-to-day. Sometimes I'll be working on something and I'll hear how he would react to it and I'll laugh. The other day I went into a store with exorbant prices for their product. I had to chuckle as I could hear my Dad say, "They sure are proud of their merchandise aren't they?" What's really funny is that I'm writing all this while my Dad is still very much alive. He's still chugging away, loving my Mom, growing in the Lord, emailing a daily Bible Study he writes to a couple hundred people, pastoring a church and really into nutrition. Anytime I want, I can call him and unless he's preaching I know I'll get a listening ear. But more than me telling him, I've come to rely on his telling me. After watching the way he's lived, I've found that I need to hear him more than I need to tell him. The same is true for me and God. I've started to listen a little bit better. I'm trying to quit coming to His Word with a laundry list. Rather, I've found if I look for His character in those pages, well, I'll hear them in the every day in much the same way as I hear my Dads voice. I see things as humorous sometimes now, in the way He would. I love the way He's put together certain people who should have never "worked" but in His divine wisdom, they are a perfect fit. Or the way He continuously gives me a girly-girl for a close friend...such an odd fit for the tom-boy that I am.
I think it's when I DON'T listen for that Voice, when I'm not in a place where I can hear it, that I have issues. I think trying to hear God's Voice with sin in your life is like trying to hear someone talk to you while you've got your hands clamped down securely over your ears. His Voice comes out muffled. Sometimes it ends up as a garbled command, like you'd played a horrible round of Chinese telephone. I've done things in His Name that He didn't want me to do. I did them, in a state of sin, not really listening or walking right with Him. He ended up throwing a few punishments for me in the end.
When I'm trying to hear His Voice, I tend to do what Tony Evans does to prep for a sermon: I read myself full (of Scripture). Pray myself hot. And walk myself empty (mulling over what He is saying). This little routine has a tendency to re-boot my system. At the end, after much confession and listening, well, I can hear that Voice again.
After seminary I was on a church staff in Houston for a couple of years. I loved that church. But towards the end of that time, I started to really fell like God wanted me to step out in faith..that He had more for me. I didn't know what that "more" was, but I knew staying in my comfort zone was not it. I put off leaving the church for about six months. Finally, I told the pastor that I was leaving in eight weeks. I packed my things and left...only to have the Lord open up a cabin for me to stay in Estes Park, Colorado (thank you L&KC!). While there, my routine: Wake and read Scripture for 4-6 hours. Write music for a couple hours in between. Hike to town and around and back, sprinting some for acclimization. Get home in time to grill some of the frozen elk Larry hada left for me in the freezer and prepare dinner of some sorts. Read and write for a couple more hours. Go to bed. Somewhere in the middle of the reading and listening and hiking and writing, well, I learned all sorts of things. He cleared my life of all sorts of dead things in this time. But more than anything, well, I learned what His Voice sounds like. I learned how to recognize it amidst the hustle and the bustle we call life. When I came off of that mountain, roughly 40 days later, I was a different girl. Alone with Him, He had hewn some serious ears into my soul. I think this season was one of the ost fruitful of my life. Since that time, I've pretty much been in the desert. But it was this "Learning to Listen 101" crash course that has kept me on course in the midst of a few years of hell. And it's knowing His character is good, just like I know my Dad's is good, that keeps me beleiving this pain will end one day. My Dad would want the pain to end, after it's done what it's designed to do. God will make this pain end after it's done what it's designed to do, mold my character. Am I sick of this season? OOoh you better betcha. But I also believe with all my heart that it's not forever. I keep telling people He's coming for me and that it'll end. I want to be Prince Caspian's Lucy who doesn't give up on God's promises even when everyone else does. I want to believe no matter what I see with my eyes.
So. As in the words of Joshua, I choose today to continue to press on towards the prize of knowing HIm. I believe. I'm working on hearing. And in the midst of this hearing and believing, I find myself fully alive.
Honestly with his profession and personality, you'd never suspect my Dad has as keen a sense of humor as he does. If something is the most amazing thing to ever transpire on the face of this planet, he'll say in monotonous syllables, "That's great babe." I used to think this was totally rude. Now I know he's a little tongue-in-cheek mixed with ultra-laid back.
From ages four until I turned twelve, we'd sing at the local nursing home ever Friday. There were three girls in my family old enough to sing. That's really where I learned to sing harmony. I remember my sister telling me to just "hear" it. And "hear" it we did, to songs like "In the Garden" and "Tis' So Sweet to Trust in Jesus." If we didn't sing loud enough, we got a spanking. "But if you sing loud enough," Dad would smile, "you get a Coke!" Mmmm...I remember those cold coke cans. I'd struggle to pop open the metal ring, but the cool fizz that came was worth the bruised little fingers. I'd try to chug it, like my dad's friend Chuck after one of their softball games, but I could only get a couple of gulps down before my stomache started to ache. I never got a spanking for singing too soft at the nursing home. I was the "loud one" and it was easy to avoid punishment on that end. Now Corrie, she had a small frame and an even smaller voice. To get her to sing above a whisper was like pulling teeth. Dad would cajole and prod and push and finally resort to spanking every week. But after four emotional weeks like this, well, all her kicking-n-screamin must've helped her lungs to just sprout out real huge, cuz' after that, well, she never did have a problem singing loudly again.
The only thing I didn't like about the nursing home was the smell and the required hugs. I went through a "Don't TOUCH me!" stage for about four years when I was younger. I still don't know what caused it. Along with singing loud enough, we were required to hug every neck in the room at this nursing home. It wouldn't have been so bad except there were some people so drugged up that hugging them was like hugging a drooling corpse. Or worse, some of them would just hang on for dear life not wanting to let you go! If that particular long-hugger was a stout woman, well, you got a nose-full of bossom for an indefineable amount of time that seemed like eternity. Gross.
What I loved about the nursing home was the candy and the motions. Two of the little ladies were well into their hunderedth year. They'd keep little plastic baggies of mints and butterscotch with them to give to us every week. I loved the butterscotch. We got to do motions with several of the songs we sang. We'd sing "He's a Peach of a Savior," to the tune of "The Lord's Army." Each time we sang it three times. We'd sing it once at a normal pace, once in slow motion and once at super sonic speed. We also loved singing Father Abraham so fast that when we spun around we'd lose our balance and end up falling on the floor. Dad would allow a little bit of foolishness, but we knew we only had about 30 seconds of it before we got the slight eye squint, which meant our precious Coke reward was on the line. I always thought his slight squint was really him imagining the size of the spanking stick he'd use on us. When I was eight we went to one of those pioneer exhibitions. It was one of those things where they had rows of tents with different exhibits showing you how the pioneers lived. They had corn being ground for meal, clothes being washed on a board and hot wax being stirred for homemade candles. There was also a tent where they burned words and designs onto wood. This was my favorite tent. I loved the smell of burning wood and thought the swirl of roses on a chair was so pretty. I would sit and trace the swirls with my finger while munching an ear of rosted corn. I really wanted one of the little rocking chairs they made. Dad and I stood there about 15 minutes while he had something made. I don't know why I didn't ask what he was doing. It wasn't til we got back to the car that he showed my mom what he had bought: a large wooden spanking paddle with all of us kids names engraved on it. I knew I hated that stupid tent. It served my dad right when he broke that stupid paddle on my heinie about six months later. Pioneers must not have had kids as obstinate as me.
I remember getting a spanking every day one summer. We got spankings for three things: Disrespect, disobediance and lying. If you think about it, any adolescant misdemeanor can be categorized as one of these three. I think I was most often spanked for disrespect. Well, disrespect and delayed obediance. According to Dad, "Delayed obediance is disobediance." So really it was my mouth and attitude that got me into trouble. I loved to answer my parents serious queries with a lotta' sass. They thought they were so smart. And that whole "delayed obediance" thing was primarily due to draggin my feet...part of my quiet rebellion to do whatever they were asking me to do.
I can't find the exact quote, but somewhere in my youth I remember someone telling me, "It's funny how much your parents will learn from the time you turn 16 until the time you turn 21." I've thought about that so many times since hitting my 20s. I remember thinking I knew so much more than my fuddy-duddy parents. Typical teenager. And then when I turned 21, almost to the day, I'd start to call Dad and ask for advice. We'd even talk about boy stuff. It was always humorous. He'd always ask if the boy knew the Lord. And then he'd just listen. I'd spout off about a particular encounter and he'd just listen. I think he considered this long-suffering on his part. I honestly think he could've done without every detail, but I was bound and determined to make sure he knew what was said to me and how and from whom. At the end of the conversation he'd offer me a verse of Scripture or a little thought. If the verse or thought cut a little too close to home, well, I'd think he was being a little pushy or too churchy. But I'd think on what he said for a few days and invariably call a few days later to apologize for a poor attitude. Mom on the other hand, well, she'd spout off for hours on what I needed to do to chase a boy away or attract him near.
Growing up with four sisters, going to the grocery store with the family was always an interesting ordeal. If Dad took you, you always knew you were getting Hershey's Almond Chocolate bars from the checkout counter because those were his favorite. He'd walk in with the youngest in the grocery cart and the rest of us would roam about, looking for things that we couldn't live without, e.g., sugary cereal, marshmallow creme and frozen pizza. We knew if we begged just right, we'd have a chance of at least getting one item we wanted. When he had finished getting the items on Mom's list, he'd give one sharp, quick whistle. He could have whispered it, and I don't know why, but we'd always hear that whistle and come running. I don't know if any of us ever got a spanking for not responding to the whistle, but if any of us did, I'm sure it was me.
They say that our view of God is largely based on our view of our earthly Father. Honestly, I can't imagine what people do who don't have a good earthly Father. It really makes me sad. I don't think I'm feeling sorry for them. Rather, I just get sad because it was so easy for me to see the Father as good and loving even when punishing. Every time my Dad spanked me he'd say he loved me and hug me afterwards. And amidst the snotty sniffles I'd hug him back. There was one season where I was going through a particularly rebellious stage. Every time Mom or Dad said something, I'd shoot something dicey right back to them. There was all sorts of screaming and door slamming on my part...and furrowed brows and occasionally screaming right back on their part. One day, after a particularly punchy shouting match, i was cooling off by shooting baskets in the driveway. Dad came outside and silently shot baskets next to me. After he'd made one particularly stellar three pointer, I tossed him back his "change." He held the ball in both hands, slowly shifting it around. I could see the wheels spinning in his brain, but there was nothing in this world that would have prepared me for what came next. "Annetta. I love you. You are my responsibility and the Lord has asked me to make my family my priority. If it takes me leaving this church and going somewhere else to make you know Him, I'll do it." And with that, he set the ball down and I lept into his arms for a huge hug while sniveling, "I'm sorry Dad, I won't do it again!" For a moment I had thought lightening was about to strike me. I mean, my Dad giving up his church position because of my poor attitude and razor tongue? Surely leaving the pastorate would have to have more severe repercussions than leaving any other profession?!? But my Dad never had to make good on his promise. After that generous, but scary, offer, I straightened up a little. Our home went from the battlegrounds of World War 111 to intermittent arguments over stupid stuff. It was that conversation with my Dad, more than any other moment in my life, that showed me how much my heavenly Father cares about me. My Dad here was willing to put aside things that were extremely important to him. My heavenly Father offered me His Son.
Maybe it's my Dad's example of who God is that has gifted me with a greater understanding of faith. I mean, it's not hard to imagine God's gonna' catch you if you leap if you have a Dad like mine. I've worked with some pretty phenomenal Christian leaders, a couple of them are the leaders of our century. My Dad is the godliest man I've ever known. I mean, don't get me wrong, he's defnitely gone through he's more infuriating stages. There was that time when I was ten that he was going through a stage where any type of rock beat was from the devil. We had to throw out our Amy Grant cassette tape and records. There was also the no-dating-til-you-are-16 stage. Well, maybe that was smart as they had me for a daughter! There are many moments when he drives me crazy. But there are far more when I am so thankful that he was the one that God placed in my life. When my engagement was called off, Dad and I would sit and talk for hours. Rather, I would talk for hours and he would listen.
It's funny. The older I've gotten, the more I can hear my Dad's voice in the day-to-day. Sometimes I'll be working on something and I'll hear how he would react to it and I'll laugh. The other day I went into a store with exorbant prices for their product. I had to chuckle as I could hear my Dad say, "They sure are proud of their merchandise aren't they?" What's really funny is that I'm writing all this while my Dad is still very much alive. He's still chugging away, loving my Mom, growing in the Lord, emailing a daily Bible Study he writes to a couple hundred people, pastoring a church and really into nutrition. Anytime I want, I can call him and unless he's preaching I know I'll get a listening ear. But more than me telling him, I've come to rely on his telling me. After watching the way he's lived, I've found that I need to hear him more than I need to tell him. The same is true for me and God. I've started to listen a little bit better. I'm trying to quit coming to His Word with a laundry list. Rather, I've found if I look for His character in those pages, well, I'll hear them in the every day in much the same way as I hear my Dads voice. I see things as humorous sometimes now, in the way He would. I love the way He's put together certain people who should have never "worked" but in His divine wisdom, they are a perfect fit. Or the way He continuously gives me a girly-girl for a close friend...such an odd fit for the tom-boy that I am.
I think it's when I DON'T listen for that Voice, when I'm not in a place where I can hear it, that I have issues. I think trying to hear God's Voice with sin in your life is like trying to hear someone talk to you while you've got your hands clamped down securely over your ears. His Voice comes out muffled. Sometimes it ends up as a garbled command, like you'd played a horrible round of Chinese telephone. I've done things in His Name that He didn't want me to do. I did them, in a state of sin, not really listening or walking right with Him. He ended up throwing a few punishments for me in the end.
When I'm trying to hear His Voice, I tend to do what Tony Evans does to prep for a sermon: I read myself full (of Scripture). Pray myself hot. And walk myself empty (mulling over what He is saying). This little routine has a tendency to re-boot my system. At the end, after much confession and listening, well, I can hear that Voice again.
After seminary I was on a church staff in Houston for a couple of years. I loved that church. But towards the end of that time, I started to really fell like God wanted me to step out in faith..that He had more for me. I didn't know what that "more" was, but I knew staying in my comfort zone was not it. I put off leaving the church for about six months. Finally, I told the pastor that I was leaving in eight weeks. I packed my things and left...only to have the Lord open up a cabin for me to stay in Estes Park, Colorado (thank you L&KC!). While there, my routine: Wake and read Scripture for 4-6 hours. Write music for a couple hours in between. Hike to town and around and back, sprinting some for acclimization. Get home in time to grill some of the frozen elk Larry hada left for me in the freezer and prepare dinner of some sorts. Read and write for a couple more hours. Go to bed. Somewhere in the middle of the reading and listening and hiking and writing, well, I learned all sorts of things. He cleared my life of all sorts of dead things in this time. But more than anything, well, I learned what His Voice sounds like. I learned how to recognize it amidst the hustle and the bustle we call life. When I came off of that mountain, roughly 40 days later, I was a different girl. Alone with Him, He had hewn some serious ears into my soul. I think this season was one of the ost fruitful of my life. Since that time, I've pretty much been in the desert. But it was this "Learning to Listen 101" crash course that has kept me on course in the midst of a few years of hell. And it's knowing His character is good, just like I know my Dad's is good, that keeps me beleiving this pain will end one day. My Dad would want the pain to end, after it's done what it's designed to do. God will make this pain end after it's done what it's designed to do, mold my character. Am I sick of this season? OOoh you better betcha. But I also believe with all my heart that it's not forever. I keep telling people He's coming for me and that it'll end. I want to be Prince Caspian's Lucy who doesn't give up on God's promises even when everyone else does. I want to believe no matter what I see with my eyes.
So. As in the words of Joshua, I choose today to continue to press on towards the prize of knowing HIm. I believe. I'm working on hearing. And in the midst of this hearing and believing, I find myself fully alive.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
I Heart Running
Went on a kick back run today. The kind where you don't even have to be listening to music...you have your own personal soundtrack playing in your head. I love those runs. I just watch the miles go by in a blur while this cranium thinks it's fixing the problems of the world. I can do in upwards of 18 miles like this if I get in just the right frame of mind. But my favorite runs like this are not the runs with long distance but the runs with fast speed AND long distance. My legs are pumping, lungs are pumping and breathing is all about the rhythm. I love rhythm. I sometimes think I've a little African American under this pale-freckled skin. Put on a little R & B/hip-hop and I start a bopping.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Chapter 5: Onions, Singin' Screamin and Cabbage Patch kids
It's funny to see what makes people tick. My sister Corrie? She's definitely a gloriously whimsical individual. She thrives off of anything musical. Well, really my whole family is that way. I'm not sure what makes us so obssessive about it. But Corrie now, she's the one that might have a cardiac arrest if there isn't music in her head. We drove together a lot last week when she was visiting Dallas. She's notoriously a spacy driver, tending to cut people off unintentionally and then wave real friendly-like. She knows they're probably muttering cusswords under their breath, but she has so many other ideas and inventions rattling in her brain that she doesn't pay attention to a random driver. Meanwhile, I'm sinking as low as possible in my seat, hoping no one recognizes me. Put her in a city where she has no idea where she's going, and add me, the sister who gives worse directions, and you have a little bit of Disney's "Herbie" on wheels. I'd never noticed before this last visit, but when she makes a particularly harrowing turn, she tends to SING her "Ahhh!" The first time I heard it, I couldn't believe it.
"You just sang."
"What?"
"You just sang your scream."
"Oh that. I always do that. It's just IN me."
"No, but Corrie, you SANG. No one sings when they're yelping in surprise."
"What can I say, I'm a musician."
So she said... as if this explains everything. She is probably the one person in the world who doesn't get embarassed when you tell her she has food in her teeth. She gets mad. It's as if you hit a switch that turns her from a "whatever goes" mentality to "YOU'RE CENSORING ME!" mentality. Her reaction is volatile at best and nuclear towards the bad end of things. Let's just say I take a whole lotta blame that is only half my due.
For Corrie, there's nothin worse than censoring. She'd rather be poor in a dirt hut with haggis for every meal than be censored. Corrie's the sister who lived in Russia. I used to say Russia gave her the beatnik qualities that make her Corrie. But now I know these colorful patches of her identity were all just a little dormant...Russia just bombed her deep waters and they all came to the surface. It was pretty crazy to watch. She went to Russia as a little classical music lover, full of depth and quirkiness but firmly ensconced in propriety. She came back like a hippy Medusa, ready to embalm you in death-beckoning insults if you were to question some of her more odd qualities.
Now put her in a kayak with nature or on a sweaty, blisteringly heated hike, and well, she starts vomiting pithy bits of wicked-awesome wisdom like they are simply fruit loops she had for breakfast. Or put her in an art museum or some place that has contact with any kind of art form, and she flows with that happy energy that comes from being in love. The switch is kinda' ridiculous: From singin' screamin' to trigger-happy sensor-hating to intoxicating-yoda embodiment of all that is good and pure and holy. I sometimes get whiplash. At one moment she's my trigger-happy, bossy older sister and the next she's my good-vibes flowing favorite person in the world. I don't think she's like that with other people. Just her younger, push-her-buttons sister.
I once dated a fella with trigger points just as severe.
I would say, "I'm thinking kids in a coupla' years AFTER I get married. I want to smell like my favorite perfume during our first coupla' years of honeymoon, not my spawn's vomit. Plus, there's really a whole lotta' stress that comes from having a little human as your responsibility."
Josh would say, "I think Scripture is clear that we are supposed to
bear fruit and multiply. Multiply. Part of being married is having kids."
"That doesn't necessarily we have to multiply NOW. Couldn't we wait
for a coupla' years? Get our feet underneath us, a rhythm to our
marriage? I mean, just two years ago I was saying I hated kids...I
can't imagine birthing one quite so soon."
"I'm just saying, when I marry, Lord willing we're going to have kids right away. It's Scriptural."
And so the conversation always ended. There's no arguing with people who won't budge. And whenever this topic was brought up, sullen silence ensued. We both knew we were RIGHT. And we both knew the other was WRONG. Weird how you can be right when someone else's right is so the opposite.
In the end, we just wanted different things from life. Josh wanted to have kids and live in Pleasantville the rest of his life. I wanted to travel the world and live in a tour bus with my kids. He wanted to live near his family. I wanted to live as far away as possible. Compromise wasn't an issue on the front end - but it catalyzed THE issue at the very end.
When I was six, I loved my Cabbage Patch doll fiercely. Then when I was seven, Dad made me get rid of her because of some scare about the word Xavier being on her bottom. Folks were saying they were used by Satan to get into our homes. I thought that was the stupidest grown-up thing I'd ever heard. I mean, a doll was a tool of Satan? Seriously? Especially my beloved red-yarn-haired Patty? No way. Adults were weird. Sometimes, I'd be minding my own business, playing, and my younger sister, Betsie, would get an itching to play with my dolls. Something about the fun I was having made her want to play. Mom would come downstairs after my sister complained that I wasn't letting her play with MY dolls. I'd get "five more minutes" to play and then have to turn it over to my sister. Sucked. For her and for me. Bets would watch in agony while I savored the last five minutes of play. Then I had to sit in skin-itching rage and watch her play (with far less excitement) with MY dolls. She didn't even like playing with dolls! Oooo...I hated it. At the end of our time, neither one of us felt satisfied. Rather, I was just on edge with that particular sister for the rest of the day. Drove me nuts.
Compromise. A gift. Impossible. Infuriating. Beautiful. At whatever age. Whether it's debating who gets to play with the doll or who gets to have kids when they want them, compromise is about giving parts of yourself away. It's kinda' like the green technicolor Shrek likes to say, "People are like onions with all sorts of layers." If the compromise is about something on one of the more surface layers, no biggie, it's easily attainable - "Oh honey, let's do Chinese food tonight, we did Mexican yesterday." It doesn't require a whole lotta' "give" on either person's side. The surface layers of people are easily compromised, especially if they learned to share when they were younger! And it's even a joy to compromise when you love someone. It means you get to give something to the person you love. It's really a beautiful thing.
But at other times, when it comes to a deeper layer of your onion, compromise asks you to alienate your very DNA, abandoning your created being for another's dream - "Of course I'll wait to have kids. Even though it's my biblical conviction, I really love you. I'll wait as long as you say."
I'm really not bitter. I just look back and realize, we were oh-so-very-different at our core. Josh's and my views on childbearing were stamped on our souls...or washed on our brain. Asking Josh to change would be like asking Corrie to quit singing...to start caring about lettuce on her teeth at every moment...to never kayak again. All these things are part of her genetic makeup. Whether it's tabula rosa (she was raised to be this way) or it's innate, I don't know. But I do know that I adore Corrie the way she is now. Asking her to be different than she is would make her less "Corrie," less wonderfully colorful; Less alive. The same is true for Josh. And the same is true for me. At the end of the day he and I realized we would never work, no matter how much love we had for each other.
For us, it was much more than a give-n-take in sharing toys. It was even more than a little personality clash. Josh and I were onions with opposite cores. We were each created for someone else. We were not going to work.
p.s. Please let me know what you think! I'm working on putting together a book about relationships...I'd LOVE your input! OR even your frustrations with relationships! Might be fodder for book material! :)
"You just sang."
"What?"
"You just sang your scream."
"Oh that. I always do that. It's just IN me."
"No, but Corrie, you SANG. No one sings when they're yelping in surprise."
"What can I say, I'm a musician."
So she said... as if this explains everything. She is probably the one person in the world who doesn't get embarassed when you tell her she has food in her teeth. She gets mad. It's as if you hit a switch that turns her from a "whatever goes" mentality to "YOU'RE CENSORING ME!" mentality. Her reaction is volatile at best and nuclear towards the bad end of things. Let's just say I take a whole lotta blame that is only half my due.
For Corrie, there's nothin worse than censoring. She'd rather be poor in a dirt hut with haggis for every meal than be censored. Corrie's the sister who lived in Russia. I used to say Russia gave her the beatnik qualities that make her Corrie. But now I know these colorful patches of her identity were all just a little dormant...Russia just bombed her deep waters and they all came to the surface. It was pretty crazy to watch. She went to Russia as a little classical music lover, full of depth and quirkiness but firmly ensconced in propriety. She came back like a hippy Medusa, ready to embalm you in death-beckoning insults if you were to question some of her more odd qualities.
Now put her in a kayak with nature or on a sweaty, blisteringly heated hike, and well, she starts vomiting pithy bits of wicked-awesome wisdom like they are simply fruit loops she had for breakfast. Or put her in an art museum or some place that has contact with any kind of art form, and she flows with that happy energy that comes from being in love. The switch is kinda' ridiculous: From singin' screamin' to trigger-happy sensor-hating to intoxicating-yoda embodiment of all that is good and pure and holy. I sometimes get whiplash. At one moment she's my trigger-happy, bossy older sister and the next she's my good-vibes flowing favorite person in the world. I don't think she's like that with other people. Just her younger, push-her-buttons sister.
I once dated a fella with trigger points just as severe.
I would say, "I'm thinking kids in a coupla' years AFTER I get married. I want to smell like my favorite perfume during our first coupla' years of honeymoon, not my spawn's vomit. Plus, there's really a whole lotta' stress that comes from having a little human as your responsibility."
Josh would say, "I think Scripture is clear that we are supposed to
bear fruit and multiply. Multiply. Part of being married is having kids."
"That doesn't necessarily we have to multiply NOW. Couldn't we wait
for a coupla' years? Get our feet underneath us, a rhythm to our
marriage? I mean, just two years ago I was saying I hated kids...I
can't imagine birthing one quite so soon."
"I'm just saying, when I marry, Lord willing we're going to have kids right away. It's Scriptural."
And so the conversation always ended. There's no arguing with people who won't budge. And whenever this topic was brought up, sullen silence ensued. We both knew we were RIGHT. And we both knew the other was WRONG. Weird how you can be right when someone else's right is so the opposite.
In the end, we just wanted different things from life. Josh wanted to have kids and live in Pleasantville the rest of his life. I wanted to travel the world and live in a tour bus with my kids. He wanted to live near his family. I wanted to live as far away as possible. Compromise wasn't an issue on the front end - but it catalyzed THE issue at the very end.
When I was six, I loved my Cabbage Patch doll fiercely. Then when I was seven, Dad made me get rid of her because of some scare about the word Xavier being on her bottom. Folks were saying they were used by Satan to get into our homes. I thought that was the stupidest grown-up thing I'd ever heard. I mean, a doll was a tool of Satan? Seriously? Especially my beloved red-yarn-haired Patty? No way. Adults were weird. Sometimes, I'd be minding my own business, playing, and my younger sister, Betsie, would get an itching to play with my dolls. Something about the fun I was having made her want to play. Mom would come downstairs after my sister complained that I wasn't letting her play with MY dolls. I'd get "five more minutes" to play and then have to turn it over to my sister. Sucked. For her and for me. Bets would watch in agony while I savored the last five minutes of play. Then I had to sit in skin-itching rage and watch her play (with far less excitement) with MY dolls. She didn't even like playing with dolls! Oooo...I hated it. At the end of our time, neither one of us felt satisfied. Rather, I was just on edge with that particular sister for the rest of the day. Drove me nuts.
Compromise. A gift. Impossible. Infuriating. Beautiful. At whatever age. Whether it's debating who gets to play with the doll or who gets to have kids when they want them, compromise is about giving parts of yourself away. It's kinda' like the green technicolor Shrek likes to say, "People are like onions with all sorts of layers." If the compromise is about something on one of the more surface layers, no biggie, it's easily attainable - "Oh honey, let's do Chinese food tonight, we did Mexican yesterday." It doesn't require a whole lotta' "give" on either person's side. The surface layers of people are easily compromised, especially if they learned to share when they were younger! And it's even a joy to compromise when you love someone. It means you get to give something to the person you love. It's really a beautiful thing.
But at other times, when it comes to a deeper layer of your onion, compromise asks you to alienate your very DNA, abandoning your created being for another's dream - "Of course I'll wait to have kids. Even though it's my biblical conviction, I really love you. I'll wait as long as you say."
I'm really not bitter. I just look back and realize, we were oh-so-very-different at our core. Josh's and my views on childbearing were stamped on our souls...or washed on our brain. Asking Josh to change would be like asking Corrie to quit singing...to start caring about lettuce on her teeth at every moment...to never kayak again. All these things are part of her genetic makeup. Whether it's tabula rosa (she was raised to be this way) or it's innate, I don't know. But I do know that I adore Corrie the way she is now. Asking her to be different than she is would make her less "Corrie," less wonderfully colorful; Less alive. The same is true for Josh. And the same is true for me. At the end of the day he and I realized we would never work, no matter how much love we had for each other.
For us, it was much more than a give-n-take in sharing toys. It was even more than a little personality clash. Josh and I were onions with opposite cores. We were each created for someone else. We were not going to work.
p.s. Please let me know what you think! I'm working on putting together a book about relationships...I'd LOVE your input! OR even your frustrations with relationships! Might be fodder for book material! :)
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
"What the Bugger Matchett's!"
"Annetta! We're moving our whole family to Dallas to live at a ranch and help train college students to work with refugees and develop a theological construct in a gap year program! What's more we're raising our own funding!"
I checked my facebook in-box a few months ago and find this absurd anouncement from some dear friends. Somehow it didn't surprise me. I mean, they're always doing things "led by His Spirit." I mean, this is the same couple who adopted 2 children from Russia. The same couple that used to be the college pastor at Saddleback only to accept a position as a lowly associate pastor in a church plant in Katy Texas. It seems that my friends the Matchett's have developed a pattern in shunning the normal "step up" the church chain in the realm of "successful ministry"...
I got updates every now and again: "We put our house on the market four days ago and it SOLD today for more than the asking price!"; "We'll be there on a Thursday if you wanna' find folks to help us move in!"; "The kids are loving riding horses and playing on the ranch year round!". All the while that I'm getting these invites, well, I'm also getting the feeling that I'm supposed to respond somehow.
And I'm starting to get annoyed.
BUT. I love Rob and Misti. And they've never been too pushy before. If anything, they've simply helped me go my own way and been incredibly supportive of my less-than normal life choices. I mean, they were the ones who brought me to HBU in Houston. They were there when I left Tallowood. I worked for Rob for a few months after I broke off my engagement last year. They've seen the best and worst parts of Annetta.
Finding myself driving to the Ranch a few weeks ago, I was cautious, guarded and belligerent. You're getting this email because you know me. And knowing me, you know that if I arrive in a place with such a poor attitude, it's usually because I know it's something the Father has for me...and somehow, I'm not thinking it looks as rosy as the plans I have for MYSELF! But going out there...well...we're on to story Number two.
The Birthing of a World Changer
Arriving at Sabine Creek Ranch, Ben (a friend from Dallas who had accompanied me for the ride) and I were greeted by a chorus of raucus barking when we knocked on an unmarked door, searching for the Matchett family. Instead of familiar jolly Rob answering, we got sweet-spirited, entrepeneur Eddie. Walking back to some recently positioned temporary buildings, we sat down over ice-water for a chat with Eddie and Rob. We'd finally located Rob, pacing and chatting excitedly on the phone about this crazy SEGUE story.
Eddie told me his story first...: "About 18 months ago, I took a trip to China. I'd always had a sort of heart for missions and have been to China several times. As a minister over the years, I've been blessed to do inumerable international mission trips. But on this trip, heading back, I started to calculate up the number of dollars we'd spent on airfare for our small group to travel over there. After racking up in excess of 30g's, I started to think "there's GOT to be a better way to reach these people!" Arriving home, I stumbled across a program the UN was involved in bringing refugees to the states. I found out that most of these refugees, averaging the arrival rate of one new family in the Rockwall area every day, lived in apartments not too far from where I lived. The UN currently pays for 4 months of food and housing for these individuals. Generally, the refugees originated from Somalia, Burma and Muslim countries in the Middle East. All of these are countries that missionaries are trying to get into, but being denied based on religious reasons.
I started to show up every Tuesday night with my guitar. I'd play a few songs and tell a story of Jesus. Then I'd love on these beautiful people. I realized that most of the refugees were coming straight from the jungles of Butan and Sudan or from extended stays in refugee camps. This meant that most of them didn't know how to find a job and speak English, much less how to turn on hot water or how to work a light switch. To say they were remedial in survival mode in a big city was an understatement. They had virtually 4 months to learn the skills for survival in the states. I know it'd take me longer to develop survival skills in the jungles of Africa. How are they supposed to learn how to survive here? And most of these people are so desperate for anyone to help them that we're finding Hindu people open to the Gospel simply because we've offered them a lifeline of help. I started to pray about what God would have for these people using myself and the camp/.ranch He'd provided for my family to use as a ministry. I realized we only use the ranch to full-capacity in the summer. This left the ranch virtually empty for 9 months of the year. I mean, what if we could get a load of college/post-college age students to come live at the ranch and minister to these refugees? What if we offered them a theological foundation all the while?"
That is the birth story of SEGUE. Eddie called Rob (they had reconnected on facebook of all things!) and they began talking and praying...and within weeks, Rob's house was sold and the money raised for Rob's family to join Eddie on the Ranch.
The Deets
Segue: A musical interlude, leading to the next portion of a musical piece.
The Vision: Missions, Worship, Theology and Community forged into the lives of interns, students in a "gap" year of college or recently graduated.
In brief: On teams of 6, interns spend...
* 10 hours serving the refugees
* 10 hours in seminars - one weekly seminar on worship, one weekly seminar on missions, and one weekly seminar on spiritual formation
* 10 hours in worship and prayer = prayer room, recording studio, corporate and personal
* 10+ hours in a part-time job - hopefully in the field they want to pursue.
The 10 hours of classes a week will cover theological/spiritual formation to marriage/divorce/women's roles to Christian History to Calvinism v Arminianism to...you get the drift.
The part-time job will be outside of their normal SEGUE activities. We provide them a list of employers and they go for it! We want them to be plugged into the outside world while dialoguing with their teams of opportunities to witness, be Jesus-with-skin-on in the workplace.
We are passionate about helping these students develop a heart for missions, an entrepreneurial spirit for tentmaking (Eddie will provide classes on writing up business plans, etc.), a heart for passionate, free, creative worship, and an openness to authentic, vulnerable, accountable Christian community.
OK. SO this is the vision.
I'm putting together a few fundraising events to raise my salary. If you want to give or be a part of organizing an event, I NEED YOUR HELP. I'm extremely overwelmed with the thought of raising support. But when I realize I'm not asking for money for myself, I'm asking for money so I can minister to refugees, then I am hard-core passionate about BEGGING for support!
I'm also uber-active in recruiting high-capacity students interested in giving 9 months of their lives before going to law or medical school...or the mission field...or to seminary or the business workplace. We're praying for cream-of-the-crop students to minister to these refugees who will be the leaders of their countries when they return.
We want future world changers to love on the future world leaders of Bhutan, Napali, and all these countries that current missionaries have no access to.
I checked my facebook in-box a few months ago and find this absurd anouncement from some dear friends. Somehow it didn't surprise me. I mean, they're always doing things "led by His Spirit." I mean, this is the same couple who adopted 2 children from Russia. The same couple that used to be the college pastor at Saddleback only to accept a position as a lowly associate pastor in a church plant in Katy Texas. It seems that my friends the Matchett's have developed a pattern in shunning the normal "step up" the church chain in the realm of "successful ministry"...
I got updates every now and again: "We put our house on the market four days ago and it SOLD today for more than the asking price!"; "We'll be there on a Thursday if you wanna' find folks to help us move in!"; "The kids are loving riding horses and playing on the ranch year round!". All the while that I'm getting these invites, well, I'm also getting the feeling that I'm supposed to respond somehow.
And I'm starting to get annoyed.
BUT. I love Rob and Misti. And they've never been too pushy before. If anything, they've simply helped me go my own way and been incredibly supportive of my less-than normal life choices. I mean, they were the ones who brought me to HBU in Houston. They were there when I left Tallowood. I worked for Rob for a few months after I broke off my engagement last year. They've seen the best and worst parts of Annetta.
Finding myself driving to the Ranch a few weeks ago, I was cautious, guarded and belligerent. You're getting this email because you know me. And knowing me, you know that if I arrive in a place with such a poor attitude, it's usually because I know it's something the Father has for me...and somehow, I'm not thinking it looks as rosy as the plans I have for MYSELF! But going out there...well...we're on to story Number two.
The Birthing of a World Changer
Arriving at Sabine Creek Ranch, Ben (a friend from Dallas who had accompanied me for the ride) and I were greeted by a chorus of raucus barking when we knocked on an unmarked door, searching for the Matchett family. Instead of familiar jolly Rob answering, we got sweet-spirited, entrepeneur Eddie. Walking back to some recently positioned temporary buildings, we sat down over ice-water for a chat with Eddie and Rob. We'd finally located Rob, pacing and chatting excitedly on the phone about this crazy SEGUE story.
Eddie told me his story first...: "About 18 months ago, I took a trip to China. I'd always had a sort of heart for missions and have been to China several times. As a minister over the years, I've been blessed to do inumerable international mission trips. But on this trip, heading back, I started to calculate up the number of dollars we'd spent on airfare for our small group to travel over there. After racking up in excess of 30g's, I started to think "there's GOT to be a better way to reach these people!" Arriving home, I stumbled across a program the UN was involved in bringing refugees to the states. I found out that most of these refugees, averaging the arrival rate of one new family in the Rockwall area every day, lived in apartments not too far from where I lived. The UN currently pays for 4 months of food and housing for these individuals. Generally, the refugees originated from Somalia, Burma and Muslim countries in the Middle East. All of these are countries that missionaries are trying to get into, but being denied based on religious reasons.
I started to show up every Tuesday night with my guitar. I'd play a few songs and tell a story of Jesus. Then I'd love on these beautiful people. I realized that most of the refugees were coming straight from the jungles of Butan and Sudan or from extended stays in refugee camps. This meant that most of them didn't know how to find a job and speak English, much less how to turn on hot water or how to work a light switch. To say they were remedial in survival mode in a big city was an understatement. They had virtually 4 months to learn the skills for survival in the states. I know it'd take me longer to develop survival skills in the jungles of Africa. How are they supposed to learn how to survive here? And most of these people are so desperate for anyone to help them that we're finding Hindu people open to the Gospel simply because we've offered them a lifeline of help. I started to pray about what God would have for these people using myself and the camp/.ranch He'd provided for my family to use as a ministry. I realized we only use the ranch to full-capacity in the summer. This left the ranch virtually empty for 9 months of the year. I mean, what if we could get a load of college/post-college age students to come live at the ranch and minister to these refugees? What if we offered them a theological foundation all the while?"
That is the birth story of SEGUE. Eddie called Rob (they had reconnected on facebook of all things!) and they began talking and praying...and within weeks, Rob's house was sold and the money raised for Rob's family to join Eddie on the Ranch.
The Deets
Segue: A musical interlude, leading to the next portion of a musical piece.
The Vision: Missions, Worship, Theology and Community forged into the lives of interns, students in a "gap" year of college or recently graduated.
In brief: On teams of 6, interns spend...
* 10 hours serving the refugees
* 10 hours in seminars - one weekly seminar on worship, one weekly seminar on missions, and one weekly seminar on spiritual formation
* 10 hours in worship and prayer = prayer room, recording studio, corporate and personal
* 10+ hours in a part-time job - hopefully in the field they want to pursue.
The 10 hours of classes a week will cover theological/spiritual formation to marriage/divorce/women's roles to Christian History to Calvinism v Arminianism to...you get the drift.
The part-time job will be outside of their normal SEGUE activities. We provide them a list of employers and they go for it! We want them to be plugged into the outside world while dialoguing with their teams of opportunities to witness, be Jesus-with-skin-on in the workplace.
We are passionate about helping these students develop a heart for missions, an entrepreneurial spirit for tentmaking (Eddie will provide classes on writing up business plans, etc.), a heart for passionate, free, creative worship, and an openness to authentic, vulnerable, accountable Christian community.
OK. SO this is the vision.
I'm putting together a few fundraising events to raise my salary. If you want to give or be a part of organizing an event, I NEED YOUR HELP. I'm extremely overwelmed with the thought of raising support. But when I realize I'm not asking for money for myself, I'm asking for money so I can minister to refugees, then I am hard-core passionate about BEGGING for support!
I'm also uber-active in recruiting high-capacity students interested in giving 9 months of their lives before going to law or medical school...or the mission field...or to seminary or the business workplace. We're praying for cream-of-the-crop students to minister to these refugees who will be the leaders of their countries when they return.
We want future world changers to love on the future world leaders of Bhutan, Napali, and all these countries that current missionaries have no access to.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Jobless and Jubilant!
"I love you Tink!", so said the text message sent to me last Thursday morning. In the middle of my quiet time, I quickly shot back a "Y tu Senorita!" and went back to reading...but then I started to have a distinct foreshadowing in my spirit. I forged another text, "So I have this weird feeling I'm going to lose my job today...pray I don't if it's His will!" And with a text response back to me promising prayer, I went to work and forgot all about the exchange until 2:30pm when receiving a phone call from the temp agency that controlled my "temp-to-hire" contract. I'd been with the company 10 1/2 weeks. They'd called that afternoon and asked to have my contract terminated. "FIRED?! ME? What? What'd I do??" was my first reaction. I mean, the shame, the negative connotations of being "let go" immediately surfaced. But they just as quickly dissapated as well. I had an overwhelming sense of God's Sovereignty. Seemed He was just as much in control at 2:30pm as He was at 2pm. I asked the agent if there was a reason and she said they said not really and that they "really hated to do this." Wow. In a blink of an eye, my source of income was obliterated...
I had just been thinking of how homesick I was and knew I had no plans til Tuesday now that work was outta' the way. So home I went.
Dad and Mom and I hung out and talked about the Father's role in all of this...the why's and timing of it all...it all seems to be the beginning of the a new chapter for me. "New chapter?" you say? Yes, I know it seems all I've done in this past year is make new beginnings in different places. And even returning to Dallas Monday night was a bit of a stretch to say it feels like home...whatever that means. But I would say that Dallas feels more like home than any other place. This Sunday I join the church I've been attending for 6 months...a place I feel called to be connected more deeply with each passing hour.
But even in the supposed quietness of His working, I know He is indeed doing just that: working. The same God who foretold I was to lose my job and then took it in an instant is the same God who will provide for me tomorrow. He is the same God who has spent a year making me into a different person. What a SLOW year it's been too! The rough times go so slowly and the happy times speed by with nary a dull moment. In the past year I've learned a few things...and I'll have to put them into 2 postings, but here's the condensed version:
1. I've had my first real heartbreak.
2. I've moved to 4 different cities and 6 different houses.
3. I've slept on countless friends couches while crying on countless friends shoulders.
4. I've heard His Voice more clearly than I've ever heard it.
5. I've seen more clearly into the present, eternal Kingdom than I've ever seen.
6. I've been humbled to the point that I realize I desperately need more humbling.
7. I've started to realize that the patience I've earnestly prayed for isn't a pansy state, rather it's a wrestling (Hebrew states: writhing, groans as in childbirth!) place of the soul while waiting on Him to come.
8. I've started to realize the beginning stages of walking in His Presence. A place I've desired to be in for years, He's graced me with more and more of Him to the point that I sense Him all the time. In fact, I've started to ask His opinion on more than the average things...i.e., I used to ask occasionally, "do You want me to see this movie? or call this person or?" and now I ask Hi all the time. It's odd how it's becoming second nature...I pray it increases evermoreso!
9. Learning to bank my heart and trust in Him. His Presence more than His Hand.
10. That being said, learning that waiting for His Promises is a natural and right place to be in the midst of pain and seeming desert-land.
We really do live in the shadowlands. If we could but see (almost a streaming consciousness type of deal) His eternality in the moments of this current, fading reality, we'd live in His Presence pre-heaven. While I long for the day He takes me home, some days more than others!, finding His Presence a reality here abates some of that deeper longing of the soul. I realize His purpse for me is far greater than moving the masses. His purpose is far greater for me than a best-selling novel or cd. His purpose is even greater for me than leading thousands in true worship of The One Worthy. His purpose for me is to know and be known by Him...living fully out of the heart He created me to live out of.
Wow. Decadent. Grace-filled. I'm so unworthy...But He's The One Worthy.
I wait for His next step, believing all the promises He has stored up tis past year for such a time as this, I am at peace and joyful. I know He has a good plan. And the main thing is that it includes knowing Him. What do YOU think?
If you want to pray for a few specifics for this journey of mine, email me and I'll shoot the few things I'm bringing before Him to you. And I'd love to pray for you in YOUR journey too!
His.
annetta
I had just been thinking of how homesick I was and knew I had no plans til Tuesday now that work was outta' the way. So home I went.
Dad and Mom and I hung out and talked about the Father's role in all of this...the why's and timing of it all...it all seems to be the beginning of the a new chapter for me. "New chapter?" you say? Yes, I know it seems all I've done in this past year is make new beginnings in different places. And even returning to Dallas Monday night was a bit of a stretch to say it feels like home...whatever that means. But I would say that Dallas feels more like home than any other place. This Sunday I join the church I've been attending for 6 months...a place I feel called to be connected more deeply with each passing hour.
But even in the supposed quietness of His working, I know He is indeed doing just that: working. The same God who foretold I was to lose my job and then took it in an instant is the same God who will provide for me tomorrow. He is the same God who has spent a year making me into a different person. What a SLOW year it's been too! The rough times go so slowly and the happy times speed by with nary a dull moment. In the past year I've learned a few things...and I'll have to put them into 2 postings, but here's the condensed version:
1. I've had my first real heartbreak.
2. I've moved to 4 different cities and 6 different houses.
3. I've slept on countless friends couches while crying on countless friends shoulders.
4. I've heard His Voice more clearly than I've ever heard it.
5. I've seen more clearly into the present, eternal Kingdom than I've ever seen.
6. I've been humbled to the point that I realize I desperately need more humbling.
7. I've started to realize that the patience I've earnestly prayed for isn't a pansy state, rather it's a wrestling (Hebrew states: writhing, groans as in childbirth!) place of the soul while waiting on Him to come.
8. I've started to realize the beginning stages of walking in His Presence. A place I've desired to be in for years, He's graced me with more and more of Him to the point that I sense Him all the time. In fact, I've started to ask His opinion on more than the average things...i.e., I used to ask occasionally, "do You want me to see this movie? or call this person or?" and now I ask Hi all the time. It's odd how it's becoming second nature...I pray it increases evermoreso!
9. Learning to bank my heart and trust in Him. His Presence more than His Hand.
10. That being said, learning that waiting for His Promises is a natural and right place to be in the midst of pain and seeming desert-land.
We really do live in the shadowlands. If we could but see (almost a streaming consciousness type of deal) His eternality in the moments of this current, fading reality, we'd live in His Presence pre-heaven. While I long for the day He takes me home, some days more than others!, finding His Presence a reality here abates some of that deeper longing of the soul. I realize His purpse for me is far greater than moving the masses. His purpose is far greater for me than a best-selling novel or cd. His purpose is even greater for me than leading thousands in true worship of The One Worthy. His purpose for me is to know and be known by Him...living fully out of the heart He created me to live out of.
Wow. Decadent. Grace-filled. I'm so unworthy...But He's The One Worthy.
I wait for His next step, believing all the promises He has stored up tis past year for such a time as this, I am at peace and joyful. I know He has a good plan. And the main thing is that it includes knowing Him. What do YOU think?
If you want to pray for a few specifics for this journey of mine, email me and I'll shoot the few things I'm bringing before Him to you. And I'd love to pray for you in YOUR journey too!
His.
annetta
Thursday, March 19, 2009
BATHROOMTRIPATNIGHT Stage
Practically all of my life I have had an overactive nocturnal bladder. I know, I know, "TMI" you say. But seriously, I think every night of my life has found me getting up to go to the bathroom at 2 or 3 in the morning. This is so very annoying. Leaving a comfortable, warm bed is never fun. Although knowing I have a few hours left to sleep always makes it better. Anywho...
The POINT is, for my whole life I've had to walk to the bathroom in the dark. When a child, this freaked me out. I thought every shadow was a boogey man ready to suck my blood. I'd also trip over things or get disoriented over my surroundings. As I've grown older, no matter where I wake up, I seem to have developed a heightened alertness in these bewitching hours. I immediately know where I am, which direction to walk, and sometimes make my bathroom trip without ever really waking up!
Currently, life has me in a "bathroomtripatnight" stage. I'm walking in the dark. The nutty thing is, I've been walking in the dark, in faith, for so long, that I'm not falling as much. Practicing this faith walk this past year, following Him through heartbreak, moving, relocating friends, new jobs, etc., I'm starting to get into the rhythm. And when the most recent upset came about (lost my job today!), I felt like I didn't miss a beat.
Please don't hear me saying I'm amazing...hear me saying, HE's amazing. His patience (He took several years for me to get this one!) in teaching me in a kind and gracious manner has left me specchless.
The POINT is, for my whole life I've had to walk to the bathroom in the dark. When a child, this freaked me out. I thought every shadow was a boogey man ready to suck my blood. I'd also trip over things or get disoriented over my surroundings. As I've grown older, no matter where I wake up, I seem to have developed a heightened alertness in these bewitching hours. I immediately know where I am, which direction to walk, and sometimes make my bathroom trip without ever really waking up!
Currently, life has me in a "bathroomtripatnight" stage. I'm walking in the dark. The nutty thing is, I've been walking in the dark, in faith, for so long, that I'm not falling as much. Practicing this faith walk this past year, following Him through heartbreak, moving, relocating friends, new jobs, etc., I'm starting to get into the rhythm. And when the most recent upset came about (lost my job today!), I felt like I didn't miss a beat.
Please don't hear me saying I'm amazing...hear me saying, HE's amazing. His patience (He took several years for me to get this one!) in teaching me in a kind and gracious manner has left me specchless.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Where all the fun is...
I heard from ol' friends today. Keving and Julie Walker. If you get a chance you should check out their website...www.walkit.org They have a retreat center for worship leaders in Colorado. Pretty amazing stuff if you ask me!
We emailed back and forth about some fun stuff and then I got an email that said, "Everyone has to WAIT on the Lord, I mean, He's the LORD. But Patiently waiting...that's where all the fun is. Where the relationship is."
I've been sitting here thinking on that...knowing that we live in the world of "not yet"..."Not yet to heaven..." "Not yet for hearing back on that job..." "Not yet for that vacation this summer..." "Not yet for kids.." "Not yet for marriage..." "Not yet for your dreams coming true..." Lotsa' "Not yet's".
Today I'm thankful for the "Not yet's"...they allow me to really trully wait at His feet. Kinda' a fun place to be if I do say so myself...
We emailed back and forth about some fun stuff and then I got an email that said, "Everyone has to WAIT on the Lord, I mean, He's the LORD. But Patiently waiting...that's where all the fun is. Where the relationship is."
I've been sitting here thinking on that...knowing that we live in the world of "not yet"..."Not yet to heaven..." "Not yet for hearing back on that job..." "Not yet for that vacation this summer..." "Not yet for kids.." "Not yet for marriage..." "Not yet for your dreams coming true..." Lotsa' "Not yet's".
Today I'm thankful for the "Not yet's"...they allow me to really trully wait at His feet. Kinda' a fun place to be if I do say so myself...
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