Today is the first Sunday in Lent. This may mean nothing to you or it may conjur up images of works-based religion that seems to spit in the face of the grace offered by Jesus.
For me, though, this is a special season in the church year. First, it marks one year that I've been regularly attending my little Anglican Church that I have come to love and appreciate so much. I first visited last year in March in the middle of Lent and stayed. I fell in love with the Anglican tradition enough to move towards it on a more permanent basis because of Lent.
Second, I appreciate both the somberness of reflecting on my life and moving towards greater self-control and discipline for a set period of time and also the concurrent anticipation of Easter and remembering why I call myself a Christian in the first place - because I believe in a God who cared enough to become like me, die, and then come back to life with the promise that I too can be whole, clean, healed, and reconciled back to Him.
Really, a little more self-control and discipline in life, whether physically or spiritually, is never a bad thing, and I think I would benefit much from having a Lenten attitude throughout the whole year, not just Lent. But I'll start small.
At my church during Lent, the pastor offers a time of confession before the service. I've never gone to confession before and didn't really know what to think about it, but some things were weighing very heavily on my heart this morning and I decided to go.
It turns out, it's strange and a little uncomfortable to confess things out loud to another person, especially a person I don't know extremely well, and because I have easy tears, I was bawling from pretty much the moment he said "Good morning." But as we moved through the confession, words from James came to mind, "Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed."
Father Steve listened patiently through my tears and shaking words, and in all gentleness offered some scripture for me to meditate on this week and then reminded me that my sins are forgiven, that the price on my head has been paid for, and there is now no guilt or condemnation that need remain in my heart or mind. He prayed for me and as we closed our brief time together, I felt healing begin.
So I love Lent. I love that there are weeks set aside on purpose to reflect on where sin lingers too much still in my life and seek God's help and healing in those areas, while remembering that at the end of this season we will celebrate Easter, the day when death and sin lost the battle for my soul.
We sang a bunch of older hymns today too, which I always appreciate. One of them was "Commit Thou All That Grieves Thee." Each verse is a reminder to commit everything that is grieving your heart to God. My heart is grieving much right now, but I was encouraged by these words in the final verse, and I hope that you are too:
"Hope on, then, broken spirit;
Hope on, be not afraid.
Fear not the griefs that plague thee
And keep thy heart dismayed.
Thy God, in His great mercy,
Will save thee, hold thee fast
And in His own time grant thee
The sun of joy at last."
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Runaway Train
I was dealt two endings last week within 24 hours of each other. One ending came exactly as I knew it would - gentle and kind, quietly, and with no surprises.
The other ending came as abruptly and unexpectedly as his original entrance into my life was. In the few short months I knew him, he plowed through my life like a runaway train, and like all runaway trains, no matter how exhilarating the ride may seem at first, there's rarely a happy ending. Runaway trains crash, people die or get really hurt, and the bystanding crowd gathers around to tell stories of other runaway trains because they're at a loss as to how to help the wounded survivors.
Bystanders always mean well, I think. I've been one many times and I don't think I've ever meant any malice or harm in my words to those victims of runaway trains lying comatose and bleeding on the ground. I think I just don't ever understand what I should be saying or doing in that situation, so I grasp at whatever nice platitude I can think of to throw their way and hope a kind word is enough to stop the bleeding.
I've never been in a real accident or been seriously hurt, but I watch enough Grey's Anatomy to know that in emergency situations where someone is bleeding or dying, a kind word is never enough to save them. No, to save a life from the edge requires rolling up your sleeves, getting blood on your hands, and being willing to take dramatic risks to get that person breathing again.
I'll be honest - I'm bleeding right now, pretty profusely. I'm lying on the ER table knowing that there are people around who care and want to help and I can feel that there is work being done on me by the Great Physician, but there's a lot of shock and confusion about what happened, how I came to be in this situation in the first place and how long is it going to take to feel whole again. Not to mention realizing how much I left onboard the runaway train and feeling like the only way to be whole again is to get back on the same train. If given the chance, I would buy a ticket for another seat on this crashed train.
When I was 22, I was naively optimistic about the future. I took rides on all kinds of trains and went to all sorts of places. There were trains everywhere, and when one crashed or threw me off, I figured I was young enough and there was plenty of time to find another one to get on. I was a lot more dramatic after train crashes when I was younger - lots of wailing and sulking for months at a time sometimes - but there was always another train.
I'm almost 33 now and each crash feels more and more fatal, and there are fewer and fewer trains coming to the station even though I have a valid ticket in hand. One of the hardest parts about waiting at the station right now is how many people walk by and tell me stories about their friend or sister or cousin or whoever who finally found the right train when she 40, 50, 60 years old and to not give up! The Conductor has a good train in mind for you, Robin! Just keep waiting!
That's all fine and good and nice to hear when I was 22. But I really don't want to be told to suck it up and wait another 10, 15, 20 years for something that may never come.
The reality is I was fine. I was happy. I enjoyed my life and I was content. I didn't ask for this runaway train to run me over but it did, and now I just need some time to heal from the blow.
He told me I have easy tears and he was right. That was before he told me to never speak to him again. We were sitting on a park bench in his city one night a few weeks ago listening to a live band sing Spanish worship songs. It should have been a nice evening and he was upset that I was crying. But that's what you do when you realize the runaway train is still a runaway train no matter how much you want it to slow down and be the right train. That moment when you realize there's no way you're going to get off it in one piece.
I know I'll be ok. I don't need to hear that because I know. I also know time heals and God heals - He has healed me from deeper and worse pain than this. I know the verses about hope and good futures and those aren't particularly helpful to be reminded of right now either because I know them and I read them a lot.
I don't need to be told that you knew all along it was a runaway train and you didn't like that I got on it in the first place but you didn't want to hurt my feelings. That's not helpful. I'd rather know early on that I picked a bad train than be told after the carnage that you knew I'd get hurt. I may not listen to you but I'd rather hear it early instead of later.
I don't want to hear negative comments about this runaway train. Yes, he did damage, and yes I'm in pain, but I don't want to harbor bitterness or anger towards him. I want to forgive him and I want good things for his life. I miss him. For all the grief he caused at the end, he still brought sweetness to my life for a season and mostly I want to remember that.
The other thing about Grey's Anatomy is that it's set in a teaching hospital. There's rarely an episode that goes by where some portion of the staff doesn't gather to watch a surgery from a little room above the operating room. It's almost always a groundbreaking or risky surgery, and the characters somehow manage to resolve all of their life problems while watching the surgery and talking about life, love, and what to have for lunch.
Maybe that's a little what this blog is like for me. It's my teaching hospital where I let people watch the surgery to help the train crash victim get back to normal life again. It's a way to share what I'm thinking and feeling without having to have dozens of the same conversations about it. It's easier to let the wound be seen once by many people than to have to rip the band-aid off over and over again.
I know that the Great Physician is doing His healing work. And I know the Conductor has a good plan for my life. I know those things so deep down that I can't divorce myself from them even if I try. But for right now, I'm bleeding, I'm trying to understand how to not talk to someone I talked to every day for a long time, and I'm trying to remember how to walk.
And I know that one ending (or two) paves the way for new beginnings. I think next time, though, I'll try a taxi instead of a train.
The other ending came as abruptly and unexpectedly as his original entrance into my life was. In the few short months I knew him, he plowed through my life like a runaway train, and like all runaway trains, no matter how exhilarating the ride may seem at first, there's rarely a happy ending. Runaway trains crash, people die or get really hurt, and the bystanding crowd gathers around to tell stories of other runaway trains because they're at a loss as to how to help the wounded survivors.
Bystanders always mean well, I think. I've been one many times and I don't think I've ever meant any malice or harm in my words to those victims of runaway trains lying comatose and bleeding on the ground. I think I just don't ever understand what I should be saying or doing in that situation, so I grasp at whatever nice platitude I can think of to throw their way and hope a kind word is enough to stop the bleeding.
I've never been in a real accident or been seriously hurt, but I watch enough Grey's Anatomy to know that in emergency situations where someone is bleeding or dying, a kind word is never enough to save them. No, to save a life from the edge requires rolling up your sleeves, getting blood on your hands, and being willing to take dramatic risks to get that person breathing again.
I'll be honest - I'm bleeding right now, pretty profusely. I'm lying on the ER table knowing that there are people around who care and want to help and I can feel that there is work being done on me by the Great Physician, but there's a lot of shock and confusion about what happened, how I came to be in this situation in the first place and how long is it going to take to feel whole again. Not to mention realizing how much I left onboard the runaway train and feeling like the only way to be whole again is to get back on the same train. If given the chance, I would buy a ticket for another seat on this crashed train.
When I was 22, I was naively optimistic about the future. I took rides on all kinds of trains and went to all sorts of places. There were trains everywhere, and when one crashed or threw me off, I figured I was young enough and there was plenty of time to find another one to get on. I was a lot more dramatic after train crashes when I was younger - lots of wailing and sulking for months at a time sometimes - but there was always another train.
I'm almost 33 now and each crash feels more and more fatal, and there are fewer and fewer trains coming to the station even though I have a valid ticket in hand. One of the hardest parts about waiting at the station right now is how many people walk by and tell me stories about their friend or sister or cousin or whoever who finally found the right train when she 40, 50, 60 years old and to not give up! The Conductor has a good train in mind for you, Robin! Just keep waiting!
That's all fine and good and nice to hear when I was 22. But I really don't want to be told to suck it up and wait another 10, 15, 20 years for something that may never come.
The reality is I was fine. I was happy. I enjoyed my life and I was content. I didn't ask for this runaway train to run me over but it did, and now I just need some time to heal from the blow.
He told me I have easy tears and he was right. That was before he told me to never speak to him again. We were sitting on a park bench in his city one night a few weeks ago listening to a live band sing Spanish worship songs. It should have been a nice evening and he was upset that I was crying. But that's what you do when you realize the runaway train is still a runaway train no matter how much you want it to slow down and be the right train. That moment when you realize there's no way you're going to get off it in one piece.
I know I'll be ok. I don't need to hear that because I know. I also know time heals and God heals - He has healed me from deeper and worse pain than this. I know the verses about hope and good futures and those aren't particularly helpful to be reminded of right now either because I know them and I read them a lot.
I don't need to be told that you knew all along it was a runaway train and you didn't like that I got on it in the first place but you didn't want to hurt my feelings. That's not helpful. I'd rather know early on that I picked a bad train than be told after the carnage that you knew I'd get hurt. I may not listen to you but I'd rather hear it early instead of later.
I don't want to hear negative comments about this runaway train. Yes, he did damage, and yes I'm in pain, but I don't want to harbor bitterness or anger towards him. I want to forgive him and I want good things for his life. I miss him. For all the grief he caused at the end, he still brought sweetness to my life for a season and mostly I want to remember that.
The other thing about Grey's Anatomy is that it's set in a teaching hospital. There's rarely an episode that goes by where some portion of the staff doesn't gather to watch a surgery from a little room above the operating room. It's almost always a groundbreaking or risky surgery, and the characters somehow manage to resolve all of their life problems while watching the surgery and talking about life, love, and what to have for lunch.
Maybe that's a little what this blog is like for me. It's my teaching hospital where I let people watch the surgery to help the train crash victim get back to normal life again. It's a way to share what I'm thinking and feeling without having to have dozens of the same conversations about it. It's easier to let the wound be seen once by many people than to have to rip the band-aid off over and over again.
I know that the Great Physician is doing His healing work. And I know the Conductor has a good plan for my life. I know those things so deep down that I can't divorce myself from them even if I try. But for right now, I'm bleeding, I'm trying to understand how to not talk to someone I talked to every day for a long time, and I'm trying to remember how to walk.
And I know that one ending (or two) paves the way for new beginnings. I think next time, though, I'll try a taxi instead of a train.
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