This Thing Called Change

I am thinking about waves, waves crashing relentlessly onto the shore.

The last day I spent in the Cooks, the two week on-again, off-again storm, fully lifted, and it was beautiful. We packed up and drove to the other side of the island, found a nice, sandy spot, somewhat in the shade, and made camp for the afternoon. 

Foam flecks sprayed in the air, the sun hot on our salty up-turned faces. The waves were huge, continual, the storm surge of a massive cyclone, and as we played in the waves there was a constant pulling at our feet, the current strong, silently urging us to come out to sea. 

So maybe I am not thinking about waves, so much as I am thinking about change. 

I love change. I love it when I make new friends and see new places. I love expanding my home to more people. I love new books, new clothes, new things. I love mastering new skills and setting new records. 

I hate change. I hate it when friends leave or I am pulled away from one home in exchange for another. I hate learning new languages and not being able to communicate in the culturally acceptable way. I hate the ripping, that gut-wrenching tug of tears that threatens to drop at inopportune times, when a certain smell wafts through the air or a certain song is played on the radio, reminders of all those left behind, life-changing, people, places, events.

But change is constant. Our environments are in a constant altercation of death and renewal, surrender and victory, hello and good-bye. 

Today is a good day and a bad day. I made a lovely new friend this morning. I did all I could to avoid saying good-bye to a dear friend this evening. She left anyway.

Last night all the beautiful well-laid plans I'd made for the rest of the year kinda got turned upside down. (I don't normally plan a whole lot, so this kinda just convinced me that planning was quite possibly over-rated).

Change is constant. 

So often I feel like I've just sorted things. One suitcase fully unpacked, one closet fully sorted, and then the whirlwind of life comes through and with one little puff knocks everything out of order again. And I end up questioning, not understanding, probably loving the change, but completely disoriented by it, and what it means for my life. 

Change is constant. 

But God is also constant. Sure. Steadfast. Strong. How does the Scripture put it? A refuge in the time of storm. 

You know what the best part of that day in the waves was? It was not when our feet touched the ground, rather when we let go, lifted our feet, floated on top of and in the midst of the storm surge. It was scary, it was adrenaline rushing, and it was freeing, the relinquish of control.

Kind of like life. The surrender in the midst of the storm is kinda the sweetest and wildest freedom. It is leaning on the strength of the Father, knowing you're in for the craziest ride of your life. 

Or that's how I like to see it anyway. 

Stars and Streetlights

I don't know how to start this post. I just know that I want to write it. So I guess, maybe I'll just have to start, no clever hook or genius opening line...

The sky tonight is inky, like a ball point pen just bust its guts all over the sky. Like, deep into our elbows tattooed, full-on ink. The stars are just a smattering, here and there, held fast, barely twinkling. It's not like this in the Cooks. The sky is very different, very clear, very rarely fully dark.

It's different.

I like the sky both ways. Both ways are home. I'm never totally sure where home is anymore, just wherever I'm laying my head to rest that night. 

I should really delete those last few sentences, they're not relevant to this blog. And maybe I will yet, and maybe I won't yet. I kinda like them there. These are my personal ramblings and I can ramble the way I want.

Tonight's rambling, though, comes from a challenge. I went to my Ladies Bible Study tonight, with all these wonderful, amazing, talented, gifted in different ways, ladies, and we discussed things and we laughed...well, to be honest, mostly we laughed. And then the final question, what are two gifts God has given you this year? I was challenged, am still challenged, even after trying to run out the challenge...a couple miles later, and God is still whispering in my heart.

Because most of the time I'm wanting something I can't have. I'm wanting a place,a  home, a family, country, weather, culture, food, other than what I have in front of me. The wanting can become all-consuming. It can make me look past the value and gift of what I have right here, right in front of me. 

So...The sky tonight is inky, like a ball point pen just bust its guts all over the sky. Like, deep into our elbows tattooed, full-on ink. The stars are just a smattering, here and there, held fast, barely twinkling. It's different in the Cooks. But this is good. 

Know what else is good?

Streetlights, spaced evenly on quiet, straight streets, secure, comforting for late-night wanderers such as myself. Coffee, rich and black, in a variety of forms, from a variety of places, is also good. So are books, endless amounts of books that you can pick up, page through, smell, and then buy. Those are good.

Family is good. Too much family. From your best and favorite brothers and sisters (read ALL of them), to Dad's strong shoulders and Mom's wise words; from aunts, uncles, cousins, to distant aunts, uncles, cousins, who will introduce themselves to you at a moment's notice and know almost as much about you as you do yourself. I am thankful for family. 

Seasons are good. Clear and defined, a constant form of change. Long summer days morph into long winter nights, but the sunrises and sunsets are just as beautiful. The life-breath of spring gives way to the death-sustenance of fall, and both are beautiful. I am thankful for spring rains, mid-July thunderstorms, fall frosts, and white winter blankets, harvest moons, cool clear nights, mud on our tires and snowball fights.

I am thankful for people. So many people, people that defined the language of my heart, shaped the person who I am today, saw the rebellion and the mistakes, and still love me anyway. I am thankful for all the people who will never not say hi and ask how my day, my trip, my year has been. I am thankful for all the people who feel like home. Because people are good. They strengthen me, and pray for me. They make me laugh. They welcome me with open arms. 

Work is good. It gives me a purpose and something to sink my hands into. The people are amazing. Every day I get to laugh. Even on the days I cry, I have probably also laughed. Work is good. 

God is good. He seems different here; somehow, stronger, less wild, stable, familiar. His truth is stronger in my heart. His words deeper. I am thankful for Him. I am thankful for many things, but mostly I am thankful for Him. He gifts Himself to me, fully and completely, every day. That's how I know love. Because of Him.

And I write all these things, and then I am reminded. This is good. Stars and streetlights, books and coffee, friends and family. All good. All meant to be enjoyed, tasted full-like. 

God whispers, these are my gifts to you...

There is No 'I' in Team

Strong, independent, wild, free. Those are adjectives that resonate deep within my self. I will be the first to admit that I am more than a little in love with the gypsy lifestyle.

Travel, freedom, lack of commitment. Those are, unfortunately, my ideals, the ideas that I slide into by default. 

Most of the time I don't want to admit that there's anything wrong with the way that I live. I mean, who doesn't dream of taking off into the unknown, spontaneously, at least every once in awhile. I like to tell myself that I'm just a creative, free-thinking dreamer, living in my very own little reality.

Truth: I'm a runner. When times get hard physically, I disappear out the door, town, country. When an emotional crisis or awkward confrontation comes to a head, I leave-often physically, and if blockaded from physically disappearing, the emotional withdrawal is immediate. Sometimes I watch helplessly as I watch my little self running frantically over the hills in my mind, struggling to stay engaged with whatever is happening in the reality of the moment.

Why am I babbling on about my tendency to disappear? The word is team. Well for me, I would say, that much more accurately, the word is community.

I remember my first time attempting to help navigate a team through an airport, through a city, through 5 months of their life. I was horrible, not being a team player by nature, navigating a team for me felt more like locking myself in a closet and ripping every single hair out of my head. Working within a team leadership felt like death. The thought that other people might have different standards or ideas on how to disciple individuals was just absurd and I butted heads on a daily, if not hourly, basis. 

All those shameful glimpse to further prove how un-team I am.

I worked with good, godly people though. People who saw something more in me than my inability to trust or rely on anyone else for help. Through much coaching, patience, prayer and a few...arguments...ok, let's be truthful, all out fights, I slowly began to be more of a team player. 

I still hate travelling with other people. I would much rather breeze through customs and wander around airport terminals, people watching and shopping. I would rather tackle work projects all on my own, because my creative process and my final outcome are always exactly the way I want them. And I would rather live on my own because it means that the pot of coffee is always brewed to perfection and it is always all mine. But those are semantics and through the past years I have learned the value of team...the beauty of community.

It is refreshing to have others contribute their strengths to complement my weaknesses. It is rewarding to offer my strengths in order to serve others' needs. It is comforting, at the end of an unbearably hard day, to weep at the table of a friend and have them pray for you. It is welcome to walk into corporate worship and have souls bound together in sorrow and laughter, draw near to the heart of God. It is even good, to offer that pot of coffee, in exchange for deep (or undeep) conversation, souls walking together for this season of life. 

God created us for community. He created us for team. Nowhere in Scripture do we ever see someone walking completely alone. Only Adam, and God created a companion suitable to him, and then declared it very good. 

I will always be independent. My default will probably always be to do it on my own. But as I get older I see and value the wisdom of walking with others, whoever God has placed in my life for that season of the journey. People are a gift, a very rich blessing from God. There is no "I" in team. Just a Together Everyone Achieves More, as one of my fellow life-walkers aptly explained to me. 

I, of course, promptly rejected his advice and am still learning his wisdom the hard way. That was 4 years ago...maybe in the next 4 I'll have learned, but if not, you'll probably be able to track my boarding passes and find me still learning it the hard way...

Scars

Scar: I have a love/hate relationship with that word. Scars mean wounds. Wounds mean pain. Pain means somewhere, something was vulnerable.

I don't do vulnerability. I don't do pain.

Still, I have scars. So many scars. There are physical scars. Scars from the typical childhood accidents. Scars from the possibly not so typical but very frequently, clumsy adult. The not normal, evidence of deep soul hurts, self-inflicted scars.

And then the soul scars. Spiritual scars from well-meaning mentors and spiritual figures. Emotional scars from traumatic teenage events. Relationship scars from battling cross-culturally, sometimes winning, mostly losing.

I am well and truly marked. Crisscrossed lines run over skin and soul. Some wounds heal, are never thought of again. Other scars...other scars...they ache, are felt daily, down to the bone, like arthritis or tiredness that causes the whole body to hurt.

I want to hide in my shame. Scars are ugly, show evidence of weakness, failure. Scars mark us, cause us to stand out. I don't love my scars.

Years of cutting have made the flesh weak, frail, paper-thin.

Years of people hurts have made the soul fragile, stiff, easily spooked, like a head-shy horse.

I read a quote once "The problem with us is that we compare our behind the scenes to everyone else's highlight reel."

I compare my unspoken shame to everyone else's victory. Don't we all?

But we are all human, we are all soul-scarred. We all have our shame that haunts us; always there is unspoken grief, unspoken guilt.

We carry it around, burdened, always hiding.

God longs for us to be free. Our secrets exposed, our grief healed.

Someone told me once that God is not only a God who heals, He is also a God who restores. A man's arm can be amputated, and the site of amputation can be healed. But God has the power to restore that arm, to make it whole again.

He does that with our souls. The stiff, rigid, easily-spooked soul scars, those can simply be healed, no longer aching, or they can be restored, so that places once wounded have no evidence of hurt, they are fully alive.

I'm still waiting. God is slowly restoring, even as the physical scars have faded with time, aching gone, no reminders of the once searing pain, so also the soul is healing, brought back to full life where words and memories are joy not pain. Sin erased, no longer shackled by shame.

This is Good Friday morning. The day we commemorate Christ's death, His suffering, the day He took our scars and replaced them with a promise of hope, life, joy.

This Easter I find myself challenged to embrace His finished work on the cross, to abandon the shame, to surrender to His healing power.

God, let me walk forward in victory!