Anyway, here’s something I’ve been wanting to share with you . . .

During the week that followed my surgery I had the alarm clock on my iPhone set to ring every three hours, day and night, as a reminder to take my pain medication. It was annoying to have it go off during the night but when given the choice to be awakened from sleep by a ringing alarm or throbbing pain in my stomach, groin, arms, and legs, I’m going to consistently opt for the alarm. That’s just how clever of a girl I am.

Even after following the same routine for an entire week, when the alarm would go off during the middle of the night, I’d wake up with a start and momentarily be disoriented about where I was and what was going on. I normally don’t wake up all that clear headed to begin with but add in a hearty dose of pain medication and I turn into a drooling semi-comatose cotton head.

But after a few “deer in headlights” seconds I’d remember. I was in our living room in a rented hospital bed. I’d just had surgery to remove excess skin that remained following my ten year journey to lose nearly 170 pounds.

I’d remember all that but rather than having those memories clear up my confusion, I’d end up feeling all the more unhinged and anxious because I couldn’t believe that any of it had really happened. The evidence was all there in the creaking hospital bed and my aching body but still, I doubted reality.

I’d longed for all this so much of my life and had given up hope so many times that it would ever be more than an unfulfilled fantasy of mine that now that it had come to pass I simply couldn’t take it in. There I would be, in the middle of the night, covered in suture tape and gauze, my hands passing back and forth over my now flat belly (don’t even get me started on my adorable new belly button!), and in a whisper I’d be chanting to myself, “This is real, this is real, this is real.” I’d lay there saying it over and over again until at last the truth would sink into me and when it did, each and every time, without exception, I’d begin weeping and my chanting would turn to a prayer, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

I’ve found myself doubting reality at other times besides the middle of the night when doubting seems to come more readily. When I see my reflection in a store window I do a double-take to be certain it’s my reflection. When I hold up a pair of new jeans fresh from the dryer I genuinely can’t believe they’re mine or that I could ever fit inside them even though I wore them them just the day before. When I step on the bathroom scales and see a number that hasn’t been there since I was in grade school I question the accuracy of the scales until I step off and back on again and the same number appears. And often during the day, I say to myself, to my wife, or my God, “I can’t believe this is my life and I get to live it,” and when I say that I’m not just referring to the size of my jeans but all the gifts of life that fill my days.

There are exceptions to every rule and to every saying, like the one that goes, “If something is too good to be true, then it probably is.” My recent experience is an exception. I’m at a healthy weight in a body that at long last fits me. As hard as it is for me to believe my dream has come true.

This has all caused me wonder what other things there might be that I, that we, don’t believe that are just as real. What other facts in the here and now have we diminished by relegating them to being nothing more than dreams we wish could be true but might never be? What else falls under the category of being too good to be true but in truth really is?

• I am a beloved child of God in whom God delights.
• I am held in the presence of God every moment of my life.
• I am fully forgiven.
• I am worthy of being loved.
• My sexuality, along with every other aspect of my being, is a gift from God.
• My life is precious.
• I have God-given talents and gifts that can bring life and healing into the world.

In faith, all these are true and present realities. God’s love for you is as real as the chair on which you sit. God’s presence is as near to you as your own beating heart. That you are fully forgiven is as certain as the setting and rising of the sun each day. All this is what our faith has taught us. All this is part of the message that Jesus came to bring us. So why do we continue to struggle in believing what is true? How often do we question and doubt that it’s all too good to be true, that it can’t be true because we want it too much, or that it can’t be true because if it were we wouldn’t even know how to receive such a good and wonderful reality into our lives? Why is it that we can hold a thousand negative, condemning thoughts in our heads while we continue to struggle in holding onto a few life-giving overarching truths in our hearts?

I’m beginning to think that maybe we all might benefit by setting our alarm clocks a little more often so that when they go off we can consider whatever truth it is that keeps slipping through our fingers and chant in a whisper to ourselves “This is real, this is real, this is real, ” and that we would keep on chanting until the truth of God’s love and of our worth soaks through to the core of our being, so that our chanting and our lives would become a prayer of “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

What truth is the reason that has your alarm clock ringing?

And now, let our worship begin!

We Gather Together
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OpeningWelcome

Anita: …………..God be with you.
Community:…..And also with you.

As I write these words there sits before me a loaf of braided Challah bread and a portion of wine held in a ceramic chalice. I am here and God is here.

And now, a few hours or even days later, you’re reading these words and within your reach rests the bread and cup you’ve prepared. You are there and God is there.

And we are here together for we’ve entered into God’s time as we stand before Christ’s table. Right now we are together, you and I, and all those who have come to the table before us and all those who will one day follow us. What a mystery of our faith, that time and space lose their boundaries for we are brought together as one by the Spirit. Let this be a reality for you as you move through this time. You are not alone. You are at a table with your sisters and brothers in faith, from the first disciples who gathered around the table with Jesus to those who have yet to be born but will like you and I, find their life and meaning before the same bread and the same cup we share now.

Gathered around this table are gay and straight, young and old, male and female. We speak many languages. We have lived different lives. Some of us come to the table in brokenness and despair. Some of us come in confident rejoicing. We come believing and we come doubting. We come with expectations and we come expecting nothing. God’s grace calls to us wherever we are, assuring us that it doesn’t matter how we come to the table, only that we come. No one will be turned away. No one will be unwelcome. There is no one standing in your way at this table. No matter what your experience at other tables has been in the past, no matter what you’ve been told that’s made you stop and turn away from coming to the table, there is room for you at this table. There is a place at this table for you. I don’t invite you to the table. Christ invites you because this table belongs to Him. He provides the meal. He decides who may come. No one else but Christ alone. All that I am doing is inviting you to receive with an open heart the invitation Christ has sent to you this day so that you would say “Yes, I’ll come to Your table. I’ll eat of Your bread and drink of Your cup and receive of Your love.”

Come to the table. All are welcome.

Responsive Prayer

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The following prayer, “A People With Many Secrets” is found in Walter Brueggemann’s book, “Awed to Heaven, Rooted in Earth.” Please join me in reading this prayer responsively by opening the audio clip below and reading along.

ResponsivePrayer

A: You are the God from whom no secret can be hid,
……and we are a people with many secrets,

C: that we want to tell for the sake of our lives,
…..that we dare not tell because they are deep and painful.

A: But they are our secrets…and they count for much;

C: they are our truth…rooted deep in our lives.

A: You are the God of all truth
…..and now we bid you heed our truth,
…..about which we will not bear false witness…

C: The truth of grief unresolved,

A: the truth of pain unacknowledged,

C: the truth of fear too child-like,

A: the truth of hate, as powerful as it is deep,

C: the truth of being taken advantage of,
…..and being used,
…..and being oppressed,
…..and slandered.

A: We trust the great truth of your wondrous love,
…..but we will not sit still for it,
…..until you hear us.

C: Our truth – heard by you – will make us free.

E: So be the God of all truth, even ours,
…..we pray in the name of Jesus,
…..who is your best kept secret of hurt. Amen.

Scripture Reading

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This translation of Psalm 139 comes from “Psalms for Praying: An Invitation to Wholeness” by Nan C. Merrill. As you meditate on the words of the Psalmist I encourage you to read the passage out loud.

Oh my Beloved, You have searched me
….…..and known me!
You know when I sit down and
……..when I rise up;
….You discern my innermost thoughts.
You find me on the journey and
….….guide my steps:
….You know my strengths and
….….my weaknesses.
Even before words rise up in prayer,
….Lo, You have already heard
….….my heart call.
You encompass me with love where’er
….….I go,
….and your strength is my shield.
Such sensitivity is too wonderful
….….for me;
….it is high; boundless gratitude
….….is my soul’s response.

Where could I go from your Spirit?
….Or how could I flee from
….….your Presence?
If I ascend into heave, You are there!
….If I make my bed in darkness,
….….You are there!
If I soar on the wings of hte morning
…. or dwell in the deepest parts
….….of the sea,
Even there your hand will lead me,
….and your Love will embrace me.
If I say, “Let only darkness cover me,
….and the light about me is night,”
Even the darkness is not dark to You,
….the night dazzles as with the sun;
….the darkness is light to You.

For You formed my inward being,
….You knit me together in my
….….mother’s womb.
I praise You, for You are to be
….….reverenced and adored.
….Your mysteries fill me with wonder!
More than I know myself You know me;
….my essence was not hidden from You,
When I was being formed in secret,
….intricately fashioned from the
….….….elements of the earth,
Your eyes beheld my unformed substance,
….in your records were written
….….every one of them,
The days that were numbered for me,
….when as yet there were none of them.
How precious to me are your creations,
….….….O Blessed One!
….How vast is the sum of them!
Who could count your innumerable
….….….gifts and blessings?
….At all times, You are with me.

O that You would vanquish my fears,
….….….Beloved;
….O that ignorance and suffering
….….would depart from me -
All that separates me from true
….….abandonment,
is surrendering myself into
….….….Your hands!
Yet are these not the very thorns that
….….focus my thoughts upon You?
….Will I always need reminders to
….….turn my face to You?
I yearn to come to You in love,
….….to learn of your mercy and wisdom!

Search me, O my Beloved, and know
….….….my heart!
….Try me and discern my thought!
Help me to face the darkness within me;
….enlighten me, that I might
….….radiate your love and light!

Preparing Our Hearts
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The two songs that follow in video are offered as a conversation, a conversation God initiates and that we follow up with in response.

There are those who’ve come to us in our lives saying, “God is saying this to you…” or “The Lord would want you to know…” and the words that followed, spoken in God’s name have crushed our spirits and battered our souls. The message they came bringing in God or Jesus’ name made us wonder where we stood with God. But hear this my friend; when God speaks to his beloved, God’s words uplift and bless, restore and heal, comfort and bring peace. When the Spirit of God speaks the words are ones of love, grace, and mercy. Any words that fall short of that, that stand in opposition to the very nature of a God who loves with unconditional love, who gives without measure and takes endless delight in his beloved, are not words from God.

So what I invite you to do in these next few minutes is put every word aside that has wounded your soul, lay down every message given in God’s name that has caused you to doubt your Creator’s great and abiding love for you. And now in the stillness of this moment receive the words of this song as though they express the very heart of God for you….because they do. God is singing over you and the song God sings is love.

The words you just heard express the heart of God for you. For you. And while our faith depends on more than emotion, I pray even now you’re able to feel God’s love for you, to receive every word as a whisper of God to the center of your soul. Believe. Believe. You are God’s beloved.

There are times in our lives when the love of God is made so real we have no choice, no other desire but to come to God in worship and give thanks. Since no one is watching you right now other than God, I invite you to enter into a posture of worship as the next song begins. Over the past days as I’ve listened to this song over and over again, I’ve found my hands spontaneously going to my heart, as if to hold my heart before God as a way of letting God know that the words of this song reflect my deepest praise for all God is to me. So whether you hold your hands to your heart or lift them up into the air, whether you stand or sit or kneel, it doesn’t matter. I just want to encourage you as we begin our journey to the table to come not only in heart and mind but with all that you are, including the body that holds your spirit and the Spirit of God within you. One more thing. About half way through the song, the chorus will change and begin repeating “Holy, Holy, Holy, Holy, Holy, You are. You are.” The melody is easy enough so even if you think your voice is enough to make flowers wilt, sing along. God hungers for your worship and every voice lifted in praise is beautiful to Him.

Gathering at the Table

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communionprayer

A:…..The Lord be with you.
C: …..And also with you.
A: …..Lift up your hearts.
C: …..We lift them up to the Lord.
A: …..Let us give thanks to the Lord, our God.
C: …..It is right to give God thanks and praise.

A: …..[Prayer] For all this and more we pray…
C: ….through Christ, with Christ, in Christ; in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
………all glory and honor is yours Almighty God, now and forever. Amen.

Remembering and Receiving

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Closing Thoughts from Anita

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I pray now as I already have been praying, that this would have been a special time for you and that through it you would have felt a little more loved and a little less alone. I pray that the Spirit of Christ we remember and celebrate at the table was made real to you in a new and living way. Brother or Sister, you are God’s beloved. Let no one and nothing ever tell you otherwise. Give no one the power to stand in your way to God or to the table God has provided for you through Jesus.

This post will always be here and so you can return to it again and again whenever you want. If you decide to come to the table here again in another week or month or year, let me know and I’ll come back here too and take communion with you again.

I’d love to invite any of you who participated in this communion, to share any reflections you have in terms of what the experience meant to you, where it challenged you or where it blessed you. And if not about this particular time at the table, it would be amazing if you would relate another communion that was meaningful to you in your life.

Thank you for joining me at Christ’s table, and thank you for all the times you stop by SisterFriends Together.

Christ has died. Christ has risen. Christ will come again.

Anita

As soon as D left, I got to work. Hobbling around the kitchen, I emptied the dishwasher, put the dishes away and wiped down the counter tops. I limped into the living room and folded up the blankets that covered the couch where I’d spent the first couple days sleeping when the stairs to our bedroom had seemed no less insurmountable than scaling Mt. Everest. I crawled into the laundry room, emptied the clothes dryer, folded the clothes, and carried them upstairs where I attempted to strip and remake our bed.

I heard D enter through the garage door 30 minutes later. I heard her give out a long resigned sigh in the kitchen. I heard her pass through the living room and as she began climbing the stairs to our room I heard her say, “Anita, what have you done?”

Upon entering our bedroom she was greeted by a pile of crumbled sheets in one corner of the floor, a pyramid of stripped pillows in another, a stack of folded laundry teetering precariously on one corner of our dresser, a heap of blankets scattered and dripping off one side of the bed, and her wife sprawled like a rag doll beside them.

“You’ve been doing everything. I just wanted to help out around the house,” I said meekly and weakly.

She didn’t say anything.

I went on. “Did you look in the kitchen? I emptied the dishwasher and I cleaned up my mess in the living room and I folded the clothes that were in the dryer and look! I stripped the bed and at least got the bottom sheet on.”

Now this was the moment when my beloved was suppose to be touched by my efforts and respond by saying something really warm and supportive; something like, “Wow Honey, you’re so sweet for getting all this done to surprise me and for trying so hard to help out when you just had surgery. I’m so amazed by how you pushed through and did so much despite being weak and in pain. I have the most resilient, strong, thoughtful, wonderful wife in the whole world!”

That’s what I imagined her saying, but what she really said was more along the lines of, “While I appreciate your intention, doing all this when you’re suppose to be healing isn’t all that admirable.”

She shoots. She scores.

I love how life teaches especially when we aren’t even looking to learn anything. I love how the most ordinary experiences of our daily lives drive home the deeper truths we know in theory but often fail to remember or practice.  That’s why after D sent me downstairs to retire to the recliner while she tidied up my well-intentioned mess, I thought about how right she was….again. It wasn’t my responsibility to make the bed or clean the kitchen or fold the laundry. There would be other days for that but I wasn’t suppose to be doing any of that so soon after surgery. The only thing expected of me for the time being was that I breathe, rest, nap, and eat. I was suppose to be healing.

There are times in life when we’re all confronted with our humanity, mortality, and vulnerability. Physical illness. Emotional heartbreak. Spiritual injury. We get sick. Our hearts are broken. Our spirits are shattered.

In one way or another we’re confronted by our weakness and then give ourselves about three minutes before we start thinking we need to hurry up and get better. We look at others who’ve gone through the same thing we’re going through and have come back into themselves and we feel guilty because we think we should be as far down the road as they are. We shouldn’t still feel so needy and weak and vulnerable and the more time goes by the more our self-talk takes on the edge of a drill sergeant.  Pull yourself up by the bootstraps Girlfriend! Ignore the pain and push on through. You’ve been sick, grieving, depressed, confused, long enough and you need to snap out of it! Come on Soldier! How long are you going to lay there in the mud? Get up! Get up! Get up! Woman-up you wimpy little punk!

Behind D’s admonishment to me was a familiar spiritual truth that was ground into the fiber of another individuals’ being centuries ago . . . “To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven” (Ecclesiastes 3:1). When your body is weak and in need of renewed strength, when your heart is broken and in need of mending, when your spirit has been damaged and is in need of restoration, the most important thing you have to do before you is to heal. God and the universe combined has no greater expectation of you than that.

How long will it take for me to heal?
It will take as long as it takes…for you.

How will my healing come?
It will come in the way it will come…for you.

Maybe we think we should experience healing sooner than we are. After all, the people that came to Jesus in need of healing got it right away; a woman touched the edge of his garment and her bleeding stopped, the blind man’s eyes were opened as soon as the dirt mixed with Jesus’ spit was wiped away, the open sores covering the lepers fell away before they could enter the temple, and all forms of spiritual and emotional bondage bolted out of people at the sound of his voice. Jesus healed all these in an instant so we wonder why it seems to take so long for our own healing to come but maybe the reason we wonder is because we fail to remember that all those who were healed with a touch or a word or a spitball had been living their lives in pain and suffering long before encountering the healing touch of Christ. The woman had bled for years and exhausted all other options. The lepers had lived on the edge of society away from their families. For all we know the blind man had one been a blind boy. And from where each of these people stood, their healing didn’t just happen overnight but it came to them after a lifetime of night after night filled with sickness and sorrow. Why did they have to live so long with pain before their healing came? I don’t know the answer to that anymore than I know why you’re grieving continues and your deepest questions find no comforting answers.

I only know that your healing will take as long as it takes and it will come in the way that it comes, and when it comes and however it comes, it will be by the power and goodness of a loving God.

It’s been a week since I was reminded that my physical healing is going to take time and with every passing day it’s true that I’m getting a little stronger. And so this morning I took a shower, ate breakfast and drove to the store to get a few things for dinner. I came home, sat in my recliner and began this post and one minute after I click on the publish button I’m going to take a nap. That’s not because there aren’t other chores to do around the house today but for the time being the most important thing for me to tend to is to rest and heal.

D said so. And I suspect God does too.

Okay. Time to get to the task at hand.

“Do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?

“And why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. (Matthew 6:25-34)

I came out to my parents as a lesbian and had them reject me 3465 times. I came out to my church and was told to repent or leave 2582 times. I was removed publicly from ministry 4395 times. 632 times my closest friends said they wanted nothing to do with me. I visited more than 568 different congregations but none of them welcomed me because I was gay.

Yes, it all happened that many times. In my head. Prior to coming out to anyone I imagined over and over again how it would be when I finally came out to my family, my friends, and my church. I’d lay in bed at night and play out one scene after another in my imagination. Every scene began the same way. I would be standing there facing someone I loved and I would haltingly say the words, “I need to tell you something. I’m gay.” And every scene had the same ending. I would lose a relationship. I would lose love and respect. I would lose my ministry. Night after night I’d lay there and play out each story line and though none of it had yet happened all the emotional turmoil I was going through was absolutely and gut-wrenchingly real. I would weep, sobbing over the loss of my parent’s love. Humiliation would sweep over me in waves as I’d think about what it would be like to be called before the church and publicly condemned for my sin.

During the day I’d go to my office at church and do the ministry I loved. Through the morning and afternoon I’d enjoy conversations with co-workers and take a phone call or two from a few friends. In the evening I’d meet my parents for dinner and while we waited for our meal to arrive they’d ask about what I was doing at church and then listen with such joy and pride it was written all over their faces. But under the darkness of night the day I’d just had would disappear and my imagination would take me to that day in the future after I had said the words and everything and everyone would be gone or lost. My stomach would be tied up in knots, and my cheeks flushed with fear. The agony I went through was almost unbearable.

All that agony and yet nothing had happened. None of it was real. None of it but the pain. The pain and the fear of future pain was as real as the cat napping on my lap at this moment, only a lot less soft and fluffy.

When i finally did come out some friendships were lost and some familiar doors of ministry did close. I couldn’t remain at the church I had loved and the initial reaction from my family was heart-breaking. For the first time in my life the relationships I most cherished felt tenuous and I had no way of knowing if they’d survive the storm that followed my coming out. Now at night when I laid there in the dark sobbing out my heart the pain I felt wasn’t in what might be but in what really was. I had feared the aftermath of coming out and now my coming out had come and gone.

That experience taught me something. When I worry then I’m living my life in a future day with events that may or may not come and not in the reality of the present day. I’m not in the day God has given me to live in. I’m not engaging in the life around me but in the life inside my head. Living life out in my head had me stuck in the traumatic moments of first coming out but my imagination never took me beyond that. My imagination could only take me as far as the pain and rejection and turmoil. It couldn’t take me further down the road after God in partnership with time returned joy to my life. My imagination lacked the creativity to see relationships that would heal and new doors of ministry that would open. My worst mental soap operas never envisioned the day my mom would write to tell me she was proud of what I was doing in ministry and happy I had found someone who loved me and who I loved. It had no problem replaying over and over how I could be removed from ministry but it could never believe for the day when I’d stand before another congregation fully as myself and break the bread and bless the cup. My imagination had foreseen the most excruciating encounters in coming out but was utterly clueless as to the countless spirit-filled moments woven into those first hours and days that were overflowing with grace, love, and affirmation. My imagination took me to the pain of rejection and loss but had no power to give me a taste of the freedom and joy that would come in walking into the wholeness of life God had for me.

I remember all this when gay men and lesbians write me with their fear of coming out and how it might be for them. In my jumbled way I try to encourage them to prepare for tomorrow, whatever the outcome, but not to worry about tomorrow because whatever happens God will be there. I tell them it will be hard. I tell them there will be pain. And I tell them they will survive. I tell them truth brings freedom and freedom brings joy. I tell them no matter how heart-wrenching others reactions might be, it can be well with their soul if they move forward with integrity and place their trust in God. “Don’t worry about tomorrow,” I say echoing Jesus’ words. “Your heavenly Father knows what you need and will provide.”

The truth of Christ’s words were burned into me through the firestorm of my own coming out and in turn I share what I’ve learned with others who find themselves facing the uncertainty of their own coming out, but then wouldn’t you know it, something else comes around the corner, looming ahead in my future and what do I do?

I worry.

I’m having surgery on Wednesday. Today is Monday and on and off throughout the day I’ve been worrying in bits and pieces about how quickly I’ll recover even before the surgeon has touched the blade to my skin. Today I’m completely pain-free and yet I’m worrying about how much pain there will be following surgery and how long it will last. I don’t have so much as a scratch on my knee and I’m worrying about how visible my scars will be. I’m anxious about waking up nauseated from the surgery. I’m obsessing about leaving the hospital the following morning and how difficult it will be to get in the car and how long the ride home will seem. Will I get sick and throw up? Ugh. I hate to throw up. I hope I don’t throw up. Oh please, keep me from throwing up.

In the passage above Jesus said, “Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.” Yes. I’ll experience some physical pain following the surgery. Yes. I will have visible scarring. Yes. It’s going to take me time to recover and regain my strength. Yes. There are going to be inconveniences and frustrations and limitations. I might even throw up.

But all that will come tomorrow and worrying about it today will do nothing but increase my suffering by causing me to live in the future discomfort before it even comes. And worrying about tomorrow robs me of living in today. Today I have no pain or discomfort. Today the woman I love is sitting three feet away from me. Today one of my adorable cats is looking up at me with a “Give me treats Mom!” look in his eyes. Today there’s food on the table, a roof over my head and shoes on my feet.  Today is what God has given me and today and what it holds is all I have and all that matters. I can worry and fret and tangle my stomach up in knots over the concerns of tomorrow or I can choose to live in this very moment. Here I am. At my computer. Talking to you. Encouraging you not to worry about tomorrow. Don’t worry about what will happen when you come out to your family. Don’t worry about whether your relationship will endure the roughest storm. Don’t worry about the poor decisions your teenage son or daughter might make. Don’t suffer future loss. Tomorrow will take care of itself. God will give you tomorrow tomorrow but for now God has given you today. This is the same God, the very one, who keeps the smallest sparrow well fed; the very one who clothes the wildflowers on a remote mountain top in colors more splendid than the finest robes of the wealthiest king; the very one who holds you in the palm of His hand and will make a way for you and will provide for you and will see you through whatever tomorrow may hold.

I know you’re wondering how I got my chubby little princess fingers on such an exquisitely rare gem so let me resolve the mystery for you. I went empty-handed to a children’s evangelistic crusade at our church and returned home having hit the Jesus dessert plate jackpot. Okay, here’s how it happened because I know you’re dying for details.

On the off chance you’ve never been exposed to a child and were never one yourself, let me clue you in on something. Whenever a large number of children are jammed in one room together and told to be seated, the odds of them actually remaining in their seats instead of jumping up and down for no particular reason other than hyperactivity is statistically unlikely. This is why those of us with a little more experience with children (having been one or met one) place the youngest and thereby shortest children toward the front of the herd so they can actually see whatever there is that might be worth seeing. It also works well in that the youngest children are usually the only ones in the whole lot of jumping beans who still have any vested interest in vying for the role of teacher’s pet in which case sitting within the teacher’s frame of vision is a crucial element.

Everything was working in my favor that day. I was in the front row, dead center to the stage and so when the leader asked for a volunteer I popped my hand up in the air, kicked my adorability factor up into overdrive and the next thing I knew I was being beckoned up on stage where the leader stood with a wrapped present in her hands.

Her: This present is for you. Do you want it?

Me: Yes!!!

Her: That’s great because this present is for you and I think you’re really going to like what’s inside.

Me: (Thinking to myself: So quit talking and give me the present!)

Her: It’s your present. What do you suppose you need to do to get it?

Me: Hmmmm….say “please?”

Her: No. It’s already yours. You don’t need to ask for it.

Me: Oh. (Thinking to myself: Why did I raise my hand?)

Her: So if the present is already yours and you don’t need to ask for it what do you need to do to get it?

Me: Hmmmm…say “thank you?”

Her: Well, that would be nice to say after you get the present but there’s something you need to do first. (Now she begins to talk slowly as though she’s trying to work the right answer out of a puppy.) If I hold this present out to give it to you, what-do-you-need-to-do-to-get-it?

Me: Pause. Pause. Pause. And then the light bulb lit up over my head. Take it! I have to take it!

And with the right answer finally achieved, the leader placed the package in my hand, motioning for me to return to my chair, front row, center stage, and as you may have already guessed by now, being as clever as we all know you are, the point she was trying to demonstrate was that God’s gift of salvation through Jesus had already been given to us and we simply needed to take (receive) what was already ours, although the point was probably lost on us since our minds were already drifting to snack time and the possibilities it held in sugar consumption.

And that’s the story of how my cherished fake gold Jesus plate came to be in my possession; a story brought back to mind yesterday when I read these words in “Beyond Grace” by Frederick Buechner:

Grace is something you can never get but can only be given. There’s no way to earn it or deserve it or bring it about any more than you can deserve the taste of raspberries and cream or earn good looks or bring about your own birth.

The grace of God means something like: “Here is your life. You might never have been, but you are, because the party wouldn’t have been complete without you. Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don’t be afraid. I am with you. Nothing can ever separate us. Its for you I created the universe. I love you.”

There’s only one catch. Like any other gift, the gift of grace can be yours only if you’ll reach out and take it. Maybe being able to reach out and take it is a gift too.

So just how am I going to smoothly tie my simple little childhood recollection into Buechner’s theologically profound reflection?

Here’s how.

Take the present. It’s already yours. Come on. You know you want to. Just take it.

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Those are just three of the emails that arrived this week and as is always the case what I received personally in those emails is far more than I was able to give back in return. Courage. Determination. Love. Passionate desire to please God. Hunger to be whole and at peace. Faithfulness in the midst of doubt. Resilience in painful circumstances. Every time I receive letters such as these I’m reminded again in such a tangible way that our lives don’t speak the loudest when we think we have it all together but when we’re frayed at the edges and not sure what tomorrow will bring and how we’ll come out the other side or even if we will and yet we refuse to let go of our grip on life, on God, and on hope that tomorrow may hold more grace and understanding that we possess in today.

Whatever is going on in your life, how ever many difficulties you’re facing, whatever hurt you’re enduring, whatever questions, doubts, fears or uncertainties are swirling around you, your life is speaking. That you are overwhelmed but not overcome is a powerful witness to others, not only of the nature of your character but of the presence of God’s Spirit within you. You’re touching lives. You might never know who, you might never know how deeply, but God is using you today. You are a worthy vessel and you don’t need to wait until the end of your life to hear God say, “This is my child in whom I am well pleased.” You are and God is. Today.

The Lord your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save; he will rejoice over you with gladness. – Zephaniah 3:17

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God.  – 2 Corinthians 2:3-4

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Thanks Honey but really, no I’m not.”

“You were standing right beside her and I just couldn’t help but notice you were smaller.”

“I can’t be. She was just a regular sized woman.”

“You are a regular sized woman Anita.”

We’ve had a number of similar exchanges over the past few weeks. Sometimes the roles are reversed but the conversation is the same with one of us unable to grasp the reality of being in an average-sized body.

I know I’ll get there, where I see my body as it really is. The reality is I don’t weigh 325 pounds anymore even if there are days when I feel like I do. It’s just going to take some time to adjust, to let go of how I’ve always seen myself in my head and instead look in the mirror and believe that what I see is really me and trust that when D tries to give me a perspective on how I look by comparing my size to someone else, she’s not lying to me just to make me feel good.

If I’m needing to work on seeing my body as it really is, even when the evidence is right in front of my face and starring back at me in the mirror, is it any wonder so many of us struggle to see ourselves as God sees us? We look at our life and remember every little mistake we’ve ever made and sin we’ve ever committed. We’re so obsessed by our weaknesses and failings that we barely have any vision left to see our strengths and the gifts we bring into the world. We remember every person we’ve ever disappointed but we go blank if asked to recount the names of just a few people whose lives were blessed for having known us. We sat in little wood chairs in Sunday School class every week and learned about our sin and wretchedness; our depraved fallen nature and sinful flesh; messages so loud and troubling that they drowned out the messages of glory and joy that we were created in the very likeness of God and that we are the beloved, the children of God, the apple of God’s eye, the delight of God’s heart. We are living epistles, a holy nation, a peculiar people, a royal priesthood. We are the lost lamb worthy of the Shepherd’s attention. We are the coin valuable enough to be searched for and celebrated when found. We are the child so loved God lifts up his hem of his robe so he can bolt down the road to greet us with open arms. We are the baby birds protected in the shelter of the Almighty’s wing. Wait. Let me edit what I just wrote. You are the lost lamb worthy of the Shepherd’s attention. You are the coin valuable enough to be searched for and celebrated when found. You are the child so loved and longed for that God lifts up his hem of his robe so he can bolt down the road to greet you with open arms and tear-stained cheeks. You are the baby bird protected in the shelter of the Almighty’s wing. There. That was better.

But for some that’s only the beginning because there are those of you who were told throughout your childhood that you were a failure, a disappointment, unwanted, unworthy, a waste; and those who came to believe through neglect that you were invisible nothingness or that you deserved the abuse you endured.

And what of the messages ground into the hearts and minds of young people and adults who in secret confusion and torment about their sexuality hear from church pulpits and loved ones that homosexuality is a perversion, a sin, an abomination, and that there’s no place in God’s kingdom or in the church for the unrepentant homosexual; messages that compare gay men and women to pedophiles, adulterers, murderers, and those who practice bestiality.

When I look in the mirror the main obstacle I have to seeing who I really am is letting go in my mind of the 160 pounds that are no longer there on my body, but to see ourselves as God sees us means we have to be willing to let go of so much more. We have to let go of messages, whether the intention be for good or evil, that in one way or another diminished our identity as God’s handiwork. We have to let go of any neglect or abusive that scarred our hearts and devalued our worth. We have to accept ourselves as being human and have compassion on ourselves for living that out in sometimes messy, fumbling ways while acknowledging those other moments when we rose to the occasion and let glory shine through us. We need to silence the voices in our head from those who judge us and remind ourselves again of what the gospel message tells us and only then, but certainly then, we will begin to see ourselves in shades and glimpses as God sees us. Beloved. Beautiful. Adored.

Repent and believe in the gospel, Jesus says. Turn around and believe the the good news that we are loved is better than we ever dared hope, and that to believe in that good news, to live out of it and toward it, to be in love with that good news, is of all glad things in the world the gladdest thing of all. (Frederick Buechner)

If you could but for a moment catch a glimpse of yourself through God’s eyes, everything would change. I pray for nothing more or less than each of you would see what God sees because then you would know and never again question or doubt the unfathomable love God has for you and all the delight that fills His heart with every glimpse of you.

My beloved wife, best friend, and co-conspirator in mischief is at home in California while I’m in Oregon for a few days visiting my mom. I make this trip every six weeks or so and while I’m never gone for more than a few days at a time I start missing D before I’ve even pulled the car out of our driveway to catch my flight north, and with every passing day I become a little more like a pathetic sad-eyed puppy waiting in the pouring rain for his human to come home. My ears droop and my tail stopped wagging. I miss her so much I hurt. I whine incessantly. I get a purple rash on my forehead and my elbows go numb. Okay. I’m exaggerating. It’s not that bad.

Yet.

But it could happen.

So why do I miss her so much?

I miss her because I love her and she loves me. Love connects us. We’re not enmeshed in some co-dependent, pathological way but we’re knit and bound together in love, and so our spirits hunger to be in the presence of the other when distance and time separates us.

I miss her because I love being with her. Every activity is more fun, every place is more beautiful when she’s with me. When she goes with me on routine errands they become something I enjoy doing rather than something I endure doing.  She provides me with laughter, comfort, and a sense of knowing someone is loving and cherishing me right there in the middle of the day.

I miss her because she’s such an incredible human being. D is one of the most amazing people I’ve ever known. That’s not romantically-induced hyperbole. It’s absolutely true. She’s like the perfect sunset falling behind the horizon, a front row seat at a James Taylor concert, the smell of a newborn baby fresh from the bath with a dusting of baby powder. I’d be a bone-head to not want to be in the presence of such beauty and a chucklehead to not miss it when it was gone, but as Stephanie recently said, “I’m a smart little whip.”

I miss her because I’m my best self when I’m with her. On our wedding day in 2002 our officiating pastor said, “D, Anita believes she’s become a better person because of you, and we as a church all agree.” And yes, the congregation laughed, not because it wasn’t true but because of just how true it was and continues to be. Being with D has changed me. Love will do that. When you know beyond question that you’re loved you can risk dropping your defenses. When you love someone with everything in you and desire to bring happiness to their life you want to live into your better self.

One of the great riches, the icing on the cake, the cherry on the top, insert metaphor of your choice here, of being in a loving human relationship is that there are treasured moments when glimpses of the divine-human relationship break through. Loving and being loved by D, enjoying the beauty of her presence, and striving to be a better Anita with her than when I’m without her are all what I cherish so deeply in my relationship with my God. I love sharing in an intimate relationship with God that just we two share, of basking in God’s presence, taking in God’s beauty, and desiring to live into the person God calls to me to be if for no other reason than for God’s good pleasure.

And oh, there are those agonizing times when I miss God so much my insides ache. I long more for God in those moments than I’ve ever longed for another soul and yes, even more than I’ve ever longed for my beloved when distance and time are between us. You see, my missing ache for God, that despairing longing for God to come near and nearer still doesn’t come to me when God seems far away but in those sacred moments when God seems the most close to me. Those are the times when I understand and feel the words of the Psalmist reverberate through my being…“As the deer pants for streams of water,
so my soul pants for you, O God” (42:1).

I know it sounds strange to miss God when God seems the most near but I’ve come to see what perfect sense it makes, for in those times when my soul is most intimately bound up in the heart of God, a cry rises up in my spirit that yearns to break free of this mortal shell that holds the truest me and flee fully into the swell of God’s spirit. I love being flesh and blood. I love this life and this world. I have no interest in leaving it a nano-second earlier than mortality demands. But still, everything in me that’s spirit and soul and heart pants for full union with God. Not in the sweet by and by. Now. Right now. Others have written of it far better than I. Frederick Buechner called it a “longing for home” that will never be fulfilled until we stand face to face with God. Others have called it the furious longing, the unquenchable thirst, the insatiable hunger. When our souls get a taste of God they get greedy for more. When our souls sense God near, they want God nearer. The desire of our soul is to not only be nearer to God but one with God, consumed and taken up in God.

And so we must contend to live with this bittersweet longing for God; bitter that it will remain unfulfilled  in this life but all the more sweet because the love of God is so great, God’s goodness so grand, God’s presence so enveloping, that we have such a longing in the first place.

But at least by tomorrow my longing for D will be satisfied when the plane takes me home. My tail is already wagging at the thought.

There is a Time to be Born, and it is Now

There is a time to be born and a time to die.
And this is a time to be born.
So we turn to you, God of our life,
….….….….….….…...God of all our years,
…….….….….….…....God of our beginning.
….Our times are in your hand.

Hear us as we pray:
….For those of us too much into obedience,
….….birth us to the freedom of the gospel.
….For those of us too much into self-indulgence,
….….birth us to discipleship in your ministry.
….For those too much into cynicism,
….….birth us to the innocence of the Christ child.
….For those of us too much into cowardice,
….….birth us to the courage to stand before
….….….principalities and powers.
….For those of us too much into guilt,
….….birth us into forgiveness worked in your generosity.
….For those of us too much into despair,
….….birth us into the promises you make to your people.
….For those of su too much into control,
….….birth us into the vulnerability of the cross.
….For those of us too much into victimization,
….….birth us into the power of Easter.
….For those of us too much into fatigue,
….….birth us into the energy of Pentecost.

We dare pray that you will do for us and among us and through us what is needful for newness.
Give us the power to be receptive,
..…...to take the newness you give,
..…...to move from womb warmth to real life.
We make this prayer not only for ourselves, but
….….for our [community] at the brink of birth,
….….for the church at the edge of life,
….….for our [nation] waiting for newness,
….….for your whole creation, with which we yearn in eager longing.

There is a time to be born, and it is now.
….We sense the pangs and groans of your newness.
….….Come here now in the name of Jesus. Amen.

From the book, Awed to Heaven, Rooted in Earth: Prayers by Walter Brueggemann

This….….to

Spread the Word!

]]> http://www.sisterfriends-together.org/walter-brueggeman-prayer/feed/ 2 http://www.sisterfriends-together.org/a-secret-name-on-a-small-white-stone/ http://www.sisterfriends-together.org/a-secret-name-on-a-small-white-stone/#comments Tue, 14 Oct 2008 22:09:34 +0000 anita http://www.sisterfriends-together.org/?p=765 SugarPie HoneyBunch

You’re my Honeybunch, Sugarplum
Pumpy-umpy-umpkin, You’re my Sweetie Pie
You’re my Cuppycake, Gumdrop
Snookgums-Boogums, You’re the Apple of my Eye
And I love you so and I want you to know
That I’ll always be right here
And I love to sing sweet songs to you
Because you are so dear.

I know. It’s so sickeningly sweet and over-the-top you want to gag. Go ahead. Gag a little and once you’ve treated yourself to a Listerine rinse sit yourself back down and prepare yourself for truly disturbing news.

In the eight plus years D and I have been together I’ve called her by every pet name imaginable, and yes, that includes Sweetiepie, Honeybunch and Pumpkin. I’m holding onto Snoogum-Boogums and Cuppycake for the next time I forget to clean out the cat box or wash the dark clothes in hot water. While this admission no doubt wrecks total havoc on my incredibly cool dyke-ish veneer I’m trusting you to not tell anyone.  ¿Hermana a la hermana, por favor?

For a long time my pet name for D was Boo. I’m not sure where it came from but I loved calling her Boo and she loved hearing it so it worked for us. It worked until the day I accidentally called our slightly crazy cat Tweety by D’s pet name. With a kitty treat in my hand, I held it in front of the cat and said the unthinkable.

“Here Boo.”

“What did you just call the cat?” she asked as I began searching desperately around the room for someone else to blame. Apparently having your wife call you by the same pet name as she calls “the pet” tends to diminish the sweetness of it all. Who knew? Anyway, that’s why when sometime later I came up with a new pet name D liked she issued forth instructions. “Don’t call anyone else by that name, okay? I want it to be mine.” And so I never have. I’m slow, not stupid.

We’re like most couples. We share an intimate language between us. Some of the terms of endearment we use with each other are common to other couples. Honey. Sweetheart. Baby. Others are just between us. None. Of. Your. Business. Not because they’re shamelessly provocative but simply because those names belong just to us. A secret little language between two people in love. Read the Song of Songs. We aren’t even privy to their given names because all they ever did was call each other the little names they made up for the other. Whether talking to their lover or talking to others about them the pet names were non-stop. My beloved, my fair one, my lover, my dove, my king.”

Pet names. Given names. Every name we have, from the one chosen for us by our parents to the ones we collect over our lives from friends, loved ones and partners, play a part in shaping our self-identity. It’s true that we grown and live into the names by which we’re called.

Wait! I almost forgot. That was close!

Before you read any further take a minute and go outside and find two stones. Humor me will you? The size and shape don’t matter. Just try and find one stone that’s as close to white as possible and another stone that’s a darker shade. When you bring them back inside place the white stone near you on the table and hold the other in your hand as you continue reading. Okay.

The stone you’re holding represents other names that might have stuck with you over your life and gone into shaping your self-identity whether you wanted them to or not. We once chanted on the playground,“Sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me” but even while chanting it with a firm upper lip I knew it wasn’t true. Name-calling hurt. They were like stones that smashed our spirits and vied for power in making us who we believed we really were. Every stone that the crowd readied in their hands to hurl at the adulterous woman was named. Tramp. Whore. Prostitute. Sinner. Had Jesus not intervened those stones could have crushed the life out of her. Such is the power of naming stones.

Have you ever been called a name that determined your identity? Did you hear Ugly when you were told “You’d be so pretty if you only lost some weight?” Have you always thought you were Stupid because you never seemed able to bring home grades that met you or your parents expectations? Did a lover betray you and leave you feeling Unlovable? Are you a Loser because you didn’t get the job you wanted or an Outsider because you weren’t included in the popular crowd? Have you always thought of yourself as Dirty because you were abused sexually as a child? And how about the names we hear directed at us as GLBTQ people? Pervert. Abomination. Sinner. How do you answer the question “Who am I?” How do you answer that question really, in the depths of your heart? Do your naming stones, and some of us have a pile of them, affect your answer? Whatever names you’ve been carrying within yourself all these years, write them on the stone you hold in your hand, and when you’re done, place that stone down and replace it with the white stone.

Scripture reveals our true identity. We are the people of God. We are God’s workmanship. We are sons and daughters of the most high God. We are the sheep and God is the shepherd. We are a holy people, a royal priesthood. We are the beloved. We are the beloved. We are the beloved but often our true identity is hidden under a pile of naming stones.

But there is another stone that’s born out of the intimacy of our relationship with God that reveals a secret name your beloved has given to you alone; a name better than Honey or Baby or even Cuppycake. In Revelation 2:17 it reads that to all those who have overcome, God will “give a white stone and on the stone a new name written, which no one will know except the one who receives it.” Is it so hard to imagine, such a far stretch to consider that God, your heavenly parent and your beloved has a special name for you; a name so sweet, intimate, and tender that it is only for you and God to know?

The theologian George MacDonald wrote more than a hundred years ago of the stone mentioned in the Book of Revelations; the one represented by the stone you now hold in your hand. Taking liberty with MacDonald’s gender language he wrote,

“It is the woman’s own symbol – her soul’s picture, in a word – the sign which belongs to her and to no one else. Who can give a woman this, her own name? God alone. For no one but God sees what the woman is…It is only when the woman has become her name that God gives her the stone with the name upon it, for then first can she understand what her name signifies…Such a name cannot be given until the woman is the name…that being whom He had in His thought when He began to make the child, and whom He kept in His thought through the long process of creations that went to realize the idea. To tell the name is to seal the success – to say “In thee also am I well pleased.”

God has a name for you, written on stone and even today you are becoming the name that God has held for you from the beginning of time. The naming stones are wrong. They aren’t your identity. Your most true identity can’t be given to you by parents, bosses, enemies, or even friends and lovers. Your identity is shaped and formed and flows from the very heart of God who loves you. Do you see that naming stone laying on the table near you. Give it up. Toss it away. Throw it in a river. Fling it over a mountain cliff. Whatever you do, get rid of it because it doesn’t belong to you anymore. It never did. Replace that naming stone that never really named you with God’s white stone. And why is the stone white? In ancient times a person was declared innocent by a jury if they presented the defendant with small white stones. While others find you guilty God declares you innocent and not only innocent but cherished by the bestowing of a unique and private name. Live in that name! Wake up each morning, take that white stone in your hand and ask that God would help you to grow into your name through the day. Though you don’t yet know what that still hidden secret name is by which you’re called, you can be assured that when you hear it you’ll smile because it will be a perfect fit.

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Afterword: Some of the content for this post came from a keynote presentation I gave a few years ago at an Evangelical’s Concerned Women’s Retreat. The theme I selected was “The Sacred Romance: Exploring Our Relationship with God,” and one of the many books I referred to was The Sacred Romance: Drawing Closer to the Heart of God. I’ve misplaced the book since then and so I can’t check to be certain which of the material above is original content or was gleaned from their writing. I mention this to be certain that proper credit is given.

One other thing I want to mention. I used the passage from Revelations in a devotional manner, to suggest that given the intimate relationship we share with God and of God’s great love for us, it doesn’t seem to be out of the scope of possibility that God has a name for each of his children that will be shared between only God and every individual. What I’m not doing is inferring that the text serves as evidence that my thoughts around God giving us a secret name has the backing of biblical authority. To use it in that manner would be to engage in proof-texting; a questionable practice at best, dishonoring of the scriptural text and the intention of the author at its worst.